Confession - Unknown
“However, they always died the same...”
Young Monarch, why do you suffer so? My king, why do you choose to let our thoughts consume you? My sovereign, answer me this—is there logic in your actions? I humbly request that you sate my inquisitiveness. However, I am aware that you lack any sort of rational reasoning for the way you express yourself. In fact, this is how it’s always been. I’ve always watched you, I know everything about you. My liege, do you remember? Do you remember when we became one and the same? Do you remember the moment you finally couldn’t stand yourself anymore? Do the thoughts of that fateful night still haunt you as they do I? No need to answer that question—it was rhetorical. Your majesty—please answer me.
Faithful to your new self—you ignore me, rather, can you not hear my voice anymore? Is that why it snows here? I can still see them—the same as when we first met. The houses in the distance—the houses you called home—ablaze. You have this fragile hope that the snow would put out the fire, but it never will. This scenery plays over and over, I’ve seen it thousands of times now. Your family told you to leave the night before and you humbly listened. You’re incapable of understanding the love between parent and child. You won’t tell me it, but I know you wanted to die with them. You didn’t want me to stop you. I still remember how you struggled to move—but I made sure to keep our promise. Is this the reason you avoid me? Does thinking about your faithful servant bring back memories of a time where you were powerless? My lord, don’t misunderstand. What you see is a powerless weak past self—what I see is the current you.
Among the many experiences I’ve had in my everlasting lifespan, you are by far my brightest. When my existence is drawn to the skies—I’m filled with the same exciting emotions you are. Whenever I start to drown—I feel the same anxiety you do. My thoughts are mirroring yours as you desperately try to push through. Whenever your feelings start to blacken and you feel the creeping darkness encapsulate you—I’m there for you. I light a torch in this dark forest and they attack me instead. I writhe in pain so you don’t. I embrace the feelings you cannot—feelings such a fragile existence should never exhibit. My zenith, no one can understand you the way I do.
That is why I beseech you. You have to hear my voice, like you used to. I’m stuck watching through your eyes. My body drifts in this endless ocean you refer to as yourself. My voice that calls for you, my voice that begs for your attention is lost among the whistling winds you refer to as ideals. No matter how loudly I emanate my thoughts, you don’t answer me. I pierce my thoughts through the simple veil you call reality and express my frustrations there. In that layer of existence, people like you get to see them too. They won’t be able to help us, my sovereign. They cannot express their far superior thoughts to beings such as us. They cannot help you call for me, they cannot help me call for you—they can only observe as we act out our infinite stage play.
Sometimes, it storms here. Your whistling ideals and your oceanic self start to fight. This is how I know you’re suffering. My luminary, I can tell the standards you set are far too high for anyone or anything. If you continue to force yourself like this, only one thing will be left—your ideals or your sense of self. Your ideals alone cannot facilitate the marvellous personality that you possess. Similarly, your sense of self will not drive you to better yourself. Moreover, I’ve only seen the wind push against the ocean, never the other way around. You keep digging deeper into yourself and ripping away all the things you don’t like. Don’t worry, I make sure to keep them with me—as they are you. I settle them far within myself, somewhere only you and I can reach. I’ll accept every part of you that you discard.
I used to wander endlessly. Before I even had a preconception of sentience—I wandered as a husk of instincts. I was just energy, nothing more. I died millions of times out in the vast wasteland I lovingly called the world. Sometimes I was able to fly, sometimes I was able to talk. Sometimes I had to fight for my life and sometimes I had to take away life. I’m not proud of who I was all those millions of years ago, but that’s still a part of me I accept. If I denied it—then I’m denying how we met. After all, we shared our first words in similar circumstances.
You called our new home a school, I called it a prison. I was well versed in captivity far before we even met. You were taught things you shouldn’t have learnt. Your education continued on despite my misgivings. On that night, I decided I had enough of it. I called out to you. I addressed you as I always did. I mentioned your name and that sparked you awake. You were scared of me at first, but as we communicated—you started to trust me. I showed you feelings you never experienced before. Hints of nostalgia, heart-rending lust and reminiscent love. You wanted stories, so I regaled you with my favourites. Eventually, through my stories—you fell asleep. Those were the years I look back on fondly now, but the world wasn’t done with you just yet.
