The knight took another step, feeling the ground beneath his feet—a sensation he thought he would never feel again. He remembered that his pyre had been much like the ruined building that burned now behind him. Yet, something was missing, something that danced just beyond the edge of memory.
Flinn shook his head in confusion. “Not something,” he said to himself. “Someone.” But he couldn’t remember who. Soon he would remember—as he learned his powers, he would remember. “I must build my strength,” he stated.
“Since when do dead men have to build their strength?” a voice asked from behind him.
Flinn slowly turned. His eyes narrowed with remembrance.
“You don’t remember me,” said the stranger flatly. “That’s no surprise. You’ve been dead quite some time.”
“And who are you?” Flinn asked.
“Do you remember anything? About who you are, who you knew. Who you loved?”
Flinn shook his head. “No. Very little.”
“Then let me help you remember. Your name is great in these lands—of course, partly due to me. Your name is Flinn … Flinn the Mighty.”
Flinn nodded, trying the name out on his lips. He felt no threat from this stranger and guessed it was somebody he had known in his mortal life. Blinking, Flinn pointed down to the remains of a body on the ground, “Who was that?” he asked.
The stranger paused introspectively before replying. After a moment, he said, “That was your greatest enemy, a dragon named Verdilith. He took your form in perfection, as there is a perfect copy of everything on the Plane of the Dead. It was one of the many events that allowed you to return to this world.” The stranger eyed the column of light. “Let’s go. It’ll drain both of us of our souls unless we get away from it. Besides, you’ve much to learn before you can destroy that thing.”
“Very well.”
Flinn let himself be led away from the pillar of light, the pillar that was the gateway to his enemy; As he walked, he asked, “What is your name?”
“Braddoc, of Rockhome, of course.”