Cavas, Forgotten Spirit
An Exile...? Please, you must help me.
I-... I don't know where I am or how I got here. I don't remember my name... I don't-... I don't remember anything. I suppose for now you can call me... Cavas...
Even shattered as I am, I know that memories floating around like this is not... normal. I believe something terrible has happened to me.
What if other men fall victim? What if mothers forget their children? What if... what if the children are left alone and scared to fend for themselves in a world of nightmare... Exile, can you fathom the horror?
I remember nothing at all, save the flash of the sun on my mortal skin in a dream. I was a living man. I know I was. Ask me again when we have retrieved further memories, and I shall hopefully have more to tell you.
I was... a good man! I fought for God. I remember saying so. That symbol... the Descry... it stirs my half-remembered blood to think of it. I wanted to do good things. Important things. Can you imagine finding the truth of oneself on the wrong side of morality? I have thought long on this fearful notion... but now I know, exile, and that relieves me. I am no longer afraid to recover more of my memories.
I'm certain now that I was a Templar. Yes, I remember watching their mighty parades through Oriath Square as a child, and I can still feel that sense of satisfaction the day I truly donned the mantle. All of the pain and sacrifice was worth it, to do good, to protect mankind... to protect the children...
I was a Templar, yes, but now I remember that I secretly despised them. I understood that they were a diseased organization prone to brutal oppression. Friend, was I exiled as well? I cannot imagine my resentment would have gone over well with my superiors. Maybe I kept my thoughts to myself and lived a life of quiet desperation, but I feel like I was the kind of man to act.
So what did I do?
Exile, there is something about all this that I cannot fathom. The memories I somewhat understand. A man's thoughts, a woman's remembrance, a child's sorrow - these things come from the living, or the once-living. They are real. But the ancient bridges that you cross between memories? Those were already out there. They came from no man, woman, or child of our land.
I suspect those pathways are not made of the iron we think we see. To dwell on their origins or true nature could send one over the brink, I suspect!
These are memories, yes, but they are also real in a sense. We feel pain within them. We find real material objects within them. Yet some of these objects are not quite right. It is as though they are stuck, half-remembered.
There's a device in the Nexus that seems attuned to such objects. It seems to draw upon their properties to create something new. Its creator must have been seeking something very important in his or her past... I wonder if they ever found it.