azzy-senpai

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when orlando smith greeted her at the entrance to his new dig site, he called her by name. there was a smile to his face, the way his eyes lit up, the excited gait of his recent discovery.

“over here! over here!” he shouted. “hey there, ----”

but for some reason, looking back on it now, she cannot remember what he called her by.

she sees the movement of his lips, how his mouth forms to speak it, but when she recalls the memory his moving mouth, he is silent.

she tries again, and again. she tries the events before that: the ritual of rejuvenation, when akrisae threw himself in front of her, shouting her name--

“----!”

but he, too, like the death that claimed him, is silent.

she cannot remember the person she was before the events of guthix’s awakening. even the moment before, when cress greeted her, and she told him her name but now--now she cannot remember what she said.

even azzanadra called her by it, and though she cannot remember (why, why), it was fond and hopeful. there was a ring to it. she liked it when he said it, like an old friend. like she was the only one who mattered in that moment.

“----, would you be so kind as to lead us to guthix?”

no one calls her by name anymore. she isn’t ----. she isn’t who she used to be.

“world guardian,” even death calls her, but she knows his name. it is harold. what a wonderful name. what a wonderful memory of a name of the person he was before.

why can’t she remember it like he can?

“world guardian,” the gods say.