Ruran lay very still in an inn room at Fallgourd Float. His suit of armor had been removed and stowed to the side, though those who had brought him respected the mask and kept it upon his face. A stranger or two had come and gone for the past day, bandaging the wound at his right arm and adjusting his blankets.
He had not responded to any of them.
When not asleep, distant eyes stared at the ceiling. He felt nothing. He had no thoughts, no emotions, no voice. For him, time stood still, locked in a single moment of absolute emptiness. Numbness seeped down to his bones. Like a puppet with no strings, he was broken.
Finally, at the end of a two full days of silence, a familiar resounding tone spoke into his drifting mind. The stone beneath the folds of his shirt brightened.
“Ruran… Thou art not yet finished with thy task.â€
There was no reply. Ruran's dull, half-lidded eyes stared toward the ceiling, his mouth slightly agape with shallow breaths behind his polished mask.
“I have given thee rest. Go and do what thou hast agreed.â€
Still nothing.
The stone gently thrummed, patient for a time and lingering in the silence. When it spoke again, each word held purpose.
“…Dost thou not wish to protect thy family?â€
Memories flashed across Ruran’s vision. Pale hair. Eyes like the springtime. A child’s laughter of ‘daddy!’ A warm embrace. Sunlight. The smell of oranges. Fingertips on old wood. The taste of a woman’s mouth.
His left hand twitched. The barest hint of sorrow veiled across his eyes as his breath hitched with sudden longing.
“Then rise.â€
Still distant and unfocused, he obeyed. His body tried to move on its own, driven by the determination to protect the ones he loved, but to no avail. He had no strength to lift himself. The stone at his chest was quiet…and then it flashed brightly. A vivid light pulsed from its center, like a shock to Ruran’s very soul.
It all came rushing back at once: Coerthas. A battle on the road. His eyes widened, and he lurched forward with a loud wheeze. Time finally caught up to him; it hit like a bag of bricks. He took large, shuddering gulps of air, as if he had been holding his breath for two days.
Panicked eyes darted about the room, until they stared at the faded yellow blanket that covered his legs. He could still feel the heat on his arms. The deafening crack of a gunshot ringing between his ears. The weight of his armor. His feet felt frozen, though he was no longer standing in snow.
He was awake...but was he whole?
He had not responded to any of them.
When not asleep, distant eyes stared at the ceiling. He felt nothing. He had no thoughts, no emotions, no voice. For him, time stood still, locked in a single moment of absolute emptiness. Numbness seeped down to his bones. Like a puppet with no strings, he was broken.
Finally, at the end of a two full days of silence, a familiar resounding tone spoke into his drifting mind. The stone beneath the folds of his shirt brightened.
“Ruran… Thou art not yet finished with thy task.â€
There was no reply. Ruran's dull, half-lidded eyes stared toward the ceiling, his mouth slightly agape with shallow breaths behind his polished mask.
“I have given thee rest. Go and do what thou hast agreed.â€
Still nothing.
The stone gently thrummed, patient for a time and lingering in the silence. When it spoke again, each word held purpose.
“…Dost thou not wish to protect thy family?â€
Memories flashed across Ruran’s vision. Pale hair. Eyes like the springtime. A child’s laughter of ‘daddy!’ A warm embrace. Sunlight. The smell of oranges. Fingertips on old wood. The taste of a woman’s mouth.
His left hand twitched. The barest hint of sorrow veiled across his eyes as his breath hitched with sudden longing.
“Then rise.â€
Still distant and unfocused, he obeyed. His body tried to move on its own, driven by the determination to protect the ones he loved, but to no avail. He had no strength to lift himself. The stone at his chest was quiet…and then it flashed brightly. A vivid light pulsed from its center, like a shock to Ruran’s very soul.
It all came rushing back at once: Coerthas. A battle on the road. His eyes widened, and he lurched forward with a loud wheeze. Time finally caught up to him; it hit like a bag of bricks. He took large, shuddering gulps of air, as if he had been holding his breath for two days.
Panicked eyes darted about the room, until they stared at the faded yellow blanket that covered his legs. He could still feel the heat on his arms. The deafening crack of a gunshot ringing between his ears. The weight of his armor. His feet felt frozen, though he was no longer standing in snow.
He was awake...but was he whole?
