Andlátkyn; Vandr Sanses unin Alagaësia

The Keeper of Memory, The Lament of Dragons

The sun felt nice, bouncing off his faceted scales and warming the stone upon which he rested.
His thoughts felt clouded and distant, often drowned out by a voice or an image from the many minds dwelling in his own. That was alright. He could accept them. He felt the need to take them somewhere, carry them home, drop them off to rejoin the flow that always pulsed to the beat of his own pulse.

His realm that he was a part of felt so far away to him now that he was more himself-yet-not. It hurt to think too hard about it all. He was and yet he wasn't. He, she, they, it. The souls pulsed in sadness for his confusion. More still twisted and hissed with ancient rage.

Kill them. Burn them. He will suffer for what he has done. They whispered, and it flooded his heartsoul with sadness that they wanted to cause an end of one's life. It pained him to know that he had taken lives. It pained him to know that he would take more. He had once refused to commit such atrocities.

He slowly opened his eyes, stretching to knead the slate edge and regard the armies struggling to unify so that they could begin their march. The arguments that were so important to them felt so small and meaningless to him. He still valued the anger and frustrations they felt. Something in him told him that it was important to remember that. Important to care for that which seemed not worth the energy.

It meant he was still one of them. He could connect. Oh how he longed to connect with their small lives. He remembered.. he remembered. He struggled to understand them for so long, in another form, another place, another time.

Shifting around to get his legs under him, he glanced at the assortment of troops, then his own talons. There was an ache inside, the ache of centuries and centuries. He contemplated the ages weighing on his mind, all the memories he had that were and were not his own.

Uncountable millions and trillions of worlds, so many Souls he would gather into himself and take into the realm that was him and he it. So many were full of so much pain, sorrow and hate, and yet.. so much hope as well. So much that held joy inside themselves, happy with the lives they lived.
Lives that were so small to him, in his endless eons of changing forms, looking for something that would feel truly right. Nothing ever did, never for long.

He hesitated, catching sight of a forlorn face, grey metal and blue light, clothed in midnight blue.
He remembered something else.
Living.

Just like one of the countless Souls that he had taken on to rest and return to the endless cycle. This body was still so mortal, he was still there.
Abyss. The name of the realm that was him.
His name.

That was it. The point. To let go of greater meanings and to feel sadness and love for the little ones. It was how to connect with the little lives that felt so intensely, loved fiercely, hated violently, and yearned to return, to continue the cycle. He knew this. He knew. It was just pushed away in the face of remembering everything else.

Abyss huffed to himself, clearing the depressive fogs of his mind. Crystalline thoughts remained, pushing back the tide of minds fighting for dominance of his heart.

Spreading fur and feather wings, he leapt off the slate and flapped over to the one he remembered as a friend. He was small, unwilling to allow himself the tremendous size the voices inside desperately craved, small enough to land on the large, mechanized skull, startling the owner.

"Abyss?" The screens that represented sockets were wide, the curved lids blinking over them.
𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢, 𝙼𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊. He spoke softly, neck curved like a stork, head low. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝.. 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝.