Hahaha, true. It just felt like the most relatable choice.

The memories always began with the dirt from the trenches, that clumpy clay that we could never get off our boots. I recall getting stuck in it on my first day to the raucous laughter of my squad. There was a moment of terror before I got loose, and then I decided that no one there would ever make fun of me again. I ran up to that joker Jimmy Crane and socked him straight in the face, and when he fell down I kicked him until he cried for his mama. Nobody said a word to me after that.

I always got the worst assignments because it was their only way to protest my superiority. Digging latrines. Reinforcing the supports on the trenches. Being one of the first to run into battle. To think they wanted me to take a stray bullet, to bury me without dignity. I was better than that. Better than all of them. None of those pansies could lift what they could lift, shoot a rifle as well as I could, or win a fight against me. I saw fear in their eyes when I passed by, and when they spoke to me they looked downwards.

Some people supposedly respected me for the leader I was. They decided to join me when I defected from the Army to escape the madness. We left the trench under the cover of darkness and made way for the nearest village. Knowing that any of the establishments there would report us, we slept in a random barn outside of town. It was supposed to be a quick stop until we could hitch the back of a train in the morning, but the farmer must have seen us because the next morning we awoke surrounded by police.

I pointed at Barney as the ringleader, since he was the first one to suggest the idea. The rest of the group pointed at me, which was garbage. I thought that they supported me because I was strong, and in one fell swoop they revealed themselves to be nothing more than liars. You understand why I had to do what I did.

I don't remember the bullet that one of the stray officers must have fired at me, but the next thing I know I woke up in this stupid soup kitchen. They told me that I'd died and that one bowl of this god-awful broth would allow me to reincarnate. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Each time I drink some I relive the same memory over again, with no reincarnation of any kind. I'm up to bowl 1,382. The staff couldn't be less helpful as they float aimlessly about in the back, occasionally returning with some new bowls for me to drink. All they tell me is to "keep drinking." I almost can't take it anymore, the taste is like a mixture of rotten cabbage and tractor oil.

The only interesting thing about this place is a scrolling ticker above the counter where the soup bowls appeared. It looks like a scramble of letters, some kind of puzzle.

A ESMRIPO VENER LIVERDEDE

I'd stared at it thousands of times and couldn't seem to unscramble the letters. It was as if my brain just didn't work here. I'd even asked the staff what it meant and they just ignored me. Even the host, who was dressed handsomely in all-black. He'd just smile and walk away.

r/StoriesToThinkAbout

Splendid!

In a world where the viking settlements in northern america where a lot more permanent (although they still may have lost contact with europe. That is for you to decide.) the first contact between the new european settlers and the descendants of the old scandinavian settlers turns hostile very quickly leading to a skirmish that had a lot more impact than one would expect from a fight with barely 10 people involved.

I had intended it pronounced with a hard -k sound (e.g. Glock-ee-on, rather than Glace-ee-on) but yeah, I guess not, especially given that that doesn't really translate in text.

Changing one letter and keeping the same pronunciation isn’t much of a way to change the reference lol

Alinel looked up from her immaculate desk silver eyes shining then darting away from me. Most people who walked through these doors got a joyous walkthrough of how everything worked. Instead, Alinel sighed toward her desk. "Welcome back."

I nodded to her and took my place in the waiting room. It was custom to let the agents explain the process before you partook but, there wasn't really a point for me. Alinel could ignore me and be sure that I would be back next week just the same.

There wasn't a protocol for what was going on. The process had been written in stone since the first souls were brought through processing. You go in, you partake in cleansing, you wake up on Earth with a new life ahead of you.

It was simple really, souls were too heavy with a lifetime of memories shackling them to a previous existence. The censing process shucked off old heartbreaks, triumphs and every foggy day in between; it left you a clean slate for a new life. It let you go down and try again.

Most souls eventually took part in the immortal cycle. The temptation of something new built up over time and souls were seldom content with their previous lives. There were some, sure, but most were willing to take another chance at bat, in a new time, with a new face.

Far as I knew, I was the only person who wouldn't have that opportunity. I could remember everything, every breath, every step, every bruise, I could even remember how much the cleansing burned when it tried to tear the memories out of me.

It burned less than the realization that it hadn't worked.

After a moment I stood up and nodded to Alinel, she offered me a soft smile laced with pity and waved me forward.

The Cleansing Room was a void in the most literal sense, an endless white expanse that was somehow claustrophobic and vast concurrently. Steps from the door, there was a soft silver pool, where my refection stared back at me.

The bags under my eyes had only gotten deeper since I'd died all of those years ago. They would never get better.

I knelt down onto the white, feeling the cold-warmth of emptiness press against against me. It was pressure that came from nothing, created from the concept that there should be a floor here as opposed to anything physical.

There was a small bowl, cracked black marble that had been repaired with gold, sitting between me and the pool. Alinel told me once that the bowl was different for everyone who came into the Cleansing room. That made sense. Mine would be broken.

I grabbed the bowl off the floor and with one hand dipped it into the silver pool, sending ripples across my reflection. As my visage shifted it flashed over different parts of my life. The bruises, from childhood to college, had been a consistent theme, until they stopped altogether.

My fingers brushed against the pool. It felt like nothing and everything all at once. Every sensation that had touched my fingers cascading over my nerves, coalescing into static.

I pulled the full bowl out of the pool, the silver liquid poured off the sides, fading away against the white void on the ground. I saw my laughter in the droplets.

I squeezed my eyes shut before I brought the bowl to my lips. It wasn't going to work. I had to be okay with the fact that it wouldn't work. I'd walk back out into eternity, past Alinel. I wasn't allowed to forget.

And I didn't know why.

The silver liquid scarred my throat as I poured with down, tiny spikes reaching out for my memories but never finding purchase. There was supposed to be a cleansing fire, something washing away the past but the scars were too deep and funneled the liquid down a useless path.

It hurt. The process of forgetting hurt. The process of remembering hurt. I didn't deserve this. It hadn't been my fault. I'd done what anyone would do.

---

Alinel looked up from her immaculate desk silver eyes shining then darting away from me. Most people who walked through these doors got a joyous walkthrough of how everything worked. Instead, Alinel sighed toward her desk. "Welcome back."

🏆💙 🏆 thank you kindly, I'm so glad you could!

Not being an asshole is not politics

I was not so strong, or the author got more onions. F***ing awesome!

"No, no this can't be happening. It's just a dream. It has to be." I scream in a deep raspy voice that's not mine.

Lying in front of me are a dozen statues of various dragons with expressions ranging from excitement to confusion and lastly to terror.

Just a week ago I was just another dragon in the academy. I was the top of my class but unlike the rest of my kin I hadn't been able to break the spell placed on me at my birth binding me to a human form. I didn't care much. It's not like I needed to fight and I was skilled enough in flight magic that only the wind dragons could out speed me. My lack I just chalked up to being an orphan since all the other kids had their parents and sibling's help with breaking the spell.

And last night I'd finally figured out the breaking point. It turned out my true form was a fair bit different then other dragons. For starters it was serpentine so I had to erase my legs rather than strengthening them and mainly my magic was centered on my eyes instead of the lungs like most dragons. I guessed I was simply a holy serpent, a powerful creature capable of gazing into a person's soul. How wrong was I.

"Keep your eyes on the ground Amarok." The voice of the headmaster came at me from the sky. I could feel his magic filling to ground as the earth rose forming a cone around my head, leaving me in darkness. "So this is what you were."

"Please, there has to be a way to cure them! I don't care what you need! I'll get it!" I yelled trying to grab my head with arms far to small to reach.

"I'm sorry young Lindworm. The unfiltered gaze of a Basilisk has no cure. It's the reason your kind was exterminated all those centuries ago. Or almost exterminated."

"Then please, finish the job. I won't stop you."

"I've already lost twelve of my students today Amarok. If I lost thirteen, I'd have to close the school for fear of these grounds being cursed."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"I am not a king, I'm a teacher. I don't give orders, I give choices. You're a good boy Amarok, as are your friends. They will forgive you regardless of what you do but if you seek the advice of an old man with one too many sins on his back, if you ever wish to accept their forgiveness you better prove to yourself that this life was worth there's. May the Celestials bless you."

I mean, I deliberated spelled it with an 'i' to avoid the Pokemon reference, as that wasn't my intention. Though, I suppose I couldn't avoid it after all.

Not my fault that I'd want to use a term (i.e. glacial) associated with cold/ice as a name for a type of ice spirit.

A glacion, you say?

Does she also look like a fox?

(Ice is supereffective against dragons, always remember.)

The memory was not a place, nor person. No loved ones to remember fondly or mortal enemies to seethe over.

Just one, simple, tune.

"This is the song that never ends...."

Woo, hug²

I don't know what to say except we'll done, I could feel all the emotions of both the MC and of his partner.

Year 20XX. The anti-magic revolution has begun, and is now on its final battle. Generally, most of the rebel forces have already subsided and were left up to the few in the capital. Most of the capital’s forces are armed with near impossible magical constructs, powerful spells. It is those same spells which they used to oppress those without power, without skill. But it was in this battle the rebel forces introduced the A.M.J, the Anti-magic jammer. Now, the true battle against magic has finally commenced

Well it was just the 1 season that was like that and i did have a villain so

Alec checked the calendar on his terminal for the third time this shift. It still told him the same story. Six days until he could call home. Six days until he could see his wife again. Six days until he could stroke his crooked fingers on the cold, glass monitor and tell her that he loved her.

"We have incoming."

Alec closed the calendar and shot a look at his shift partner. Cynthia's face was round and flushed from the effects of null gravity, yet it still showed her concern. A drop of sweat beaded on her brow before slowly drifting away toward the nearest ventilation intake.

"We don't have an arrival scheduled today." Alec pulled up the month's flight plans, "We shouldn't-"

"It's there." Cynthia said, "Confirmed ping on something large, Pendelton-Class or larger. Profile isn't registering. Wait... we're getting a comm request."

Alec pulled up the proper menu and punched accept before Cynthia could dither over it. She was always a ditherer. She actually fit this do-nothing, decide-nothing life of an outer-Neptune fuel depot.

"Station ONFD-Polar 7, this is Captain Heymark of the Grand Return, to whom am I speaking?"

Alec punched his comm response key with a bit more force than was necessary, "Grand Return, you are performing an unscheduled arrival and WILL be fined for it. Please transmit your IonaCorp security code now to begin docking sequence."

"Negative, Station." Captain Heymark's voice shuddered with static over the line, "Grand Return is not a IonaCorp vessel."

"The fucking shit!" Cynthia shrieked and threw her headset down, "Pirates! It's bloody pirates! Arm the defenses!"

Alec bit his lip, fingers hovering over the command line for an armed response, but he keyed the comms first.

"Captain, this is an IonaCorp station. If you are not an IonaCorp indentured vessel, then we must ask you to alter your trajectory and move on."

Silence held the air for a moment, punctuated only by Cynthia's soft cursing, and the occasional burst of static from the empty line.

"Station, how long has it been?"

"...What?"

"Since you've seen your family? How long since you've been paid a proper amount?" Captain Heymark breathed on his microphone, producing a burst of static, "How long since you saw a doctor? Had a calcium transfer? Have your bones started to warp yet? Are your fingers and toes curling in?"

Alec shook as he looked at his hands.

"Grand Return has a full medical bay prepared to treat you. We also have an Earthcom transmitter onboard."

"Bullshit!" Cynthia screamed over the line, "Pirate's lies!"

"No lies. Pirates wouldn't come this far out. Nobody comes this far out."

Cynthia paused.

"Then who would?"

"In a word... revolutionaries. We want something better for the workers of the great dark."

Alec tapped his hands on the side of his keyboard, mind weighing on the calendar, his hands, the size of the ship on radar profile.

"Grand Return... You are cleared to dock."

Oh my goodness that fits almost perfectly

Love how you brought it back around. Very well done.

The battle of Tor‘kalok between the elves and faes over whom the tree of whispers belongs

Thank you for reading and for your wonderful comment, so glad it resonated with you! It's always a joy to share glimpses of worlds with others! 💙🥰🤩

Oh! You’re right. I didn’t think of that. My kids have been watching that yesterday. I must admit that I tend to ignore the show most if the time, because I don’t like the style.

If you have the space for it, yeah - Spears, halberds, polehammers, Bec de Corbin etc. - spears are good, but more options is always fun.

More reach > Less reach, in most scenarios.