What Memory Remains

Chapter 17

A still confused Zenapharr walked about the streets of Mooreville, stopping occasionally to peer into the many shops that lined the town. Many people seemed to eye him as they passed, and he was sure they did not see elves very often. There were bits of pieces that he picked up, but everything was just so….fuzzy.

“Zenapharr, Zenapharr Meridian?” The man had told him earlier when he explained that he didn’t know who he was. As they tried to explain what happened to him, he had a flash of memory involving a bright fire. The memory was so intense he fled, not stopping until he came upon this town. Everything was so strange, like a distant memory.

According to what he was told, he was some sort of gifted assassin who was captured by the government. There was little girl named Alice involved…and he seemed to see something in his mind of blonde hair and felt a sense of peace but…everything was just so hazy he couldn’t quite put the pieces together. He knew what they said about him being gifted was true. His speed was uncanny and he could feel an incredible strength and keen senses about him.

As he passed by a weapons store, something in the window stopped him in his tracks. There was one sword that caught his attention. It had a long hilt, and a curved blade that had such an elegance and beauty that he could scarce look away. As he looked through the glass at the beautifully crafted sword, he got a nice long look at himself for the first time.

There were remnants of ash and dirt on his face, which still did not take away the attention from his spiky blue hair. His eyes were bright and soulful, but he sensed a ferocity and duality beneath them. Without realizing he was doing so, his reflection showed his hands cradling the amber necklace that hung right at his chestbone. The brown swirling colors were very soothing and nostalgiac and it hurt his head to think about it.

Curious about the sword, he stepped inside where he was greeted by an older gentlemen.

“Hello there, stranger. Anything I can help you with?” His voice was hoarse but accepting and warm.

“Well…” Zenapharr lingered as he approached the curved sword. “I’m very intrigued by this sword. Anything you can tell me about this?” He signified the ornately designed weapon.

“Ahh, the katana. This is a weapon with Japanese roots. The blade is curved due to a complex mixture of specific metals and worked on tirelessly to achieve its superior quality. They were specifically designed to cut off heads.”

“Really? Fascinating….”

“Yes, indeed! There is a lot of history with katanas. Their blade is extremely sharp and effective. Many argue that is the best form of sword out there. It requires special training to use, as its unique shape requires a different technique than other swords.”

“May I hold it?”

There was a hunger growing the more he examined the blade.

“Yes, of course!”

The older gentlemen took the blade off its stand and gently handed it to Zenapharr. Upon gripping its hilt, he felt a surge of wholeness rip through him. Something about holding it felt very….right.

He turned it over and ran his fingers along the blade, and winced slightly as the blade sliced his finger.

“Ohh, be careful there, stranger!”

“It’s alright.” For some reason, he stared at his cut. There was something about the redness of his blood that fascinated him. The man’s uncomfortable look made him keep talking to distract from the oddness.

“You weren’t jibing about the sharpness…its immaculate.”

Suddenly, flashes of memory pelted his mind. The combination of holding the sword and the red dot of blood on his finger….it soon became too much. It was so sudden and intense he dropped the sword and fell to his knees while clutching his head.