My dreams are but a memory.
What else can be said of my ambitions? I have only ever wanted to give my all for the good of my people. This is what I used to tell myself when reflecting upon what has happened to me. It was twenty years ago. If it feels like a waste of time to discuss my old life, I beg you to indulge me. If you are to understand how I could have gone to the lows I have, it is important that you understand where I came from.
My full name is Gyanda Artix Maloran. I am the youngest born of an elven father and a human mother. I was named for the city in which I was born, oddly enough. It can be very irritating, as to speak of one is to remind any I know of the other. It has been the source of many wearing jokes. It is a name that I am proud to bear, though, for Gyanda is the sacred city of Chaos, the King of the Gods. However, it is the only part I lack any disdain for. After all, it was my ancestor Artix Maloran who helped to seal my accursed fate centuries ago.
I was born with a natural affinity for magic, I'm told. From a very young age, my father would always tell stories of the conscious uses of it during my infancy that I'd otherwise have forgotten. It was from him that I learned to control and responsibly experiment with my power. He and my older brother Alphonse were to be my role models. While Mother tried on many occasions to convince me to become an apprentice to some magister or another, all I ever wanted was to take up the same cause as my father and brothers.
It is little wonder that my mother, a templar general, would be disappointed with my desire to be a spellwarrior. To be frank, I understand nothing about her at all. She disdains the profession of my father and elder brothers and yet, both of them love her. I cannot say whether I have ever shared this bond.
She was always insistent that I distinguish myself from them. Delightful woman that she was, she was certain that my talent would be wasted in their shadow. She is wrong, however, because glory is not my goal. I had nothing but the purest intention in mind when I told my family that I wanted to go to Hem Academy.
It was always my dearest ambition was to serve as one of the elite. The Order of Spellwarriors are defenders of the weak, enforcer of the peoples' justice. While templars exist to relay the commands of the Gods of Fadal to us, it is the spellwarriors who reply with the hopes and fears of mortals. What is deemed unimportant for the Fadalians' touch falls under the sole authority of the Order.
In those days, I was both studious and pious. Though I'm certain you could guess which of these qualities I have since discarded, you would find that same quality would answer any question as to my motivations in youth. I believed that the heroism of the elder men in my family was a sign that it was in their life that the talent with which I was blessed would shine.
And so, it was with the recommendations of three spellwarriors in good standing and a passionate display of magical prowess that I was accepted into Hem Academy. It was this prestigious school that served as the headquarters of the Order and remains the only institution in which potential recruits are trained. And although I yearned to pledge my life for the good of my people, it was when I had finally entered these halls that my nightmare began.
To be fair, my first year was as a dream. It was there that I met some of my oldest friends; sweet memories made bitter with the memory of how each friendship ended. In my furious quest to avenge my stolen future, I ultimately alienated them all. The only one of them who still speaks to me is now my wife. But back then I had them all and I was grateful for their friendship.
Through my rigorous studies, I swiftly absorbed the magical abilities offered in the renowned training program. I could not have been prouder of my academic history, but it has given me a great deal of detractors. I never called for the enemies I made, but they responded regardless, so to speak. The only protections I had were a small circle of friends and my developing spell work. Thankfully, it was enough to ensure that I was rarely ever endangered.
One duel. That's all it took for me to lose everything to which I had dedicated the majority of my life. Among my enemies in Hem Academy, one Ethan Reed should have been remembered as the biggest problem during my studies. And were it not for the very consequences of agreeing to that duel against him, he certainly would have been.
That one duel was the biggest mistake of my life.
The terms were dubious from the start. Early in my second year, my dearest Bellarose lost a precious buckler. This small shield, the last gift of her treasured grandfather, was too precious to accept as gone. Together, our friends collaborated to locate the favored armament, only to discover that it was stolen by Ethan. However, when Bellarose and I confronted him Ethan responded with evidence that the buckler had truly originated from the private collection of a member of our nation's royal family. I believe he was referring to Prince Clark.
It pains me to say that I would have accepted the duel again if allowed to relive that day. When he threatened to report her for her possession of royal property, he said the only way to stop him was if I defeated him in a duel with weapons and without my spells. To protect her, I elected to trade the spells I spent months mastering for a sword with which I had little practice at all.
I had agreed on this match, only to discover that, instead of the training swords we use in our classes, he had come into possession of true bladed weapons. Naturally, though I managed to hold my own at first, the duel did not go in my favor. I fought bravely, but the rest of the fight in me drained through the blood Ethan spilled that day with a cut to my forehead. I lack any recollection of what followed, but the events that transpired will forever haunt me.
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