I don’t know how long it’s been.
I’ve been breathing for a while. I can feel the wood against my back and taste the air. But my heart hasn’t started beating. It’s an odd feeling. I can tell that time has passed, and I can tell that my consciousness has returned, but my internal clock is still broken and my life hasn’t come back.
I should start moving. I know how to get out of here, I can feel the knife I hid resting against my foot. I can set out and defeat what put me here. I have so much I need to do, and now I have my second chance to do it. But for some reason, I haven’t moved yet. I haven’t opened my eyes and my heart hasn’t started beating again. I want to move, I need to move, but there’s a thought, a fear, that’s stopping me.
I don’t know how long it’s been.
I can think back through time, remember what happened when it happened. I can see the army I stood before, hear the clash of metal, feel my blade rending metal, flesh, and bone. And then the pain as I was struck down. But after that, Nothing. Not darkness, not light, no dreams or pain, Nothing. I lost my sense of time there. I could have been in that abyss for a few seconds, a few days, or a few years. That’s what scares me.
I don’t know how long it’s been.
I can feel only my coffin, smell only the wood, and hear only my own breath. I have returned from Nothing, but my sense of time has not. When I faced my death I knew that I would have to rise again, to continue what I left. I must go, and slay He who killed me. But if it has been years… Will the goal have changed? Will the people I fought with remember who I was? If they do, will they even want me to return, or has my death served them better than my life ever could? With it, they may rewrite my story, make me a martyr who took the King’s arm. But without it, they must acknowledge my ego, my desperate desire for victory, and my misguided revenge. My entire desolate existence. Maybe this is not true and perhaps I am still wanted, but… If my seconds have been their days, then that must mean that my days have been their years. My allies would not have stopped fighting. They could have pushed the wound I made, slain the King, or perhaps even made parley. If the conflict has been resolved peacefully, then I doubt they want the one who maimed the King, and they would know I could not accept his continued life. My vengeance would become another obstacle. And if the King is dead by a hand that is not my own, then I would be returning to a world without the purpose I knew. Why return at all? To exist in a world without my purpose could be far worse than the empty life I had before. I would live as a hollow shell once again, now with cracks decorating my surface as all question why I am not yet dust.
I don’t know how long it’s been.
The world has changed without me, so what right do I have to rejoin it? I faced my death head-on, without hesitation, and made my choice, knowing I would end up here. I can feel my heart on the verge. Should I open my eyes, begin to move, to rise, it will start again. I will return to face what killed me before, to face the change that the world has seen without having seen it myself. But I can feel my other option. I can stop my breathing, slow my thoughts, and fade back into Nothing. Return to death and let the world march on without me. I would not have to face death again, nor risk a world that is better without me. It seems like such an easy option, and yet…
My heart does not beat to count my seconds. I could have been lying here with only my thoughts for minutes or hours. Despite not being able to tell, I know that time has passed. Perhaps not for the world outside, but for me.
The goal above has changed, it must have. But that doesn’t mean that my aim must align with it. Perhaps it has changed too much for me to agree, but perhaps not. Does it even matter? My goal is still mine, and whether my friends and allies will assist me with it is their decision.
My desire may no longer exist. My friends may no longer exist. Anything and everything I knew may no longer exist. But I still exist. The world and those in it may dislike it, perhaps even hate it, but I did not die just for them. I died to help them as they had helped me in the past, but I gave my life for myself as well. I gave my life to see my wish fulfilled upon my return. And maybe my wish has passed, but that does not mean I cannot make a new one.
I don’t know how long it’s been.
But that doesn’t matter. I was never going to be able to know and I made this decision despite it. Now I choose to open my eyes. I choose to start my heart beating again, to draw my blade and rise out of this grave.
I can’t tell how long it’s been.
But I know time has passed. I know the world has changed. And that’s fine.
Because I have changed too.