Time.  I had not known of such a commodity. Not until a... a year. Yes, I believe you call it a year. A year ago I had no presence of months, days, seconds. But even without the presence of time, My body still feels the sweltering heat ... a mix of sweat and hot metal sticking on to me like dead skin... the light of the arid desert sun reflected on that mirror...  on what seemed like an eternity ago.

I was not raised by men, or whatever you claim my race to be called, but by something whose mere footsteps made the ground tremble. They were roughly more than thrice my height, and skeletal. While their cold metal skin reflected the light of the planet’s twins suns, the presence that could be felt from their bodies were ancient. Their eyes were cold, bright, calculating... but somehow, alive. Their society was based on wisdom, strength, and the most important of all, the ability to show emotion – it was not uncommon for their kind to singularly display fear, anger, or pleasure, but it was exceptional for them to show a wider array of reactions, let alone the full spectrum of human empathy. They were not ones who would lie and deceive, nor would they react for their own intentions. Such taint would not leave them ageless, for most of them I believe were immortal. They never had a sense of time, a consequence foretold by their lack of obsolescence.

I was never told how or why I was brought into their world. I have never seen another of my kind in my travels on that realm, so It was not clear to me whether I was an experiment, a refugee, or a pet. But I have never felt myself be treated as a slave. And because of this, there was enough reason for me to be content. For if ever they have done me wrong, they have surpassed this for what they have done to me. I was taught to hone my body while basking in the rays of the twin suns, while I mimicked and learned from their indifferent and analytical minds during the nights while the Great Moon covered the horizon with its rings. They have taught me artifice: to detect, summon and shape metal at will. I was thorough of their notes regarding the biological aspects of the... realm, but it seems that such life was already scarce. They taught me of mechanics and most of the theoretical sciences, but Philosophy was of their greatest concern. I have been trained greatly in the manner of war – for what purpose confuses me, for I am barely able to hold against any of them in single combat – but I was nevertheless enthralled by their movements and their sheer sense of fighting. Every manner of weapon was taught to me, but I have favoured the spear and ranged weapons as my arms. But the most important of all the skills they have taught me is the ability to comprehend any language that I read; to a much more lighter extent, compared to my ‘caretakers’, but it has proven useful, as I... we would realize later on. All that I learned from them meant everything to me. Everything these beings taught me. These people. My people.

      At this point, I realize that most of the sentient beings in the multiverse have a tendency of not being able to control themselves. As every creature entitled to the doctrine of free will is observed, they are unable to restrain conflict – between themselves, and others. Rallying their cause to the greater likelihood of success, they contend their cause. And in this plane where emotions are greatly valued, it is highly honourable for them to show anger their belief is correct, as crooked as it may seem. This leads to more conflict, through a more physical form; war. It seemed inevitable, the elders have warned, but they do not have the power to prevent such a course. In due time, there came a whole plane-wide uprising, the details I can no longer be sure of. It was senseless, for these ancient and great beings to drown their studies of philosophy with the art of war. But still, it reigned supreme.

Me, as well as the rest of my caretakers were moved to a desert outpost, far from any concentration of fighting. Why we were moved, to save or be saved, was unsure. I have stayed there for what seemed years, bearing the heat of reflected by the twins. Until, of course, the evitable happened. We were attacked by raiders. I was one of the first to see them – they seemed… wilder. There was tint of colour similar to rust in their skin. they seemed overly prepared – they have brought medium-range artillery and siege weapons, which didn’t seem necessary compared to the meagre walls of the fort we were housed in. I have been instructed to flee, but I did not want to leave without fighting for those who raised me, neglecting their orders for the first time in a while. While running towards the main door I was confronted by one of the raiders who managed to get through the huge hole in the wall on the northeast side. He was carrying a huge poleaxe. i slid behind him, aiming carefully for a weak spot of armour near his neck. I didn’t miss, but the beam rifle I used seemed to only annoy him – and to make him aware of my presence. He swung his poleaxe with a wide sweep. I deftly evaded it, but I was knocked away from him due to sheer force. Nevertheless, I charged on. He swung forward, as he seemed to notice that I was knocked by his blow, but I was too fast and I was able to use one of his arms as a branch to stand up on. I barraged his face with beam fire, blinding him. While he groped madly for where I was I took out my sword, latched on to his front armor, and started to stab, and stab, and stab at the vulnerable surfaces.it took a furious amount of effort and a large part of my sword to put him down, evading his hands while cutting through. I lost my balance when he fell. I did not expect then for someone to grab me by the torso. Only when I woke up afterwards that I remember they were the hands of those who took care of me through all this time.

I did not recall how did I get so far from the already destroyed camp, nor did I see anyone familiar near me, dead or otherwise. With nowhere to go, I walked.

High noon. I was getting a little more farther from the ruins of the outpost, a little less than I expect. My breastplate and cloak which was glued on to my skin with sweat felt like dead skin. I made my tongue touch the roof of my mouth. It felt like sandpaper. I saw a glint in the distance. With no purpose nor perception, I used up my remaining energy. A thought washed up from my tired brain: ‘what is that? Was it the tip of a weapon? Or was it a glimmer of a spring? The shining skin of a dead corpse?’ it was none of those things. It was a mirror.  It had four corners, with one corner longer than the rest, sticking through the sand as it is held up. I looked. I did not see myself in the mirror. The damaged breastplate was mine. The beam rifle and the broken sword the reflection held on to was mine. The weathered cloak was mine. But the face. The face was different. It was worn with age. The eyes were dull and indifferent. The hair was long and jumbled in places. It was covered by a thin veil of sand. As I looked on with those dull eyes, I started to realize what I have lost… and what I have gained. The eyes in the mirror welled up with tears in unison with the horror and sorrow that welled up in my heart. I was furious. I was saddened. I was afraid. I dropped the hilt of my broken sword. I gathered the remaining might in my left arm. With all the emotion in me, I struck the mirror with all my might. I remember the light being too bright for my eyes as everything went blank.

End of part 1.