One can't comprehend nothingness.

One that lives can't comprehend until they are of an age to be aware, to know. But by that time, they have lived, they have experienced. To that which is nothingness, can't live, can't experience itself. Therefore, nothingness cannot experience One. So, if there were One who could comprehend, but hasn't experienced, what would they experience?

What I experienced was a void.

My consciousness, a spark of life. Of emotion, movement, and power, floating in an endless abyss. One that is dark, and silent. No senses work, no stimulus registers. It's been this way for a while, since I don't perceive time, it was like an eternity for the atoms that I'm composed of that I slumbered. Even when I was dragged to a home of kin, turned on my side to empty my lungs. Injected with medications, wrapped up and laid to rest, I didn't notice any of it. I was partly awake, but I couldn't move. I couldn't see, couldn't hear.

And now, as my eyes open, I still can't see. Or more accurately, I don't know how to. In the darkness, I engage my abdominal muscles, getting up into a sitting position. I can't feel them, but tightly wrapped bandages cover nearly my entire body, restricting my movements. My strength is one that can rent mountains, and so as I stumble out of bed, standing upright, the bandages rip and tear without the slightest resistance. My eyes are wide open, mouth agape, taking in breaths that seem to barely fuel my body. I stumble in darkness, colliding with objects I can't see, can't feel. I know nothing, so I don't know where to go. My body knows, I myself do not.

But I collide with something different, and I felt my first sensation. Pain. For a living, it's a signal of danger, giving the living a sign that they are in danger of ceasing to live. But for a body on autopilot from the lower brain stem, consciousness with nothing in it, my spark, my soul, grasps the string of stimulus, and drags it forward. I enwrap myself around the source of the pain, contacting it with everything I have. That one bit of pain, a spark of light on a dark body, is joined by other sparks. The light travels, grows its warm glow.

The light reaches my torso, and I feel a solemn thrum in my chest. My heart. My second sensation. I react to the feeling, clutching my chest with my newly realized hands. It feels new, my consciousness devours every bit of the sensation. The heartbeat picks up, I love the thrum.

Love?

What might that be?

To a body with nothing but pain and a heartbeat, I want more. I want this… love. My mind, with nothing, recognizes the word, its meaning, and what it entails. Something unlocks, and my mind ignites.

The sword I hugged thumps to the ground, and I receive my third stimulus. Sound.


Abigail lets out a sigh, trying her best to sink into her riverside seat.

She can feel her blonde ponytail press against her neck as she leans back, the thing is damp with sweat. It took her and Trevon a good hour to trudge home, with Abigail needing to stop frequently for breaks. That sword shouldn't be that heavy, no metal exists with such a density. After the physically taxing trek, she dressed the stranger's wounds and tended to his trauma induced pneumonia. Along with multiple signs of concussions and an irregular heartbeat, he went into cardiac arrest multiple times through the night. With the condition he's in, he might be in a coma for months, or worse. But he's stable for now, and it took until midday today to make him that way. Whatever happened to him, it brought him to the brink of death.

Now, sleep deprived and mentally fatigued, The Nurse tries her best to relax.

It doesn't last long.

"So, who do you think is going to talk to us first? Bushy Brows or the Walking Toadstool?"

Trevon's voice, still a little stressed from a night of a sour attitude, sounds out next to her, she turns to look in the summer sunlight. The Arms Dealer sits in a lounge chair next to her, one of his legs crossed over the other as he looks past Abigail. She follows his gaze and spots a pair of familiar faces walking toward her along the riverside.

Setting aside Trevon's offensive nicknames, the two gentlemen are rather peculiar ones. Scratch that, this village of outcasts are the most colorful cast of characters Abigail has ever witnessed, and these two are no different. One of them is named Bill, the other goes by the name of Dolgen.

Bill is a rather large man, with a smooth, bald head and large eyebrows. He runs the local pub, just about the only business around here that stimulates the economy in any way. A rather Gentle Giant. Though he doesn't talk much about his past or hobbies, he's always happy to strike up conversation and will listen to anyone.