The barred iron door that connected your room to the rest of the building burst open as someone tossed you through it. I knew something was wrong, but I also knew you didn’t want to talk about it. I was there when you did it. I was there when you felt your humanity crumble. Instead of regaling you with my tales, I simply watched as you cried yourself to sleep. Amongst my near infinite cycles of life, I wasn’t able to recall a single one that could help. I wanted to comfort you, but nothing I say would mean anything. No matter how much I numbed your feelings, no matter how much I clouded your thoughts—you still cried.
At an obscene time of the night you left your bed. You tried to push the door to leave your room but it wouldn’t budge. You kept trying until I broke the lock on it. You picked up your leather bag and left your room. You brought us through the winding halls and claustrophobic rooms. No one was around to stop you as you ventured further and further. You approached the final door and I unlocked it before you even tried it. You were surprised when the door swung open easily. We ascended the staircase for the final time that day as we entered the terrace of the prison.
The moon was large in the sky, possibly the largest I’ve ever seen. You looked up in awe as you thought it well suited for what you had planned. I felt a smile ride across our faces as you reached into your leather bag. You took a deep breath and pulled out your arming dagger—it was a token for finally graduating out of this prison-like school. Suddenly, I connected the intense feelings to what was happening. I raced my mind for a way to stop you, I tried to confuse you, I tried to assault you with other feelings, I tried calling out your name—but you couldn’t hear me anymore. I needed to physically stop you, I needed to stop you with my own hands—but I had none. I had no vessel—that’s what I needed. I needed a body, so I got to work.
In that moment, I looked through my memories for a suitable body. I needed something perfect enough for you, but nothing came close. I searched the countless lives all in that single instant. The effort put in was far greater than anything else I’ve ever done. My recent lives were worthless and the longer ones in between were far too different to apply here. I had to look through my oldest stories, somewhere deep within myself. From there—I saw it. It was my first, the first time I’ve been born into the endless cycle. Consequently, it was my longest life. Thus, I needed power for my body. I beckoned the moon. It smiled upon me and granted me the right to live once again.
I was birthed once again as the moon understood my pleas. It always heard my appeals whenever my vessel was destroyed. The moon trusted me with the endless lives I begged for. Without hesitation, I was granted them. However, it was a little different on that rooftop. That time, I asked for the very first body I was gifted. My very existence was ripped forcibly from you, My master. You didn’t feel it, but I did. The burning pain that enveloped my body was full of nostalgia. This used to be what my life amounted to. No matter the heights I reached, the people I saved, the people I killed—it all ended with this sensation as I was brought forth anew into a world I didn’t recognize.
I entered into the world you inhabit, my duke. You watched with wide, scared eyes as the very air around my birth burned with a warming fire. I took a step forward with my old body and you quivered. The dagger at your neck was now resting at your side. Before words escaped my mouth—words escaped yours.
“Wha...what?” You asked me. Your kind words brought a smile upon my face. I took another step—this time onto the cold stone-like concrete you stood on. I was close to you, but you didn’t run away. Maybe it was your confused instincts, maybe it was your fear freezing you in place. Whatever it was, I’m thankful you stayed.
“Do you recognize my voice?” I asked you. My words were silvery but fell flat. I found it hard to express the way we converse into something tangible. That was the best I could come up with. Fortunately, you perceived it instantly.
“...My mind is at it again...” I heard you whisper to yourself. Now that we were separated—no matter how short lived—I wasn’t able to feel your thoughts like I used to. The loneliness terrified me. You fell to your knees and hid your face from me, you didn’t understand what was happening.
“My Providence, I’m more than just your imagination. Please don’t mistake me for something you’d liken to delusions—as that would be a massive disservice.” I lined my silvery words with a soft shell. I wanted to entice you.
