---Page 17---
It was dark. Utterly, completely dark.
Nothing moved.
Nothing stirred.
Everything was silent.
What am I?
"Your name will be Mog."
So, that was my name.
Then, a tickle! Like a giggle inside my head, but loud! And then, everything began to wiggle and shake.
Something woke up inside me, humming and bright, and suddenly… I was.
I had a shape!
But then the aches started, and I felt heavy, stuck.
I didn't know things yet. Not really. Voices told me things, like secrets. Merion's voice was close.
He said they were making me. Azram's mages, he said, and I was going to be something.
He said I was a Phantasmal Golem!
He explained it all later, slowly, patiently, like teaching a child. "Phantasmal" meant I was made of two things: earth, like the stones I was formed from, and magic, the stuff that crackled in the air around us. "Golem" meant I was made to protect, to serve.
I was going to keep things safe. And maybe fight.
They were trying so hard, I could tell. They wanted to be the best! They wanted everyone to see them. Merion said they were ambitious, driven. They wanted to make a name for themselves, to be remembered.
They went to a place high up. Broken, with wind that made strange noises. I could feel something buzzing all around. Merion said it was Mt. Molrock, an ancient ruin, a place of power. The magic there was strong, almost overwhelming.
They were going to use that magic to make me!
"This is it!" Olen's voice boomed.
"Circle," Greo murmured.
"We do it," Merion affirmed.
They worked for a long time. Making shapes, saying words. I could feel them pushing. Merion said they were casting a summoning spell, drawing on the ancient energies of the ruin to bring me into being.
"A dragon!" Olen shouted.
"Maybe…" Greo whispered.
"We do it," Merion repeated.
Then something happened. Light exploded. The air shook. Then everything broke.
The air felt sharp. I felt something. The circle sparked.
Olen made a noise.
Greo did something.
Merion did something.
Then I was.
But it was wrong.
Olen was silent.
Greo was still.
Merion didn't move.
I was.
Meri-on. I made a noise. I pointed.
O-len. I pointed.
Gu-reo. I looked.
Olen spoke, his voice high and shaky. "Oy! What kind of monster are you?!" "You cursed us?! Didn't you?!"
He said no.
He said gone.
I am.
What am I? I looked at my hands – big, made of stone. I tried to move my fingers, and they clunked against each other. I felt heavy. And confused.
"What's happening?" Olen's voice was a whimper now. "I can't feel my mana! It's gone! Merion! What do we do?"
Merion didn't answer. He just stared at the ground, his face a mask of despair. His arms were burned, black and broken.
"Damn it!" Olen cried. "This is all wrong! I wanted to be a great wizard! I wanted everything! Now it's all gone!"
He started to cry, loud, snotty sobs that echoed in the broken ruin.
I looked at Merion again. Still unmoving.
"Merion?" I said, my voice rumbly and slow. "What do I do?"
No answer.
I looked at Greo. He was still. So still.
"Greo?" I said.
Nothing.
I was Phantasmal Golem.
I was made to protect.
But there was nothing to protect.
I was made to serve.
But who was I supposed to serve?
Olen was broken. Merion was broken. Greo was gone.
What was I for? What was I supposed to do? What now?
After my creation, Master Merion stayed with me. Master Olen and Master Greo went back to Azram for healing. Master Greo especially needed it.
I asked, "Master Meri-on… Am I bad?"
"Oy! What's gotten into you? Why do you ask that?" he replied, surprised.
"Master Olen and Master Greo said I put a curse on them," I said, tilting my head, a habit I'd developed.
Master Merion sighed, staring at his bandaged arms. "It's complicated, Mog. It wasn't your fault."
"Master, I want to do something for you," I said, stepping closer.
"Hah, don't need to, Mog. It's alright. Before we created you, we decided we would take complete responsibility. This is the consequence of our foolishness… we deserved it."
Ignoring him, I put my hard, rock hands on Master Merion's back.
"Oy! What are you doing, Mog?" he asked, startled.
I channeled my mana into his body.
Master Merion started to glow blue. He smiled. "It's warm… It's been a while since I last felt mana flow inside me…"
"I'm happy to see you happy, Master," I said.
"Hmm… do you know why we called you Mog?" he asked.
My head tilted. "No, Master."
"M stands for Merion, that's me. O stands for Olen, although he was against it at first… oh well. And G for Greo. He was the one who thought of it."
Hearing this, I felt something warm inside my hard body.
"What is this, Master?" I asked.
"That's called emotion, Mog. Feelings. All living creatures have them. It means you're alive, and you must keep living," Master Merion said, smiling.
One day, he bid farewell, saying he would return to Azram but promising to come back.
"Be a good boy and wait. I'll be back," he said, waving.
But deep down, a part of me that still desperately wanted to believe knew it was a lie. My masters would never be coming back.
Many years had passed since Master Merion left. I counted days and nights. Snow fell, snow melted, spring came. Birds played, singing, riding on my hard rock body.
And then... A voice..
"Oy!! Are you alive??"
"Who… who are you?" I asked, surprised.
I moved after a long time, lost my balance, and fell on my back. The sound echoed through the mountain. Master Merion told me to be a good boy… I didn't want to cause trouble for the people who lived at the foot of the mountain.
"Hahaha, you're funny…" a voice said. "Like the not-with-metal-hammers funny."
"Who… who are you?" I asked, rising.
"I'm Rynveil, nice to meet you. I'm wandering the world to enhance my rune forging skills. It's a dream of mine."
"Dream? What is that?"
"Huh?? You're a weird one. You don't even know what a dream is…"
Suddenly, a low, guttural howl echoed through the mountains. It was answered by a chorus of snarls, closer now.
Rynveil's eyes widened. "What's that?"
Before I could figure it out, a pack of massive wolves, each with thick, black fur and wickedly curved horns, emerged from the treeline. Their eyes glowed.
"Horned Wolves," Rynveil breathed. "Nasty creatures."
They advanced, circling the ruins.
"They want the ruins," Rynveil said, readying his dagger.
Something stirred within me. Annoyance? They were disturbing the peace of the mountain, the place I was meant to protect.
I stepped forward, my stone body radiating a faint blue light. I focused, channeling the magic of Mt. Molrock. A shimmering barrier sprang into existence around the ruins.
The lead wolf lunged at the barrier. It slammed into something, sparks flying from its horns. The others joined in, but they couldn't get through.
Rynveil lowered his dagger, astonished. "Wow… how did you do that?"
I rumbled, my voice echoing. "I… It's my job to protect this place."
The wolves circled, their eyes fixed on us. The air felt heavy.
"Looks like they're not giving up," Rynveil said, glancing at me.
The cavern echoed with the screech of metal against stone, the air thick with dust and the acrid smell of ozone. Stalactites trembled with each impact.
"Mog! Remember when I asked for your help at Mt. Molrock? This time, I'm going to help you! I won't take no for an answer!" Rynveil shouted, dodging falling rock.
Mog's eyes flashed from red to blue as memories flooded back. The faces of his creators, the warmth of Merion's smile, the promise he had made. For a moment, things felt like they might be alright.
But then, Mog's body twitched. The Grexcion crystal in his forehead blinked.
Dark red sparks covered Mog's frame, sending shocks through his rock body.
"Grahhhhh…" Mog growled.
"Oy, Mog! What's happening?!" Rynveil shouted, panic in his voice.
And then, something became clear. The corruption wasn't gone when Mog's memories returned.
Gideon's lifeless body resonated with the black and red sparks.
"No way…" Kinon whispered, horrified.
"Damn that freak! He swallowed a corrupted crystal and planted one on Mog as well…"
Even in death, Gideon was mocking them.