Dolgen is a Dwarf. Short and stout, and a rust red beard that could hide a cat in it. From Abigail's perspective, he's a wise one, and has many stories to tell. He also loves explosives, a bit too much. For whatever reason, Trevon hates these men. Her Boyfriend doesn't hold much kindness for anyone in town, but these two are on top of his hit list. Abigail is the newest resident in town, and since she's been here, he's always been a bitter rival to them. Bill and Dolgen seem to have found humor out of it though, and will go out of their way to talk to Trevon, then relish as he blows a fuse. Abigail likes them, they can make an evening rather enjoyable. So, she ignores Trevon's insult, and gives a wave. Both approaching men seem to grin, and their pace slows down.

"Abigail, you look distraught." Bill says in his low voice, raising one of his eyebrows.

Dolgen speaks next, his accent slurring some of his words.

"What's der matter missy, yer boyfriend causing ya trouble again?"

Trevon quietly mocks Dolgen's words under his breath, Abigail gives a weak smile.

"Oh, nothing like that. We just had a rough night, that's all."

The two men stop, Dolgen looks from Abigail to Trevon.

"Hmm, well…" He scratches his beard, his emerald-colored eyes glow like embers sitting amongst a forest of bushy red hair. "Inexperience can make it uncomfortable if yer not careful."

It takes a moment of silence...

Abigail stiffens up, and blushes. Trevon looks like he's reaching for something in his pocket, his expression is a dangerous one.

"What was that you-!?"

Abigail snaps out of her trance, and she waves her hands around.

"No no no! Not that!"

She grabs Trevon's arm, using whatever strength she has left to stop him. Abigail hisses a reprimand into the Arms Dealer's ear, waiting until he stops resisting.

"Oh." The two men say almost in unison, Trevon fights against Abigail a couple of times, but calms down.

"Watch your tongue dwarf." He says darkly.

Abigail gives Trevon a stern look, but he's still sour with her, so he crosses his arms and angrily averts his gaze.

"We found an injured man out near the woods last night; it took us until morning to save him from asphyxiation." Abigail explains, looking back to the men.

She can swear she spots a twinkle in Dolgen's eyes, and the dwarf crosses his arms.

"Found a wayward soul, eh? They still kickin?"

He leans one of his elbows on Abigail's backrest, cocking an eyebrow.

"He's stable." She answers.

"Is he a resident?" Bill asks, crossing his beefy arms to mimic the short Demolitionist.

Abigail looks back at her home, the two men follow her gaze.

The four of them are situated near the center of town, where a slow flowing river snakes through this small valley. Their homes and shops are surrounded by tall hills, with only three pathways through to get in and out without scaling a steep slope. Towards the northern edge of the town, luckily right next to the pathway Abigail and Trevon took the night prior, rests The Nurse's clinic. It rests halfway up the slope, its front side supported by I-beams with a wall of windows and a small porch. It's been Abigail's humble abode for a few years now, but its bed is currently occupied. As to who occupies it, Abigail has no idea. That sword and those wounds could mean he's an adventurer, though she would be lying if she said Trevon's words haven't gotten to her.

"We don't know who he is. I have never seen him in my life."

Dolgen twirls some of his facial hair around a burly finger, humming to himself thoughtfully.

"Then he be a stranger, eh? Haven't had one of thems in a while."

"He can't be trusted." Trevon interjects, still averting his gaze.

He stares at the flowing river, watching small fish skim by with a furrowed brow.

"I can sense he's bad news."

"Seems you can sense many a things."

"Shut it Toadstool."

Dolgen laughs at that, which comes out more as a bark than a giggle. Bill finds it humorous as well, and he casts Dolgen a wry look.

"A Toadstool? If only you were as handsome as one."

Dolgen playfully jabs him in the side.

"Yeh, then me wife would probably never of left me."

The two laugh together, Abigail can never understand their humor.

"GAAAAAAAAAH!"

A muffled scream originating from Abigail's place makes the four of them jump in place, and it's followed by a similarly muffled crash. The town is a small one, sound travels easily.

"And it sounds like your stranger is awake." Bill retorts.

Abigail is already up and running. Trevon follows close behind, but it's definitely more for her safety than anything else. It takes a few seconds, and the two burly men glance at each other. Bill and Dolgen shrug; and decide to follow as well.


I stumbled, and I fell.

"GAAAAAAAAH!"

