I walk yet I do not know my path.
I stride yet this body fail me time and time again.
I yearn. . . though I cannot name the thing I desire.
Syrion. That is my name.
Not one of my choosing but one bestowed upon me by the one that lurks below.
A pawn of potential.
That's what I am.
A piece that can reach the end and be promoted. To the rank of Lord.
But is that what I seek? To become stronger?
I gaze towards the face of my blade, my reflection staring back at me upon its steel.
I lift my helmet and see the bundle of energy within.
Ah. . . I am neither dead nor alive.
Every time I think of the pursuit of strength, I feel a sense of desperation. Of longing.
I am aware of another 'me'.
Perhaps one who owns these memories.
He takes over every now and then, walks towards a direction in search of a home.
I will join him on this journey, a journey leading to a warmth that I am not familiar with.
But with that warmth comes a suffocating coldness.
