Dread Mage

“How long do you know Vell for?” Sonder asked Languor. Again, she had to come to his home to be examined.

She was fatigued not only from the rigorous training she had been subjected to over the past months by Hrygo but also from the new training she was receiving from Inure, followed by lengthy periods of being scrutinized by Languor, who was eager to prove his machine of time.

The old mage thought about Sonder’s question.

“Lignin? Well, for ages, or eras, eons maybe? I’m very old, you know, by any standard. Human, elf, and anything else. But he’s not like an elf, a dragon, or fairies. We all age, in one way or another, physically or mentally, but it doesn’t seem like he does. The concept doesn’t mean anything to him. I’ve never had enough data, but I think Vell might be eternal or figure out a way to exist for much longer than the other long-lived races. I was a young man when I met him, and even then he was supposed to be old.”

“That really sounds unnatural.” Sonder said.

"He's comparable to a tree forged from metal or stone, observing other trees. Some are felled, some simply decay, but he remains unaltered throughout the ages. At times, I entertain the thought that nothing in this world could cause him harm, let alone melt or fracture him. But I am unsure."

Sonder's forehead creased as she pictured a metallic tree in her mind. “That sounds lonely. To watch everything change around you while you remain unchanged.”

Languor paused, considering her question. “"Maybe. But Lignin has his own unique form of companionship. He amasses knowledge and tales like others amass memories. Every transformation in the world nourishes his existence, and in some sense, ”

“So he’s like a living library?” Sonder asked, trying to understand what Languor meant. “But what happens when someone’s story ends? He doesn’t just forget them.”

The aged mage shook his head. "No, not forgotten. He preserves them. Each story is a strand in the grand tapestry of existence, and he retains an abundance of them, seemingly safeguarding them indefinitely."

“I am one of those stories.” Sonder asked, saddened.

"Again, maybe. I believe, in a sense, we all are. But knowledge devoid of experience can feel empty. I've come to understand that he grasps the significance of these stories, but he doesn't feel them as we do. He's a custodian of memories, not an actor within them."

“Isn’t he missing something then?” she asked.

"Maybe," Languor responded, deep in thought. "But there's also a certain elegance to that. He can contemplate the essence of existence without being biased. It provides him a unique outlook, a wisdom that is unparalleled."

Sonder's face scrunched up as she mulled over the concept. "Still, I think I'd prefer to experience the suffering and joy rather than merely observe."

“You embody a spirit that many have lost in their journey. It's true that life can be taxing, but of course it also forms the very core of our being. Striking a balance between the memories of pleasure and hardship is a quest we all must embark on.”

“There were times where I wished I didn't exist. Do you think Vell ever feels the same?” Sonder asked.

“Perhaps,” Languor replied, his gaze drifting into the distance. “Sometimes we all do.”