I bellow, throwing my hands up instinctively to shield my ears. The noise the sword made was loud, too loud. The shout I made was worse, and it strained my sense of self.

My body careens over, I slam into something that falls with me on my way down. My Consciousness has finally awakened. I… have taken over. But it happened suddenly, I lost my balance. Now I lay flat on my back, and I'm gasping for air. My heart beats soundly in my chest, the noise of flowing air emits from my mouth. I feel pain, but it doesn't last long. What lasts, and will never go away, is my vision.

It happens gradually at first, nothing more than a fuzzy, grey filter of reality. But soon the light floods in, and I'm staring up, up at a wooden ceiling.

…It's beautiful.

The color, the design. The texture, shape, flow, feel. For one who has never seen, yet is fully capable of knowing; the sight, sight itself, is beautiful.

"Pretty." My mouth utters, like a knee jerk response.

I puzzle over the word, as my eyes trace the lines within the wood. Pretty? How do I know such a word? Actually, how do I know any words? How did I know it's a wooden ceiling, a ceiling in general? What's wood? What's a ceiling? I seem to know, but my consciousness doesn't seem to.

The noise of muffled footsteps reaches my ears, but I'm lost in what I see. That is until a door is swung open, and slams on an adjacent wall. There is a gasp, more footsteps, until what I can only describe as a goddess enters my sight.

"Hey are you okay!?"

She shouts at me, cupping my head softly to keep it off the floor. When I don't answer, only stare at her, she speaks again. Pretty.

"Can you hear me?"

Her eyes, colored like the lightest blue of a tropical ocean. Hair like the sands of an elegant beach, skin as pure as a late afternoon sky. Clothing smooth and white, as if they were made of clouds. Expression concerned and determined, like she really cares for me.

"You, are very pretty." I say without thinking.

The goddess freezes her expression, her eyes go wide, and cheeks become the color of clouds at sunset. Love, this is what love is. The burning sensation in my chest, the feeling that I'm cared for, protected. I give a warm smile, though my eyes are still dead of emotion. I roll my head in her hands, drawing my face closer to her bosom.

"I Love you."

There is an awkward moment of silence; though I, to be frank, feel like I'm in heaven.

"Eh?" She says suddenly, physically pulling her head back a little.

Even flustered, she looks pretty.

"Oh, Hell No!"

A voice that does not sound pretty or concerned for me sounds out behind the goddess, and she gets dragged away, still shook up by my statement. My head smacks against the flooring, knocking me out of my trance. Not a moment later, a much less pretty individual that looks like he's been in the sun for far too long stomps over, sets a dirty and heavy boot on my chest, and pulls something out of his big coat, leveling what looks like an ancient firearm at my forehead. I drop my smile, and I stare down this rude newcomer.

Hate.

That's all I can think, and at this moment, I want nothing more than to end this man.

By the time Bill and Dolgen enter, Abigail has snapped back to her senses. She doesn't know why such a simple compliment that Trevon's told her thousands of times held such weight coming from her patient; but it did more than catch her off guard. What's adding to her stress is the scene that lies before her.

Trevon now stands atop the newcomer, and has a pistol aimed at his head. It scares her that Trevon could be so heartless, but what scares her more, is the expression on the newcomer's face. One of cold wrath, like storm clouds before lightning strikes. The air is tense, lighting seems to darken around the edges. If something isn't done right now, one of these men will die, Abigail is sure of it.

Just who did she drag back to her home?

"Who are you!?" Trevon shouts.

"Trevon back off!" Abigail states, fighting to rise to her feet.

Bill and Dolgen watch quietly from the doorway, wisely deciding not to intervene. The newcomer watches Trevon with a stare Abigail could only describe as a predator's, his hand slowly working toward the violet sword that Abigail had propped up against the wall the night prior but has since fallen to the floor.

"Well, come on then! Answer me you freak!" Trevon spits.

Abigail lunges forward, forgetting herself as she grabs Trevon by the trench coat. She tries pulling him off, he fights to stay where he is, and notices the newcomer reaching for his weapon.

"Try it, and I'll put a bullet through your skull!"

The newcomer doesn't take notice, his hand still inching toward the sword's handle.

"Off!"

