Lost Hummanity

"I could possibly be fading 

Or have something more to gain

I could feel myself growing colder

I could feel myself under your fate." 

Mazzy Star Into Dust

I am no longer certain what it is to be human.

On certain days, a subtle flicker of emotion or the distant echo of memory may stir within me, like a gentle breeze brushing against my skin. But it's only temporary, fading away as quickly as it came. It's strange to live in a state of forgetfulness, disconnected from the intense vibrancy of being alive. To pass through years, decades, or perhaps centuries without questioning the path we've chosen or perhaps one fate or circumstance that has been chosen for us.

But then, when we chance upon one person who ignites a flicker within us, we understand the emptiness that has always resided in our hearts. The gaping void that their existence can only fill. Every time they gaze into our eyes, a thousand stars have aligned and ignited a fire within us. We feel complete as if their touch has mended all the pieces of our shattered souls. And in those moments, we know this person is the missing piece we've been searching for all along.

It's a strange feeling to be brought back to life.

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The ancient deities were the guardians of the forest. Their presence was felt in every rustle of leaves and whisper of wind. For centuries before modernity dawned, before humankind claimed dominion over the world and its creatures, these gods ruled with primal power. As a child, I grew up in a village near the edge of these woods, where the people revered the forest as a place of immense magic. The veil between the living and the dead was thinnest here, offering glimpses into realms beyond our own. And so we worshiped these fickle and mysterious beings, born before time itself and not bound by human rules or understanding.

Few memories are left of those early days of my life, scattered remnants of a life long gone. My first memory is of my mother, her swollen belly creating a comfortable nook for me to rest against as she rocks in a worn wooden chair. Her voice is soft and soothing as she sings an old tune, her slender fingers threading through my hair. The surrounding room is warm and cozy, the fire casting dancing shadows on the walls and the aroma of bubbling stew filling our senses. I close my eyes and try to hold on to this moment, knowing it will soon fade away like all my other memories.

They named me Leonidas. My father hoped this name would bring me fortune and glory, a gift from the wise woman of our village who had seen my fate in the stars. But the fickle ways of the old gods cannot be predicted. On the day of my christening, rain fell from the sky and did so for a week straight. A bad omen, or so my father was warned.

It was a bad omen, but not for the reasons he believed.

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At the tender age of eighteen, I married a healer woman. It was not a love match but an arrangement made by our parents and the gods before we could comprehend it. Our village was nestled in the heart of the ancient forests, surrounded by towering trees whose thick canopy blocked out most of the sunlight. We lived following the rules set forth by the old gods, and we worshiped devoutly. As a man in our society, my role was to produce offspring - sons to carry on my name and continue our legacy. And so it happened, in due time. Our first son came into this world with a fierce cry, and I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in my chest. A few years later, we were blessed with another child, solidifying our family and bringing us more joy.

Our lives, though simple, were filled with laughter and camaraderie. We led a simple existence dictated by the change of seasons and the gifts the earth bestowed upon us. The women tended to the children, prepared meals, and sewed clothes while men like me toiled under the sun or ventured into the deep woods, hunting for game or collecting wood for fire. Our evenings were spent feasting on whatever bounty we had that day; our bodies huddled around the fire for warmth as we shared stories about our ancestors and their exploits.

And all these years later, I see the cruel irony life has dealt me. In my naivety, I had once believed the gods were smiling down on me, and that my predetermined path would lead to a future filled with wonder and beauty. But now, as memories flood, I realize how wrong I was.

With her sharp tongue and cold heart, my wife was a wicked mother in every sense of the word. I can still feel the sting of her scolding for being too soft with our sons. She constantly reminded me they were not delicate girls but strong, capable men who needed to be molded into warriors. "You are too soft with them, Leonidas."

Yet, despite her harsh teachings, they were still just boys to me—full of innocence and vulnerability.

We instilled in them a deep reverence for the wild, the earth, and the ever-changing skies. Above all, we taught them to value one another, work together, share, and set aside their differences. But I also granted them moments of freedom - allowing them to run off and go fishing while I picked up their slack for the afternoon. As their leader, it was my duty to prepare them for what lay ahead in life, but I also wanted them to experience the carefree joys of childhood.

What exactly that sense of freedom meant, at that moment, I couldn't say. Perhaps it was the exhilaration of exploring the woods without a care. Or maybe it was simply the feeling of being alive in nature's embrace.

As I ventured into the woods alone that day, just before sunset, on a mission to gather herbs and appease the nagging woman who always demanded more from me, little did I know I would never return home. She had asked my son to accompany me, but he had refused. He would come to regret his decision for the rest of his life, though he could not have known it then, and neither did I.

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How mortals get themselves into trouble is still something beyond me now that I have all the understanding I do. But maybe I can see the forest and the trees better now.

But I couldn't back then.

The memory of the day I met him is etched into my mind forever, every detail as vivid as the first moment I saw him. It was a balmy summer night, the air thick with the scent of earth and herbs. My arms were burdened with various plants for potions that the witch-woman had requested. I trudged through the dense forest, feeling annoyed and resentful that I had been tasked with this errand while there were countless other things I would rather have been doing. The sun sank below the horizon, its golden rays fading into a deep, inky purple.

And in that expanding darkness, I tripped along the river bank somewhere beneath the mountain. My foot snagged on a hidden root, and before I knew it, I was tumbling headfirst into the indigo abyss. I tried to reach out, grasp anything firm, but the world spun and twisted in dizzying circles. The last thing I felt was the sharp bite of a jagged rock against my temple as I plunged into the icy depths of the river. My lungs filled with icy liquid. Panic set in. Struggling against the weight of my heavy clothes and numb limbs, I fought to reach the surface for air. But as I swallowed more water and my body grew weak, a sense of resignation washed over me. Maybe this was meant to be my end. Death didn't scare me, not really. Perhaps this was the will of the old gods, for I had been raised on stories of their wisdom and mercy, taught to trust in the natural order of things. They were the protectors of our land, the arbiters of life and death, and I trusted in their divine will to guide me through the darkness.

But just as I was about to give up and let the water claim me, strong arms grabbed hold of me and pulled me upwards. Gasping for air and coughing up water, I was aware of every ache and pain coursing through my body. My eyes flew open to meet the piercing silver orbs staring back at me.

The man who had saved me spoke urgently, his voice laced with concern. "I need to save your life," he said. "Will you let me?" At that moment, it didn't matter who he was or how he had found me floating in the river. All that mattered was survival, and I nodded weakly in agreement before everything faded into darkness again.

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