I had stayed behind yesterday as the team went to the South. Today I left with the other team going North, leaving G’Lan in charge of those who would be going the next day, assuming the team from the South returned. At one time there was a cavern this direction. It had been full of the creatures of Darkness. I remember feeling such dread that they had this force so close to Nar’Shal. We Narn had not even known they were there.
I remembered running through the cavern as the creatures exploded, certain I was going to fall and perish for my foolishness. No one but me could enter, but I do not think the Darkness wished me to ever be able to exit. I had always wondered what allowed me into the Darkness.
I told the rest to leave me here. There is no one that lives in this place any longer.
I think of the times in my life where I seem to have power beyond that of a normal Narn. Like when I went into the cavern. Most had not been able to pass. The very grass and animals, even insects were killed by a force of the Darkness that had protected the cavern. At the time I wondered why I could enter but focused more on the fact that I could. There was the lost child (who was never found) otherwise no one could enter. There was no resistance to my entrance then.
Why was I different? I have been sitting here looking down at the place where the stones collapsed, where I was almost crushed under their weight with all of the creatures of Darkness. Thinking about my life. Wondering who I am.
It seems such a simple question.
I am G’Quan. An answer that seems to satisfy the question immediately. But does my name define me? We Narn seek to make the name match the Narn but language is imperfect and a name cannot fit all aspects of even one Narn. The name is defined by me and who I am. So answering G’Quan is a circular argument.
I am a Narn but that answer is too broad.
I am the Leader of the Kha’Ri. Even as the first of the series that does not suffice to describe who I am. That is a profession, not an identity. I chose that role because of who I am, but it is not me.
I am my mother’s son, named by her. Defaulting to an older generation does not bring more weight to the answer.
The thought of who I am requires words that do not exist in my limited language. Language as my tool leaves me tongue tied. The thought goes beyond words, beyond the common senses.
I am male but only a simpleton believe that having a penis defines me.
I am different than my brethren not because of what I am. No. It is who I am. Who I am makes me do these things. And allows me to do these things.
So what will I do now?