Reforging the Blade

[Heuschrecke]

Memory loss was a bitch. Heimirich had only encountered it twice before, but each time left him confused, frustrated and less able to cope. This time though, he had picked up a dull ache inside and a probing mind that wasn't there before. The mind didn't give him any clues, either. Rather, it relished in his struggle, seemingly fuelled by the anger that welled up inside. He felt it shape these emotions into something. At first it was indistinguishable, appearing to be a goopy mess. Then it became a dagger as his anger built up, lengthening into a sword when it combined with his distress. One solitary word rung in the mind: Purpose. For a moment, he imagined himself picking up the blade and attacking the thoughts in his head, though he knew that was pointless. Instead he found himself grasping and directing it towards the void in his memories.

To his surprise, the blade seemed to illuminate the darkness. He lifted it up above his head and bellowed a cry into his own thoughts, attempting to cut through the shroud that kept the past seventy-two hours a blank with jagged swipes. All that happened was a fragmented flash. Cold, hard steel locked round each limb, the feeling of blood pulsing hard in his head, the darkened room being barely lit enough to see the shadow of a man below him, or rather, above while being suspended upside down. As swiftly as he sliced through the block, it enveloped the fragment again, swallowing it back into the shadows. He did remember that fragment though, and he wondered about it.

As the blade faded, so too did his anger. It wasn't completely an answer, but it was enough to know that something wrong had happened, something his mind had blocked itself through reflex to the likely torture he had endured. He was grateful of it now, something the other mind found displeasing. Whatever it was, it mocked him for weakness. He accepted it without question, much to the thought's disapproval.

For a time he sat in his cell, staring out the window once more, the Bustard-class carrier still looming in the docks. His ship, the one he had been entrusted with in Weiss, then Imperial Shipping. His vessel, now in the hands of an unknown enemy, one that he himself didn't feel an enemy of now, instead felt more a part of what was here, a part of something bigger than himself. He got up even before the knock on the door, almost as though he knew someone was coming for him. Surprise took hold inside, wondering how he knew to be stood waiting. He shrugged it off, the other mind being quiet for the moment, having grown bored of tormenting Heimirich.

"Your time has come, Lightbearer. Do not disappoint..."

He didn't understand the meaning of the term, but the three words afterwards forced him to swallow awkwardly. There was some kind of task ahead, and judgment would be on him to complete it to a respectable standard, one he had no knowledge of. The figure turned and left the room at a measured pace, being more than enough of an indication to follow. No guards, not even chains. This puzzled the Captain more than he liked to admit, making him simply stand in confusion.

Before he could arrive at any conclusions, the presence in his mind took over, its thoughts forcefully directing his motions. Heimirich was powerless against the presence, a passenger in his own body. He couldn't understand how or why, but it was clear that whatever had transpired during the void in his memories left him with something able to barge in and direct him as it desired. If he had the control of his body, he knew he would have broke into a sweat by now. As things were, all he could do was try and remain calm. It wouldn't hold him forever, just long enough to get him where he needed to be. At least, that's what he hoped...