Itās said that most people are too used to their reflection in a mirror to recognize their actual face.
It had happened so many times that logic would dictate it would continue to happen, that they could take the shape of a stranger and the stranger had to squint and tilt their head at them, grasping at what was so familiar it became unfamiliar. Voices, too, were heard through flesh and bone rather than air from oneās own throat. People often couldnāt recognize those right away either.
They could not blame people for this. They wouldnāt know their prior face either.
Once, they had seen it on a mosaic, depicting the Eight Heroes. Of all the tiled, glorious, ancient faces, they could not distinguish who they had been. History turned people into figurines, identifiable by their symbols, their relics. No, the answer was no longer in the face of what was once human, only in the tome they still possessed.
Rather, the tome that had possessed them.
What shape did water take when outside of a glass? They were like this until they pulled themselves into something resembling what they saw, holding onto a new heartbeat for just a little longer. They neither liked or disliked the sensation. It simply was.
The world was a series of facts to investigate, themselves only a sense of will. There was little point on self reflection: they quite literally didnāt have a self to reflect.
There was a series of sounds, a name, to go with the tome, a title to the book.
They had a mission, a way to pass time as they watched the grains of time drift by, touching all but magic itself, their existence. This task of passive guarding had been simple.
But the Shrine of Seals was no longer their charge. No, not even Elibe itself was their binding home.
This is what they said when faced with questions, unknown eyes before them trying to get answers, as if their words could give more than questions. The guard to a place they called Abyss held a spear pointed at their- rather, an identical copy of his armored chest, gripping the spear tightly.
āHow did you even find this place?ā he asked, voice high with apprehension.
Instinct, fate, what did it matter?
Bramimond responded in his voice.
āWoah, calm down! Iām just going where I need to, okay?ā they sounded defensive.
Another guard ran up to them, a brunette woman with fancier armor, looking between the two of them, speaking in an authoritative tone. āWhatās going on here? Infighting?ā
Bramimond looked at her and their features shifted like rippling water, taking on her wavy brown hair and commanding voice. āNo. I need to be here, and you will let me pass.ā
Both of them stood still, shocked.
Bramimond raised their head higher. āThere is danger in these lands. My calling is no longer in my homeland. I am a protector. My will is to ensure that this world shall continue, as was the deal, and here I face the greatest threats this world has. You shall not stand in the way of destiny.ā
The female guard captain and the other guard readied their weapons, but Bramimond had dealt with this before. They broke into a run, pushing past them, unwilling to unleash Dark Magic on people who simply didnāt know better.
The underground marketplace was perfect cover.
Taking the form of a cloaked worker, they ducked their head and hurried away, unable to be tracked. They kept walking like that until they meandered into the residential area of Abyss, not making eye contact with anyone, not wanting to change their shape again to complicate matters further.
It took them observing another person to feel their form shift, all trappings of the previous body gone, even the memory of it beyond what they could physically hold onto. The emotions they expressed were not their own, but just a reflection.
They had a task, a purpose, nothing more.
Abyss was home to people who needed somewhere to stay with few questions asked. They found a spare room in a far off, dark corner. Some shelter and a bed was all they needed.Ā
When they laid down, they were not relieved. They were not homesick, sad, elated, happy, or anything. Their heart was as blank as the darkness above their head.
There was a goal: Get to Fodlan. Keep watch there.
Humans often found words inadequate to describe how they felt and the world around them. Words existed to bring something more powerful and evocative into existence, to filter being human into something shared.
For them, it was quite the opposite.
Words, logic, a functioning mind that understood reason- this was all they knew. Their reference was only in the book in their hands and the code of their mind. They could remember how humans felt, how the frightened guardās heart had leapt as their own, how the captainās businesslike tone had rang out from both of their throats, how events were supposed to dictate oneās mood, but neither stayed, neither could be conjured up by them even if they wanted it, it was merely data, a borrowed moment, a brief log into their blank canvas.
Bramimond closed their eyes, as that was needed for rest.
They played what role was given to them- no, even forced upon them, walking in anotherās skin once they perceived them. This was just what they were.