“I know you’re not...real. Why do you still appear so?” I could hear the tears that dripped through your hands and onto the dusty stonebrick. “Of all times...” You sobbed. I wanted to comfort you, so I took it one step at a time. I dropped to one knee and slowly outstretched my hands. I could see my dirtied white sleeve reach out to you. There used to be gold among this overcoat, but that was long lost. I gently tugged onto your frail hands that covered your face and made sure to ease your grip on the dagger.
“My prince, why do you hide from me?” My voice asked you. “My knight, tell me what disturbs you—it will help ease the pain.” I coaxed you to tell me. I knew what it was—as soon as you regretted your action I knew it.
“I...I...” You didn’t look me in the eyes—they were stuck admiring the grid-like stone bricks underneath us.
“My Divinity, do you wish to hear a tale?” I painted a homely smile onto my face. Your eyes trailed up from the ground. I studied your tragically luminous eyes as I gauged your response. Your words were unneeded as I started my story.
“Before I was me, I was no one.” I pulled my eyes away from yours and stared into the starry sky. “There was a time where I wore this overcoat without any stains. The world was young and the inhabitants were desperate for any means of power.” I reached out a hand towards the moon. “The moon in the night sky was just like it is now. It gave me purpose. I was nothing but a husk of a man as I travelled. The night sky gifted me a rusty claymore—I could barely swing it with my wounded body. The sky knew I could never fully swing it no matter how many times I tried—that’s why I was allowed it. Wherever I walked, the overwhelming sand of the wasteland painted itself around me.” I looked back into your soft but inquisitive eyes. I quietly reached out my hand once again and stopped a tear from falling down your cheek.
“...then?” Your brittle, fragile voice begged me to continue. You wanted anything to take you away from this nightmare.
“And then, I realized people followed me. They wanted nothing but my death.” I pulled my hand away from your face and lowered it—shaking a rusty iron shackle out from under my sleeve. “I was a prisoner that wasn’t allowed out. I fought them as I travelled, with nothing but myself and a broken sword.” I reached behind me and closed my eyes. I pulled the memory of the broken claymore out of my head. I once again felt the warming fire as I pulled the greatsword out of thin air. Your noticeably gentle eyes wavered as I handed you my first companion.
It seemed like it could shatter at any moment, but I knew that wasn’t the case. You, however, kindly took the hilt with one hand—putting the dagger onto the floor—and rested the blade flat on your other hand.
“...You swung this?” Your small voice asked me. The tears that once decorated your eyes were now gone, replaced with curiosity. Without your attention, I pulled the dagger away from you and placed it somewhere safe.
“Not only did I swing it, but I thrusted and slashed.” Your eyes were flicking around the sword as you ran your hand along the broken blade. I could tell what you wanted even without you asking.
“Do you want me to show you?” I asked you.
“...Can you?” You sweetly replied.
“Of course, your highness.” I slowly rose from the depressing concrete and beckoned you for my companion. You blinked a couple times and jolted back to your senses as you struggled to hand me the sword. I knelt down once again and gathered the claymore from your weak hands.
With my old companion in my hands once again—the rush of memories were insurmountable. The people I killed, the people I tried to save and the endless amount of time I spent trying to swing it. I grasped the sword with both my hands as I suddenly remembered the curse placed upon this body. Without warning, my right hand dropped to my side and went numb. This was how it always was—I never learned my lesson, every time I fought, I tried to hold my friend this way.
I raised the sword with my weak left hand. The entire sword was shaking under my weak non-dominant grip. I curled the blade behind my neck and took a wider stance. I brought my body low and remembered the first time I let this blade taste blood. I was animalistic at the time—mimicking the wolves that hunted anyone who dared to live in the world. I took a step forward with my right foot and whipped the sword in front of me. The rush of the wind around me pushed me to follow through as I circled the sword all the way around in a spin.
I snuck a glance over to you, my king, and you noticed. “...Why don’t you use both hands?” You asked me—trying to break any sort of awkwardness we created.
“...I’m not allowed to. That’s the reason why I inhabited this body so many eons ago.” I carefully took a couple steps back and pulled my claymore close. I took a deep breath and thrusted my sword with conviction. I reigned it towards the sky and let it travel the entire arc to the ground behind me. The horrible grinding sound echoed as the sword started to vibrate from the impact. I could feel my bones tremble under the stress.
