COMPLETED Remembrance of Self | Fantasy | LGBTQ

Chapter 2 - Part 1

The slow bumpy motion of the wagon in the cold morning of early winter brought Haiden into a steady drowse of slight comfort. The pungent smell of worn leather, mron dung, and beyond that his own stench clang to the inside of his nose keeping him from fully dozing off. Which Haiden welcomed with open arms. Since losing the first friend that he has ever made, for which he later realised he held strong feelings for, his sleep was restless and filled with memories. Memories that sometimes he would rather forget just like his past.

It has been almost two months since he was found next to Regor's corpse, and has been on the road since, pushing forward hoping that the grief would be left behind, eventually, but that moment never came. Being constantly on the road he didn't have the time to worry about looking and smelling decent. His hair was the biggest problem in his opinion. The pure black clump of oily hair stuck to his face creating the appearance that of a vagrant. As bathing was rare during a trip and his skin itched from the filth, he could hardly wait to get himself into a hot bath once he'd settle in the Academy in Elo'yn.

His heart panged with pain every time he thought of a new life, one which Regar wasn't apart of.

Soft yeeps and animal whistles that directed the large mron, tickled Haiden's ears with familiarity. For nearly two months he has been on the road with only the raggedy dressed coachman from Avlan named Hager and Biny as company. Haiden avoided any other human contact during their stops along the way. The fear of hurting someone else made him reclusive and silent. However, he enjoyed Hager's company, a simple quiet man in his thirties -not too bad on the eyes- with the habit of frequenting whore houses. It wasn't uncommon for a man of his profession, being away for long periods of time from home didn't really advertise well as spouse material, and the man's creed implied bedding everywoman in The Empire, but that was another aspect of his undesirability.

The coachman gently whipped the massive mron with a long thin stick as a makeshift crop to keep the big animal in line. This breed in particular sported legs rather too fine in comparison to its thick torso, giving it a wonky appearance. Quite different from the stocky breed from the province of Yn'lan. Haiden grew fond of the old unusual mron the coachman called Biny, it loved to roll over in road dust at every opportunity. And it often reminded him of Dusty, which led, of course, to Regor which would then spiral into a vicious dark hole of self-hate and regret. This additional loss at his hands, apart from that of his parents and those in the store at the time of the accident, drove him to develop new issues with wielding and strengthen those he had prior.

We should be reaching Elo'yn soon, Haiden thought still keeping his eyes shut trying to savor each moment between dreaming and wakefulness. It was the only moment where Regor's face and Dusty's burnt corpse didn't haunt him. His mind was being kept hostage by something else entirely. There was always something that drifted to and away from him, a dream that lay on the edge of his mind that captured all of his attention. Every time he reached for it his sense of reality grew stronger and when he ignored it, it lingered just beyond reach. It was like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue or a face long forgotten that he couldn't place a name on. The constant tug of war was one of the many troubles that kept him from resting his mind.

Blue morning light cast its dim shine on Haiden's pallid complexion through the small window. The wagon didn't offer much space to rest so, Haiden laid in an awkward position with his legs up on his small trunk he bought from Avlan filled with a few belongings. It didn't hold much, dirty clothes that were of a larger size, a few satchels of tea, and a melted piece of round metal with a hole in the middle that wasn't of any value to anyone else besides Haiden. Remnants, reminders, souvenirs he didn't know what to call them, but he could not bring himself to toss his late companion's belongings.

After giving up on his few spare moments of rest, he opened his amber eyes and stared blankly at the hard wood trunk as the wagon took a few bumps. His eyes moistened at the thought of the contents of the trunk, and with a quiver of his mouth he sworn that he would no longer let his inability to control his power be the reason for lost lives. Hoping there was a way to make up for his many sins, which he had kept in his mind ever since. He wiped away at his eyes with the sleeve of his thick winter coat.