Fate/Elysion

Chapter 7 - An

Rider and Berserker were dead. What remained of Berserker's Master was the arm on which the code '2QN-no.20' was written. The healing spell, derived from that forearm, regenerated all my wounds.

"Are you all right, An?" Enkidu asked.

"I don't know..."

I was sincere. Quartus had told me things that were still digging into me, but I didn't want to involve Enkidu more than necessary, mostly for fear of sounding repetitive and too complaining.

The sky had not cleared yet and we decided to go back inside the small stone house. I didn't have much to talk to Enkidu about, I enjoyed talking to them, but I wasn't going to bother them. I made myself comfortable in the attic and continued reading that diary, this time as a whim.

Reading those stories and those notes I had, as my first instinct, the desire to leave something written, after all the diary still had many blank pages. But the very thought of following that tradition left a bitter taste in my mouth. Writing in that diary was like leaving a will to who probably would come after me...

I don't know why, but I was afraid that by writing on those blank pages I would somehow accept my death and I didn't want to die. I wanted to live and defeat Primum.

But the victory was not certain... however it seemed depressing to me not to leave any trace of my life. I took a pen that was inside the trunk and thought about what to write. I chose to follow the same formula used by my predecessors, but then a doubt arose: what name to write? Looking at the other names I had the impression that they were all real, while mine was fake. It was a name that was given to me by my Servant, but that didn't sound like an 'Edel' or a 'Rob'.

Then I realized I didn't even know what to write next. I had no idea. Everyone talked about 'freedom' and seemed to have very clear ideas, but I didn't. I wasn't fighting for my freedom. I just wanted to go back to Elysion and find out the truth about my existence. I wanted to get my memories back. I could have written that, but part of me thought it was stupid.

Fighting for freedom is noble, fighting for some memory is not.

This was what I thought and I had no reason to think otherwise. I puzzled for almost an hour and, when Enkidu went up to the attic, the page of the diary was still blank.

"Are you all right, An? You seem sad to me."

"A lot of things have happened lately and..." I didn't know what else to say.

"And...?"

I remained silent and just handed the diary to Enkidu. They read it.

"I understand. What's your problem, An? Would you like to write something too?"

"I am not a noble or particularly virtuous person. When I read those pages, I am overwhelmed by the thoughts of people with great hearts and noble spirits. I feel like an ant in front of a giant. How can I think like them? How can I become virtuous like them? If I left my thoughts on that diary I would end up ruining it with my selfishness, with my lack of virtue and nobility."

"You're saying very hard things, An—"

"Because they are true. Since I started fighting this war I've done nothing but reflect on my identity. The pathetic thing is that I have not yet found the answers to my questions and I believe that I'll never be able to find them. Read the words of those people. They knew who they were, they didn't have the same doubts as me. Compared to them, I'm frustrated and nothing more."

Enkidu sat next to me. "You're wrong," they said smiling.

"How do you know?"

"What do you know about them, really? Only words written on paper, nothing more, but words are like masks. Words don't tell who we are, just who we want to be. Every human aspires to precision, definition, to a single path that leads to a single goal, do you know why? Because people, by nature, are afraid of what they don't know, of what is not defined. But this fear is irrational and can be addressed."