"They say every story begins and ends in the Portal of Fate."

These were the first words I heard my father speak, ever since we left
Delport to embark upon our pilgrimage. We had walked all the way from
our home town to the fair city of New Celest, stopping briefly to gaze
into the glittering waters of the Pool of Stars before resuming our
journey. Then onwards by way of the Alabaster road, through the
beautiful Serenwilde commune till we set foot upon the Stairs of the
Last Nine.

It was by an eerie cave on one side of the Path of Solitude that we
stopped to rest and catch a breath, where we met him I had tuned
around to contemplate the view of the great Basin of Life, when the
spell was suddenly broken by my father's words. The first words I
heard my father speak, ever since we began our pilgrimage.

I quickly glanced back to see why my father had made such a curious
comment, and it was then that I suddenly saw him: A tall human
approached us. His stride was slow yet determined. His stare was firm
yet gentle. His shoulders seemed to bear the weight of the world, yet
his stance hinted a certain noble pride. Even the strong winds that
swept down the endless flights of stairs that revolted my hair did not
seem to affect him. Was he a pilgrim? Had he come out from the Portal
of Fate? I did not know.

But my father and the stranger exchanged kind greetings, and before I
knew it, he was walking with us toward the summit of Avechna's Peak.

For the hours that followed, I walked quietly, following the steps of
my father. Repeating mantras in my mind to forgo the bodily needs, in
order to forgo nourishment, sleep, and break the limits imposed by my
frail mortal mind. Once or twice did I hear what the stranger said to
my father, though most was lost to the jealous winds that roamed
freely among the pathways at Avechna's Peak.

"I used to be a soldier," said the stranger with a mournful voice.
"I've counted the scars upon my skin. The weight of this blade feels
right in my hands. It is stained by old blood and it is dented in many
places. I close my eyes and I can still smell a distant battlefield.
The smell of death lingers even after I open them again. I hear my own
voice, giving orders to a faceless legion in my dream. I … I was a
soldier, or perhaps a commander, I'm not sure anymore."

Then he paused, and my father asked him a few more questions, to which
the stranger replied thus: "I have this ring, it bears the name of my
wife." He paused again. "At least I believe she is my wife. I do not
know if she still lives. Nor do I know if we had a home, or a family.
I must have had a home, but I certainly do not remember where that
was."

"I simply awakened in the Portal of Fate one day, without knowing any
of these things. My mind feels like a shattered mirror. I look into it
and I see myself in a multitude of reflections, each, as cryptic as
the one before. I try to put the pieces together and try to rebuild my
own identity, and to a certain degree I think I am correct in my
assertions. But there is one thing that eludes me like a shadow
despite my best efforts to shed light upon it."

"Where do I come from?"

To this, no one could respond. As if the Fates themselves had decided
to erase all his memories concerning his place of origin, there wasn't
a single clue either in his mind, or on his body that could help him
out, and being the human that he was, he could basically come from
anywhere within the Basin. Slowly, I began to sympathize with this man
who longed to find his way home.

Deep within my heart, I knew where I belong to. It is a part of any
living being to have a "place" in this universe. Any mortal creature
without it would only have two choices: To sink into the deepest form
of depression, or to lash away in frustration. I do not know what
would happen to me if I was lost somewhere that I did not recognize,
unable to find my way home … Unable to -remember- where my home was!
Imagine how frustrating would it be to accidentally walk into my home
town, fail to recognize it, and walk away in sorrow unable to find
that inner peace that we all try to attain.

Perhaps that was the reason why this man had come to Avechna's Peak.
Each person had their own motives to walk the granite Stairs of the
Last Nine, and usually people would not share their reasons.
Especially not while performing this holy pilgrimage. But the reasons
this stranger had were obvious to my father and I, and we both gave
him our blessings, hoping he that he would find the answer to his
torment.

