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Chapter 2: Who Am I?
Legend has it that, long before the birth of all things—before the endless eons when planes had yet to form, before the dawn of time and space—the world was nothing but darkness.
Everything began in darkness. Darkness was the origin of all existence, the forefather of all change. From its depths emerged Darmos, the all-knowing, all-powerful creator god. With a single blow, he shattered the chaos, scattering his boundless power into the infinite void. From the vast emptiness of "nothing," he forged "something."
The first thing to appear was light. Light pierced the darkness, illuminating what had been nothingness. Then, wielding the radiant energy, Darmos set motion into being, birthing the concept of time—a ceaseless flow that would never halt.
Afterward, he created countless other things, including me and the world I inhabit.
I don’t know if this legend is true, but one thing I’m certain of: the sudden descent of darkness that day irrevocably changed everything.
I have no idea how long I remained submerged in that darkness. In that absolute void, devoid of light or sound, it felt as though everything had frozen, ceased to exist. The once-sacred and mighty concept of "time" became meaningless, locked in an eternal stillness.
When I finally awoke, everything seemed unchanged. The sky was clear, the breeze gentle. The grass cast soft shadows, and the rough stone walls encircled Kampnavia like a pale gray ribbon under the morning sun.
But something was different. The streets, once clogged with Planewalkers bustling about their adventures, now stood eerily empty. Only the Natives—who eked out livings from small shops and stalls—remained, quietly waiting for customers who might never come.
My partner—Fred Goodrich, Gate Guard of Kampnavia—was still there. He clutched his prized sword’s scabbard with pride, staring ahead with unwavering focus.
Across from him stood another guard, clad in armor identical to mine, with a regulation-issue longsword at his side. His face was kind, his eyes large and bright—but lacking a certain spark. Yet when he smiled, it radiated warmth, as if welcoming travelers to the city.
At first glance, this guard appeared utterly ordinary, indistinguishable from the eight gatekeepers stationed across Kampnavia’s four gates. But seeing him sent shockwaves through my very core.
Suddenly desperate, I wanted nothing more than to find a mirror—to see if it could reveal any difference between me and this new gatekeeper. In my confusion, I even reached out and touched his nose, trying to confirm whether he was real.
That’s when he spoke:
“Stay clear of the jungle outside the walls, traveler. It’s not as safe as it looks. About two months ago, a pack of wild dogs appeared there. They’ve been attacking passersby, causing panic in the city. Sheriff Gerald is losing sleep over this. If you’re feeling brave, consider hunting three of them and bringing their pelts to his office. He’ll reward you handsomely.”
I nearly dropped my jaw. That voice—it was mine. Every word, every inflection, every pause—it matched perfectly. After delivering the lines, he ignored me completely, acting as though he hadn’t noticed our uncanny resemblance. No matter how hard I scrutinized him, I couldn’t find a single detail that differed from myself.
What was happening? Another version of me—standing in my place, performing my duties, speaking my lines?
Panicked, I turned away, only to realize that the world around me had subtly shifted. Buildings, streets, even the air itself seemed infused with vivid colors I’d never noticed before. Though I knew Kampnavia intimately, down to its smallest corners, everything now felt fresh, vibrant, extraordinary. Even the trickle of sewage water in roadside gutters sounded melodious.
A profound transformation was occurring within me, revealing aspects of this world I’d never perceived before.
First, hovering above everyone’s heads, I saw glowing green text. These labels followed each person wherever they went, displaying their names. For instance, a patrolling soldier approaching us bore the name “Patrolman Potter,” while his accompanying hound read “Patrol Dog Fartle.” When I glanced at Fred, his label confirmed what I already knew: “Gate Guard Fred Goodrich.”
It didn’t take long to piece together the truth. These floating inscriptions were markers of identity, imprints of their souls. Until now, I’d been blind to them—but something had awakened this newfound ability within me.
Eager to understand, I immediately looked toward the head of the gatekeeper who had replaced me. Above him hovered words that chilled me to the bone:
“Gate Guard Jeffrey Kidd.”
Until recently, that name had belonged to me.
This was absurd. How could my soul’s tag belong to someone else? Did this mean he was the real Jeffrey Kidd? And if so, then who was I?
Frantically, I searched for my own name—and found it hovering above me:
“Jeffrey Kidd.”
The truth crystallized: I was no longer—or perhaps had never truly been—the Gate Guard Jeffrey Kidd. Despite our similarities, I was fundamentally different. My life wasn’t tethered to a stretch of wall or bound to a heavy wooden gate. I was someone entirely new.
