Author's Note: I was inspired for this story after meditating and drawing the same result Dilandau does. If any of you feel like trying it, I wouldn't recommend doing this one unless you're experienced with other meditations first. (It always leaves me frustrated and feeling worse than when I started.)


They had left him tied down, alone with his thoughts. Simply left him there, the stone so cold against his back that his skin had begun to go numb. The leather straps had given him raw and agitated stripes across his skin. They didn't mind the blood that he had gotten on their lovely device? It wouldn't come off that leather easily. How long? How long had he laid here, alone? He didn't know. His eyes showed him bright white blurs- the lights above him, he supposed. Not the blessed beam of light come to deliver him from this pain. His ears rang like Asturia's warning whistles. No smell reached him but blood. His blood.

At least the pain reminded him that he still lived.

He laid numbly for minutes- or years - or hours -waiting for someone to come for him. Surely they would come eventually. They had put so much into him, they couldn't throw away that investment now. They were never ones to throw anything away, were they? Even when it had become worn out and should have long ago been cast aside?

When no one came, his mind began to wander.

Who am I?

That's ridiculous, he told himself. I am Dilandau Albatou.

No, that is the name by which I call myself. Who is the I that calls myself by that name?

I am the commander of the Dragon Slayers.

No, that is a position that I hold. Who is the I that holds that position?

He formed a mental image of a pale, comely young man.

No, that is an image I have of myself. Who is the I who has that image?

His thoughts increased speed in his irritation.

I am the one who feels frustrated.

No, that is an emotion I feel. Who is the I who feels that emotion?

Who am I?

Who am I?

He choked.

I…I don't know…