Whispers of the Past
“I don't distinguish, I forget.” The mage answered this.
The general's angry rebuke should have been dismissed as another casual remark.
Valen understood deeply what he had to respond to in order to appear prodigal, like a shrewd playboy--without trust, an unreliable kind of guy: A father wouldn’t want his daughters to get close to such a man, and a mother would have to close the bedroom door and windows for the girls.
Despite the title of a knight, he had to conceal his status as a “Solitaries”.
Responsibility. His own.
But then what evoked a familiar feeling for Valen was the eyes that overlapped with memories.
Having defeated the Searing Elemental, the longsword still held a lingering warmth, which was vibrating in his hand.
In the almost eternal life, appearance and voice are a means of concealment and tools.
Whether it was a mistake by the mage or an unintentional act, Valen saw through the person standing before him and caught everything from of his own memory.
Valen felt a momentary sensation of nothingness in his mouth and tongue, and tasted numbness, and began to feel a tight lump forming in his throat.
All these feelings were greater than the burning of the heart in the flames.
Just a Glimpse.
“If you have truly lived this long, how do you discern those memories?”
“I don't distinguish, I forget.” The mage answered this.
At that time, Valen was a child who had trouble even lifting his longsword; he had not yet dabbled in danger nor become a knight or warrior. Those who were older people cited Valen's dream, then rendered a verdict that locked the boy in a prison cell of invisibility.
Mock his dreams, jibing to laugh him off.
—Just a kid.
The mage's reaction was not the same.
Valen was unaware of where the mage came from, and it was possible that he was dangerous, as depicted in the infamous fairy tales -- evil and greed -- or that he was just another oddball wandering mage, as Valen's family said.
Nevertheless, Valen was unable to express hostility towards the man. For a child's companion, the mage showed no contempt for Valen, and occasionally taught him tricks for defeating others, not so serious that it could even seem fancy, with a bit of humor that was unexpected.
Valen had never heard of or seen anyone like this strange mage; he never took Valen's dreams lightly, even if they were just a kid's words.
So, the boy's question was—
“And I'll be forgotten?”
—Little boy, you are an avaricious brat.
This is the possession of childishness, stubborn longing, and helpless venture; on the tip of the tongue, his voice faltering. As a child, Valen harbors a suspicion that he may not meet the standards of knighthood as he hopes for a promise that will never be fulfilled.
The mage does not need to be a promise; they are merely passing each other. But the boy's heart is captivated by him, the mysterious mage, who is difficult to forget.
Sigh.
It was silent, except for the murmurs of the birds in the forest. This wise man with an ancient staff shifted his gaze and placed his hand on the crown of the boy's head.
“Yes, I will,” he whispered softly. “But I also know… you will remember me.”