She shoves Trevon, and he falls away hard. In a speed that Abigail could never match, the newcomer takes the opportunity to rise to his feet, sword in hand. He pounces on Trevon, taking the opportunity to pin the Arms Dealer down with his bare foot.

"Ack!" Trevon gasps, flinching from the sudden weight.

Silently, the newcomer aims the sword at Trevon's head, and brings the blade tip inches from his neck. Trevon freezes, he's lost his pistol, and with a simple movement, the newcomer can end his life. Abigail considers her options; this misunderstanding has escalated things. The newcomer is definitely hostile toward Trevon, though it could be more for self-defense. The fact he hasn't killed Trevon yet can attest to it. Which means Trevon's approach is the wrong way, shouting will get Abigail nowhere. Trevon shifts underneath the newcomer as he struggles to get breath into his lungs. Even now, he's doesn't look scared. His eyers are wide, but more from surprise than anything else.

The newcomer's eyes look emotionless and concentrated, Abigail needs to do something, and fast. She puts up her arms, moving so the newcomer can see her.

"Hey."

No answer, though those sapphire irises flick over to her. He's a tall one, muscular and strung up. Hair the same color as her's, and facial features as if they were carved from marble. Torn bandages hang from him like moss, and despite the smallest scars, his exposed skin is pure and without blemish. Intimidating, he has come back to full strength after a night of being in critical condition. She has no clue how, but she can worry about that later.

She gives the least threatening face she can muster, hunkering down a little to make herself look smaller. The newcomer seems to slacken a little, but that sword is still a hand width from taking Trevon's head off. Abigail presses, her hands held up in submission.

"Hey, how's it going? Can you understand me?"

A small nod. She takes a deep breath.

"My name is Abigail, what's yours?"

A moment of silence from him, Trevon doesn't move.

"Jack." The newcomer finally says, his eyes seem to twitch as he says the word.

"Nice to meet you, Jack. Listen, could you please take your foot off my friend there? You're scaring him."

Trevon shoots her an embarrassed and angry look, and Abigail herself questions her words. Why did she call Trevon a friend, not boyfriend? She can't tell, it felt like the right thing to say here. Jack the Newcomer looks back at Trevon, then over at his pistol.

"Don't worry, he won't touch it. Will you Trevon?"

Trevon might be an aggressive one, but he's no fool.

"No." He says through stiff breaths.

Jack's mind seems to work a million miles an hour, and he gives Trevon one last hard stare, before he lifts his foot. Trevon rolls over, gasping for air, and Abigail lets her body relax. Crisis averted, for now.


I still don't know what I am. When Abigail talked to me, and asked me what my name was, one came from the dark void in my subconsciousness. Something of a buzz originating from the base of my skull traveled through my whole body, and I knew at that moment what my name was.

"Jack." Is what I said.

I am Jack, that is as much as I could figure out up to this point. Something happened to me. Abigail, and the man she called Trevon, found me out and away from this village, battered and beaten, left to die with nothing but a supernatural weapon laying by my side. She, and many of the other townspeople that had the courage to talk to me have asked questions, inquiring as to where I came from, how I ended up here. Trevon himself is the quickest to ask something, though even without experience or knowledge on my side, I know that I should not tell him anything.

The less he knows about me, the better.

But the other questions, I have failed to answer. Some thought I was faking it, that I have hidden my true intentions behind a veil of confused naivety. And why wouldn't they? From what I have experienced, I'm nothing like any of them.

My strength is verging onto a level of monstrousness. My reflexes let me react and spin on a dime, while the others seem sluggish in everything they do. My wounds heal quickly, perception and dexterity off the charts. I wield a sword heavier than a boulder as if it were made of paper, something is definitely off.

It makes the townspeople seem so fragile, weak, and helpless. Even Trevon, with his fast hands and dangerous guns, wouldn't be a match for me, I know it. He seems to know it too, as he's never tried anything violent against me since our first encounter. But the looks he gives me are anything but friendly and welcoming. He feels like an antithesis to Abigail, who seems to act more like my mother than an acquaintance toward me. Beautiful Abigail, she may be frail like the rest of them, but her smiles make my chest feel like it was struck by a falling mountain. I'm happy she was the first person I saw, the first voice I've heard. I may have no memories of what came before, but for the benefit of the doubt, I'm happy.

