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It was dark. Utterly, completely dark.
Nothing moved.
Nothing stirred.
Everything was silent.
What am I?
Then, a voice: "Your name will be Mog."
So, that was my name.
A voice echoed inside my head, warm but loud!
Suddenly, everything began to tremble and fall apart.
Something woke within me, humming and bright, and then… I was.
I had a shape!
But aches followed, and I felt heavy, stuck.
I didn't know things. Not really. But voices whispered to me, like secrets.
Merion's voice was close, one of my Creators.
He said they were making me Azram's mages and that I was to be something:
A living being called Phantasmal Golem!
He explained it all later, slowly, patiently, like teaching a child.
"Phantasmal" meant I was made of two things: earth, like the stones forming me, and magic, crackling in the air around us.
"Golem" meant I was made to protect, to serve.
I was to keep things safe, maybe fight.
They were trying so hard, I could tell. They wanted to be the best, for everyone to see them. Merion said they were ambitious, driven to make a name, to be remembered.
They went to a high, broken place where the wind made strange noises. I felt a buzzing all around.
"Merion said it's name Mt. Molrock. A broken place of stones and wind. Power live there bright and heavy."
They intended to use that magic to make me!
"This is it!" Olen boomed.
"Circle," Greo murmured.
"We do it," Merion affirmed.
They worked long hours, shaping and speaking. I felt them pushing, Merion said, casting a summoning spell, drawing on the ruin's ancient energies to bring me into being.
"A dragon!" Olen shouted.
"Maybe…" Greo whispered.
"We do it," Merion repeated.
Then something happened. Light exploded. The air shook. Everything broke.
The air felt sharp. I felt something. The circle sparked.
Olen made a noise.
Greo did something.
Merion did something.
Then I was.
But it was wrong.
Olen was silent.
Greo was still.
Merion didn't move.
I was.
Meri-on. I made a noise, pointed.
O-len. I pointed.
Gu-reo. I looked.
Olen spoke, voice high and shaky. "Oy! What kind of monster are you?! You cursed us?! Didn't you?!"
He said no.
He said gone.
I am.
What am I? I looked at my hands big, made of stone. I tried to move my fingers; they clunked. I felt heavy, confused.
"What's happening?" Olen's voice, a whimper. "I can't feel my mana! It's gone! Merion! What do we do?"
Merion didn't answer, staring at the ground, face a mask of despair, arms burned, black, broken.
"Damn it!" Olen cried. "This is all wrong! I wanted to be a great wizard! I wanted everything! Now it's all gone!"
He began to cry, loud, snotty sobs echoing in the broken ruin.
I looked at Merion, still unmoving.
"Merion?" My voice rumbled, slow. "What do I do?"
No answer.
I looked at Greo. Still. So still.
"Greo?" I said.
Nothing.
I was Phantasmal Golem.
Made to protect.
But there was nothing to protect.
Made to serve.
But who was I to serve?
Olen was broken. Merion was broken. Greo was gone.
What was I for? What was I supposed to do? What now?
After my creation, Master Merion stayed with me while Masters Olen and Greo returned to Azram for healing Greo especially needed it.
I asked, "Master Meri-on… Am I bad?"
"Oy! What's gotten into you? Why do you ask that?" he replied, surprised.
"Master Olen and Master Greo said I put a curse on them," I said, tilting my head a habit I'd developed.
Master Merion sighed, staring at his bandaged arms. "It's complicated, Mog. It wasn't your fault."
"Master, I want to do something for you," I said, stepping closer.
"Hah, don't need to, Mog. It's alright. Before we created you, we decided we would take complete responsibility. This is the consequence of our foolishness… we deserved it."
Ignoring him, I put my hard, rock hands on Master Merion's back.
"Oy! What are you doing, Mog?" he asked, startled.
I channeled my mana into his body.
Master Merion started to glow blue, smiling. "It's warm… It's been a while since I last felt mana flow inside me…"
"I'm happy to see you happy, Master," I said.
"Hmm… do you know why we called you Mog?" he asked.
My head tilted. "No, Master."
"M stands for Merion, that's me. O stands for Olen, although he was against it at first… oh well. And G for Greo. He was the one who thought of it."
Hearing this, I felt something warm inside my hard body.
"What is this, Master?" I asked.
"That's called emotion, Mog. Feelings. All living creatures have them. It means you're alive, and you must keep living," Master Merion said, smiling.
One day, he bid farewell, saying he would return to Azram but promising to come back.
"Be a good boy and wait. I'll be back," he said, waving.
But deep down, a part of me that still desperately wanted to believe knew it was a lie. My masters would never be coming back.
Years passed after Master Merion left. I counted days and nights. Snow fell, snow melted, spring came. Birds played, singing, riding on my hard rock body.
And then... A voice..
"Oy!! Are you alive??"
"Who… who are you?" I asked, surprised.
I moved after a long time, lost my balance, and fell on my back. The sound echoed through the mountain. Master Merion told me to be a good boy… I didn't want to cause trouble for the people who lived at the foot of the mountain.
"Hahaha, you're funny…" a voice said. "Like the not-with-metal-hammers funny."
"Who… who are you?" I asked, rising.
"I'm Rynveil, nice to meet you. I'm wandering the world to enhance my rune forging skills. It's a dream of mine."
"Dream? What is that?"
"Huh?? You're a weird one. You don't even know what a dream is…"
Suddenly, a low, guttural howl echoed through the mountains, answered by a chorus of snarls, closer now.
Rynveil's eyes widened. "What's that?"
Before I could figure it out, a pack of massive wolves each with thick, black fur and wickedly curved horns emerged from the treeline, eyes glowing.
"Horned Wolves," Rynveil breathed. "Nasty creatures."
They advanced, circling the ruins.
"They want the ruins," Rynveil said, readying his dagger.
Something stirred within me. Annoyance? They were disturbing the peace of the mountain, the place I was meant to protect.
I stepped forward, my stone body radiating faint blue light. I focused, channeling Mt. Molrock's magic. A shimmering barrier sprang into existence around the ruins.
The lead wolf lunged at the barrier, slamming into something, sparks flying from its horns. The others joined in, but they couldn't get through.
Rynveil lowered his dagger, astonished. "Wow… how did you do that?"
I rumbled, my voice echoing. "I… It's my job to protect this place."
The wolves circled, eyes fixed on us. The air felt heavy.
"Looks like they're not giving up," Rynveil said, glancing at me.
The cavern echoed with the screech of metal against stone, the air thick with dust and the acrid smell of ozone. Stalactites trembled.
"Mog! Remember when I asked for your help at Mt. Molrock? This time, I'm going to help you! I won't take no for an answer!" Rynveil shouted, dodging falling rock.
Mog's eyes flashed from red to blue as memories flooded back faces of his creators, warmth of Merion's smile, the promise he had made. For a moment, things felt like they might be alright.
But then, Mog's body twitched. The Grexcion crystal in his forehead blinked.
Dark red sparks covered Mog's frame, sending shocks through his rock body.
"Grahhhhh…" Mog growled.
"Oy, Mog! What's happening?!" Rynveil shouted, panic in his voice.
Then, something became clear: The corruption wasn't gone when Mog's memories returned.
Gideon's lifeless body resonated with black and red sparks.
"No way…" Kinon whispered, horrified.
"Damn that freak! He swallowed a corrupted crystal and planted one on Mog as well…"
"Even in death, Gideon was mocking us."