Echoes of Who I Am

  “Before a hero saves the world, he must learn why he wishes to save it.”

  The ruined tower’s shadow stretched long across the moonlit grass as the group emerged, the weight of ancient truths pressing on their shoulders. The air felt different outside—cooler, sharper, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

  Themis paused at the edge of the clearing, his gaze distant. The others gathered behind him in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The revelations from the spirits still echoed in their minds, reshaping everything they thought they knew.

  “I… I’d like to walk for a while,” Themis said quietly, not turning to face them. “Just to clear my head.”

  There was a moment of hesitation.

  Isolde’s hand hovered as if she might reach for him, but she let it fall.

  Trish and Trieni exchanged a glance, understanding flickering between them.

  Tristan nodded, his expression somber.

  Seraphina, Lyria, and Orion all watched Themis with silent concern.

  “Take your time,” Lyria said softly.

  Themis managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. All of you.”

  He started down the path, his footsteps muffled by the dew-soaked grass. Behind him, the group remained in a quiet cluster, watching his retreating figure. Even the three spirits—Sylphid, Ignis, and Fortis—lingered, their luminous forms flickering with worry. They knew, perhaps better than anyone, the burden Themis now carried.

  As Themis disappeared into the silvered woods, the hush of the night pressed in around him. Alone beneath the ancient trees, his thoughts tumbled in a storm of doubt and confusion.

  Who am I, really?

  Am I just a name in a prophecy, or something more?

  How did I become of Arian blood? What does that even mean?

  He remembered the woman’s eyes from his vision—so familiar, so distant.

  Was that my mother? Why does it hurt to think of her? Who are my parents? Why was I chosen? If I can’t even save Shilol, if I can’t find Heathcliff… how am I supposed to save this world? If I can’t protect the family I have now…

  He stopped and pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath the pendant. The weight of expectation—of history, of secrets—pressed on him from every side.

  Maybe the answers are out there. Or maybe I have to find them within myself. But right now… I don’t even know where to begin.

  Themis leaned against an ancient tree, its bark warm from the day’s lingering heat. The cicadas hummed softly, and the forest near Chord Town breathed with a calm, familiar rhythm. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep—only to rest his eyes—but exhaustion pulled him under like a tide.

  Darkness blurred into light.

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  Then the memory began.

  He was small again.

  Four years old.

  Barefoot.

  Confused.

  He stood inside a quiet wooden house—the Lunareth home in Crotchet Town—its lantern glow casting warm halos across the walls. The scent of herbs, riverwater, and clean linen filled the air. He blinked, his tiny hands trembling.

  He woke on a straw-soft bed, wrapped in blankets far too big for him.

  The door creaked.

  A tall figure entered—a younger Dion Lunareth, still broad-shouldered but less tired than the man Themis knew now. Relief washed over Dion’s face the moment their eyes met.

  “You’re awake,” Dion murmured, kneeling beside the bed. “Thank the spirits…”

  Tiny Themis stared up at him, confused, silent.

  Dion smiled gently.

  “Do you… remember what happened? Do you know why you were in the Cadence Forest?”

  The boy only blinked. His lips parted, voice a fragile whisper.

  “...Who am I?”

  He looked around desperately. “Where are we?”

  His hands tightened on the blanket. “Who… who are you?”

  Dion’s eyes softened.

  “You… don’t remember anything,” he said quietly.

  He sat beside the bed, voice steady—something a frightened child could anchor to.

  “I found you near the riverbank in Cadence Forest,” he explained. “Near the stream that flows toward Coda Lake. You were fainted… bruised… as if the river carried you a long time.”

  The boy’s eyes widened but said nothing.

  “So I brought you home,” Dion continued. “You’ve been asleep for three days.”

  He reached to his side and lifted two items—carefully folded and wrapped together.

  “All you had with you was this.”

  He placed them in the child’s hands.

  A small scarf, soft from wear—

  and a pendant, dark and ancient.

  The boy unfolded the scarf slowly.

  And read the embroidered name.

  He whispered it, barely audible.

  “...Themis Valeheart.”

  Just then, tiny footsteps pattered across the floor.

  A little girl—three years old, energetic, bright—peeked from the doorway.

  “You’re awake!” she beamed. “Finally!”

  She marched straight to the bed with all the confidence in the world.

  “So your name is Themis!” she declared proudly. “My name is Shilol! I’m the daughter of Lunareth!”

  She stuck out her small hand.

  “Nice to meet you!”

  Themis looked at her—timid, uncertain—then slowly reached out.

  Their hands touched.

  And the memory shattered.

  Themis inhaled sharply, waking in an instant.

  The forest was dark now, bathed in silver moonlight. The wind had cooled, and the crickets sang their night chorus. His back ached faintly from the tree’s bark.

  He must have fallen asleep—slipped into the memory unintentionally.

  Slowly, he looked down at his hands, still half-expecting to see those tiny versions of himself and Shilol there.

  “Shilol… are you still alive?” he whispered.

  The ancient tree gave no answer.

  But the memory lingered—warm, painful, real.

  Moonlight filtered through the leaves in shifting patterns. Themis stood in the quiet, letting the questions settle. There were no easy answers now—only the path ahead, and the hope that he would find himself along the way.

  I’m curious:

  See you in the next chapter of Arcana Wars: The Sacred Stone!

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