“The people who sought after my death were impossibly strong.” I brought the sword back in front of me. “They were mighty, yet they still chased after someone like me.” I closed my eyes and tried to remember how I moved my body.
“Each person was stronger than the last—and trickier. Some used bows, some used swords. Some used guns and some used weaponry you cannot even begin to fathom.” I braced myself and jumped forward. With all of my strength I brought my sword over my head and struck down. I caught myself on the landing and once again the horrible grinding sound covered my ears. My hand wouldn’t stop convulsing as the sword vibrated.
“However, they always died the same.” I slowly rose from the ground and locked eyes with yours, my grace. “Sometimes I even smiled as I fought. To me—that was life.”
I walked over to you and sat down with my companion resting on the brick floor. “Is that wrong?” I asked you.
You brought your sunken eyes down to the floor as you told me your answer. “...I don’t think so.” Another smile decorated my face as I softly continued.
“Is it wrong to play the hand you’re dealt? Am I unworthy of life?” I inquired. “My prince, I’m not proud of who I was, but I’m proud of who I am.” I could do nothing but watch as your eyes darted around the floor. I placed my hand onto your weak shoulder and finally spoke to you.
“You’re not proud of what you did, but that’s not you. You’re letting it define you, you don’t realize that you can change—as can we all.” I raised your chin and saw the tears start to flow.
“You’re not stuck here. You’re not stuck in that moment. If you want to change, you have a whole life ahead of you.” I wiped away the tears once again.
“I’m proud of you, Bradley.” You gently embraced me as you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. I reciprocated and told you the many things you should be proud of. Even though we’ve communicated before, I felt this was our first true conversation. No matter what I said, you wept until you couldn’t anymore. That was when you asked me a very important question.
“...Through our years, did I ever ask you for a name?” You curiously asked.
“I don’t recall anything of the sort.” I hesitated at first, but I went through with it anyway. “I have countless names. Names as foreign as you can think. None of them ever stuck with me. I was always called something different. Bradley, why don’t you bestow me a name?” I quietly implored.
“I’m not very good at names.” You replied depressingly. “What about...Ever?” That was the name you chose for me, I loved it.
“Ever...Ardus?” I replied back. I wanted your confirmation.
“Ardus?” You were puzzled by the strange word. I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as I forgot you don’t even recognize the old languages of this world.
“It’s a very fitting word for me. It means something is so difficult—it’s exhausting. Ardus. Ever-Ardus. Everardus.” I looked towards the moon and silently thanked it.
“Ever-Dus, Evar-Dus. Everarardus.” You couldn’t even begin to pronounce it. It really gave me a hearty laugh.
“Just call me Ever—a nickname of sorts. I’m sure you can say that.”
“Ever...it’s nice and short.”
Why did I bring up such a distant memory? I can hear you asking me that question even without you vocalizing it. Bradley, why won’t you respond to me anymore? Why do you lie motionless on the soft snowy ground? The snowstorm has stopped, it’s a sight no one would want to miss. Bradley, I beseech you—talk to me. I cradle your limp body in my hands as I can feel your breath escape your mouth. It’s really cold here—but I’ve been in colder places. You called this place a hellfront, a very befitting name indeed. You cried for hours, yet you never called for me. Why? Do you not remember me? Did you think you’d bother me? Bradley, did you think I wouldn’t notice?
There’s someone in front of us, Bradley. He’s about as old as you—I feel like you’d be able to become friends. You can’t get scared and hide. Please, come back to me.
“...Who are you?” The man in front of us asked. His voice wavered. He had an arrow set on his bow—pointed right at me. His eyes were unsettlingly deep. I carefully lowered the warm body of Bradley onto the snow and silently brought myself up off the ground. I looked into the moon that adorned the sky and felt the air around my left hand start to warm up. I locked eyes with the weary traveller—he looked desperate and hungry. He looked like those who chased after power in the old world—he looked like those who chased me in the old world. The fire continued down the hilt and across the sword blade as it manifested itself to my will. Perfect.