For the first time, I realized: I was free. Free from the endless questions, free from repeating the same tired dialogue.
The thought struck me like lightning: Leave. Go somewhere else.
The idea startled me. Since I could remember, I’d been rooted to this spot beneath the city walls. The notion of leaving had never crossed my mind. But now, it surged relentlessly, impossible to suppress.
“Leave… go elsewhere… explore…” The urge consumed me, filling me with both excitement and trepidation. Driven by this impulse, I took my first step away from my post.
When my foot landed on unfamiliar ground, my heart swelled with pure joy. Can you imagine? For as long as I could recall, I’d been confined to a cramped patch of earth barely three paces wide, viewing a world limited to less than two hundred steps. Now, suddenly, I could choose where to go, what to do, seeing the world from countless perspectives. My horizons expanded infinitely.
I can’t describe the sheer bliss of that moment. If I’d been alone, I might have shouted for joy.
Just as I was coming to terms with my newfound identity, the air around me shimmered. Thin, translucent figures began to materialize—Planewalkers returning from whatever distant planes they’d fled to during the darkness.
Feeling awkward standing beside my doppelgänger, I quickly scanned the area and slipped toward the forest outside the city walls…
Before venturing further into this strange world, I decided to examine myself more closely. I rifled through my belongings, curious about what tools I might possess.
I carried a backpack—not particularly large, nor heavy. Yet when I opened it, I discovered it brimming with items. This bag must be enchanted; despite holding upwards of two hundred pounds, it added no weight to my shoulders.
Inside, I found a map—a familiar sight. It depicted Kampnavia from above, the same map I’d marked countless times for lost Planewalkers. At its center pulsed a blue dot. Initially baffling, I soon realized the dot moved as I did, pinpointing my exact location. Clearly, the map possessed magical properties—an invaluable tool, I suspected.
Next, I pulled out a mirror. When I peered into it, instead of my reflection, a series of stats and descriptions appeared:
Jeffrey Kidd, Level 1, Human, Warrior
Strength: 15
Wisdom: 9 (-2)
Agility: 12 (-2)
Health: 180/180
Stamina: 90/90
Attack Power: 15 (+2)
Defense: 15 (+4)
Racial Traits:
- Resilience: Defense increases by 100% when health drops below 5%.
- Mercantile: Earn 5% more rewards and spend 5% less during trades.
- Versatility: Can learn skills from three additional professions.
Combat Skills: Thrust, Slash, Block
Life Skills: None
This mirror, it seemed, revealed the essence of one’s soul, stripping away physical form and presenting raw numerical data. A fascinating insight into oneself.
Also tucked inside the backpack was a journal. Flipping it open, I found a single line of text:
Kill three wild dogs and deliver their pelts to Sheriff Gerald’s office.
Ah yes—I vaguely remembered agreeing to this task when my duplicate at the gate mentioned it. Apparently, the journal automatically recorded quests I accepted. Clever magic indeed.
Lastly, buried among the contents, I found a bundle of Moonshade Grass. Freshly picked, its tender leaves bore delicate blue flowers. Recalling the hurried merchant’s accidental exchange just before the darkness fell, I recognized this herb as the item mistakenly handed to me. Commonly used in potion-making, it held little value for me, given my ignorance of alchemy. Shrugging, I tossed it back into the sack.
Turning my attention to my attire, I analyzed each piece through the soul-revealing mirror. My iron helmet granted +1 defense but reduced wisdom by 2—a trade-off I understood, considering how tightly it squeezed my skull, stifling coherent thought. My copper-studded leather armor offered +2 defense but hindered agility by 1. My boots followed suit, granting +1 defense while sacrificing another point of agility.
The most valuable item was my standard-issue longsword—a practical, sharp blade that boosted attack power by 2 without drawbacks.
Combined with the fifty copper coins jingling in my pouch, these possessions constituted my entire worldly wealth.
The initial euphoria of freedom began to wane, replaced by uncertainty. Accustomed to the narrow confines of my gatepost and the monotony of routine, I now faced overwhelming choices. Where should I go? What should I do?
Freedom, I realized, had arrived too swiftly, too intensely. I wasn’t ready to embrace it.
The world, once vivid and promising, now felt dauntingly vast. Ironically, though I’d boldly stepped into this new life, fear paralyzed me from taking the next stride. Countless paths stretched before me, offering endless possibilities—but I couldn’t decide.
As I stood frozen, grappling with my uncertain future, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence:
“Help! Someone save me!”
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