The sun was setting beyond the great Razines when we finally climbed
the final steps of the Stairs of Sacrifice and paused to behold at the
colossal temple that housed the ancient Avenger. My father looked at
me, and with a smile upon his face, he put an arm around my shoulders
and we set toward the temple.

But the stranger did not move.

We turned around and beckoned him to us, cheerful, for we thought that
he shared our same destination. But we thought wrong.

With an entranced look upon his face, he began walking with
otherworldly determination toward the summit's western edge. Toward
the fading sun. He was already standing one inch away from the longest
fall known in the Basin of Life by the time we caught up with him. We
called out to him, warning him not to take another step forward. But
once again the man did not move. He stood up straight at the very
borderline of the cliff, with his hands behind his back, firm and
solemn like a true soldier, defying the now frenzied winds that seemed
to recoil away from his haughty attitude. Beyond the Razines the sun
was setting, and we were bathed in a strangely beautiful yet mournful
twilight, that I was never to forget again.

The stranger turned, and we saw the tears upon his eyes, and the faint
smile that tried to appease my father an I. The moment seemed
timeless, until the man decided to speak:

"Perhaps you will never understand, my friends," he said to us. His
voice scraping the deepest part within our hearts, "But this is the
only way that I know of to return to my home. Do not despair, my fate
is mine and mine alone."

And he fell.

Unflinching, he raised his arms above his head and dropped his weight
beyond the edge of that endless drop. Even as my father rushed forward
to save him, I was certain that I saw this man smile at us with that
impossibly blissful smile that went against every single thing I had
learned of life. This man had embraced death as one embraces his loved
ones.

Then as we lay among the rocks at the summit of Avechna's Peak,
looking down toward our fearless friend, we watched him drop straight
down between the jagged rifts of Avechna's Peak, unthinking and
speechless, when a sudden flash of light caught our attention.

"Teleportation," muttered my father in disbelief, pointing downward.
"He's trying to teleport to his Nexus!"

With a face suddenly flushing with understanding I stared wide-eyed at
the crackling bubble of energy that swirled around the stranger as he
fell and fell. The air seeming to move around him in a whirlpool of
glittering lights, as he blinked in and out of existence in an erratic
pattern, but before we were able to see that final burst of light, he
plunged into an ocean of clouds and disappeared beyond out sight.

Did he manage to teleport before he hit the bottom of that abyss?

For the next twenty years I lived a peaceful life, despite the revolts
and power struggles between the great cities, I was always able to
keep my family and myself away from harm. I got married with a very
lovely and sensuous woman, as most women in Delport are, had two baby
boys that constantly competed against each other, and my father passed
away quietly in his bed one starry night. But no matter what the Fates
brought to us, things were good, as we knew that we had to be thankful
for having a home to live in, and to love and to protect, till the day
we were no more.

But the story does not end there. Twenty years after making that
pilgrimage with my father, I decided to take my two sons to visit that
holy place at the highest point of the Basin of Life. There were many
reasons why I undertook this new pilgrimage, but even though I did not
wish to admit it, I somehow thought I might find the stranger there,
standing at the summit of Avechna's Peak, looking toward the setting
sun and getting ready to embrace death once more. His clothing now
reduced to tattered and ashen rags, and his long white hair flowing
and dancing with the wind.

And he was there.

We watched him fall with a trail of swirling colors behind him in that
nostalgic twilight, and things became clear to me. As a creature with
no place to belong to, he had chosen the first path. He had give up
hope and decided to plunge into his own death, cursing the Fates for
bringing him back to the world of the living. But during his fall, he
might have caught a glimpse of his long lost home. Perhaps it was
instinct that drove him to reach out toward his city's Nexus and
attempt a teleport as he fell … But he never made it in time. After
that first frustrated attempt, each subsequent death took another
fraction of his memories away. But his innate instinct to return to
his home compelled him to try again and again, because it was only in
that instant before death, that he could recall the image of his
origin.

It's curious, but I guess my father was right after all this time.

"They say every story begins and ends in the Portal of Fate."