After a quick checkup, with Trevon unhappily in attendance, a dumbfounded Abigail said that I'm completely healed, as if the state I was just in was nothing more than a lucid dream. I thanked her for her hospitality, and asked how I can help repay her.

She blushed when I bowed to her like that, and said I have nothing to owe her, she was just doing her duty as a Nurse. I couldn't take that as an answer.

But there's more. I'm also in a predicament. I want answers. I want to know who I am, where I came from, how I came to be unconscious in the wilderness. I don't know why, but the desire to figure out who I am continually nags at me, like an itch just out of reach. My mind hungers for it, I yearn to seek understanding. I don't know these people, most of them don't trust me. Even Abigail has her doubts, I can read it all over her face.

I feel like a stranger, everyone treats me like a dangerous newcomer, and I'll need to give Abigail's bed back to her eventually. But I also don't want to leave yet.

I feel like a toddler, a strong, violent toddler, but a child nevertheless.

I know nothing, words and ideas come to my head from time to time, always with a little buzz at the base of my skull. But otherwise, I have no maps, no info. No leads, and no plan. So, I roughly assembled a plan as I stood there bowing to the Nurse that saved my life, and I came to a conclusion: I'll stay in this town for a few days, maybe a week, and gather my bearings.

I then ask her to allow me with the honor of helping her with household chores, or any way I can volunteer around the place. I need resources, this colorful cast of a town can be just the place.

"Uh, sure."

Is Abigail's answer, as she quickly glances around her home. It's a rather clean building, with a grand view of the town through two large windows on the eastern side. A single door to enter and exit on the north wall, along with bookshelves and a weird mannequin with dots and illustrations of organs hastily sketched on its surface. A desk and operating table near the west side, where jars, syringes, and papers sit idly on shelves, larger vases resting on the floor. And finally on the southern side, is the bed I slept in the previous night, its sheets still strewn about from when I got up, still not truly alive yet.

Abigail's eyes land on the jars and syringes, and an idea comes to her head.

"Give me a moment."

I catch Trevon watching me from next to the door, where a small crowd assembled a few minutes ago, which has since been dissolved. The Arms Dealer is leaning against the wall, partly out of the sunlight flooding in through the windows. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't drop his glare when our eyes meet. He's trouble. Is all I think to myself.

Abigail snatches a paper from her shelf and begins rapidly scribbling onto it with a fountain pen.

Satisfied, she brings it over.

"If you wouldn't mind Jack, my office is a little mal-sourced at the moment. Could you go and fetch these supplies? This should cover it."

She hands me a bag, with what sounds like coins clink about inside it.

"At least I think it should." Abigail says apologetically. "I don't know how, but I'm a little bit shorter on funds than usual."

I glance over the paper, and it's my turn to be dumbfounded.

I can't read this; I don't know what these words say.

Halla man dal vedoranith?

Saa man dal korkornian?

What on earth does this mean? I don't understand this language at all, it's not the alphabet I'm used to either. Some of the letters are backwards, some missing entirely. This is foreign to me.

I open my mouth to say something, but that buzz at the base of my skull returns, and the words, almost like magic, change shape.

Two quarts of distilled alcohol.

Three quarts of slime… It reads.

Twenty grams of black powder, ten 0.6 needle heads. So many things that make no sense, it's all so much.

I itch that spot at the base of my skull, and I nod.

"I'll be back soon then."

"Don't bother." Trevon interjects, Abigail shoots him a glare.

He shoves a thumb at the door, never breaking eye contact with me.

"Just leave them at the doorstep, you've already caused enough trouble for her."

"Trevon." Abigail says with a rising anger in her voice. "You don't speak for me."

Trevon breaks eye contact to stare Abigail down.

"I'll do with my home as I please." She hisses.

I excuse myself. There is a stale feeling in the air, like these two need some time alone. I seem to be a source of contention.

Trevon clicks his tongue in disgust as I pass, Abigail says more to him, but I don't listen. I'll need to leave as soon as possible. As I exit, sunlight beams down on me. I shield my eyes, looking up toward that bright orb marching across the sky. Once I know where I'm going, I won't bother these people any longer.