It was a timeless void into which They were birthed.

  It is wrong to say at first they experienced no time, because there was no first for them to experience. Existence was the present, and everything, and now.

  The ability to experience time depends on one’s ability to remember their past, and They had not that ability.

  That was why when They arrived, or popped into existence, or simply became, They had no experience of such a thing. There was no past for Them to remember. There were no events. In fact, They had no head for those events to exist in in the first place, but it seems that wound up being unimportant.

  It wasn’t until the Voice came that They recognized something as passing, as existing in the past.

  “Hello Voyager. It is time for you to choose.”

  Voyager. That was Their name.

  An event now had happened, one which sparked off their own thought processes. Something to differentiate Their existence and Their experience. The voice was gone now, an event that had already happened. Already a new one was taking shape, giving them new sensation, new differentiation.

  Three figures, somehow known to be people, stood in front of Voyager. Voyager recognized the people were standing on small patches of grass and dirt in the midst of a white void. They hadn’t realized it was white before, because it was the only thing.

  These three reference points, three people, formed a perception of space, and Voyager found They had the ability to move through it. The means of locomotion weren't apparent and weren’t important, They simply moved.

  They drifted forward to inspect the figures. A man, a woman, and a boy. Rugged, noble, and rebellious. Voyager had to choose one of them. What for, They couldn’t say. Purposes like that were not clear from the simple circumstances that They knew.

  An arbitrary choice, so Voyager picked the first one: the man.

  They drifted close and observed him for what he was. He seemed to be the oldest of the three, maybe in his 40s. His hair was long and brown, still healthy and full. The woman was taller than him, but Voyager associated no further meaning than that. Despite his age, he looked healthier than her though, with strong hands, and broad shoulders.

  The voice spoke again through a sound that was not a sound. “You have chosen your first Voyage. Now awaken, and discover your own life.”

  * * *

  Jarod was in a tavern. His arms were sore from his blacksmithing work earlier today, but he felt content with a warm meal and a healthy amount of ale in his stomach. The tavern was crowded today. Performers from the city had arrived at their village, and everyone who could squeeze into the small building crowded around the stage to watch.

  It was noisy here, filled with more sounds than Voyager had ever heard. No, wait, he’d heard these all before. He, Jarod, recalled both his history in the village of Cleftshire, and of his memory in that void with the voice. He was in the world now, living as the person he had chosen with all their memories and experiences, what they amounted to at least. Just as he understood his history, he had some innate understanding of the world. Enough to understand that other people didn’t originate from a boundless void and choose their existence, or at least, if they did, they didn’t talk about it.

  A gentle touch resting on his shoulder. Jarod turned around to see Basma, one of the barmaids, leaning down to speak in his ear over the din of the performance and cheering patrons.

  “Another drink, dear?” she asked.

  Jarod experienced the exchange as a routine, one they’d done many times before. Basma’s thumb pressed into his shoulder, relieving some of the stress from swinging a hammer all day. The reply came naturally to his lips. He was glad the first words he spoke in this body weren’t ones he had to think strongly about.

  “Well, maybe just one more,” he said.

  Basma smiled, as she always did, and gave his shoulder a squeeze before leaving. He knew not to think anything more of the exchange, that it was a barmaid just doing her job, but it still felt nice to have the attention.

  His focus was caught now by the performers on-stage. A couple of them were playing the lute and drums, while another sang proud and loud.

  Stole a Cartwright’s girl in Hammersmede, for I wished her soon to wed.

  Cooked her food and brought her home, and showed her to my bed.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  But when I told her my intent, she told me: “go to hell”.

  She sent me flying on my ass then laughed and bade me well.

  Voyager felt himself being compelled and drawn into every one of Jarod’s instincts and habits. He felt as, slowly, they became his own. The way he leaned back in his chair, stretching out an upper back that was tight from behind hunched over an anvil all day. Only lightly gripping his nearly-finished mug of ale as his meaty fingers held it fast in his hand. Even how he glanced around the room at every smack of wood on wood, anticipating danger, but finding only rowdy patrons, laughing and leaning back precariously in their chairs.

  The performers finished their song, and Jarod joined in the applause. A man sitting next to him leaned over to make himself heard to Jarod over the noise. The man was Wilfurd, a friend of sorts to Jarod. One he’d grown up and shared his early life with.

  “Wouldn’t mind nabbing a girl like that myself.” Wilfurd nudged Jarod with his elbow and pointed to the lute player on stage. “Someone with a little bit of talent and a pretty face. I could show her a thing or two about tending to the fields, if you know what I mean.”

  Jarod flashed as much of a smile as he could muster, but was saved from having to engage further when Basma came back with another ale for him. He drained the dregs of the mug he held and traded the empty one for a fresh one. The foamy head just barely spilling down the sides, and he brought it up to savor the fresh pour.

  “Not looking to run off with some city girl, are you Wilfurd?” asked Basma.

  “No running off for me,” said Wilfurd. “But I could convince her to stay. All’s I need is a night at her room in the inn.”

  Basma put her hands on her hips. “You think of trying to pull anything tonight and I’ll make sure that Esther Foxlove you’ve been fawning over hears all about it.” She was only half kidding.

  “I would… pah, don’t worry about me.” Wilfurd spluttered a response out, trying to keep the cocky look on his face in spite of his embarrassment. “I’m serious about that Esther, just you wait and see. A man can’t help himself when he sees the new sights come into town, that’s all.”

  Satisfied, Basma dropped off Wilfurd’s withheld drink, and moved onto the next table with her tray of food.

  After the brief interlude to wet their throats, the performers introduced their next song. Musical visitors from the city always invited people from the nearby villages, and the tavern was packed tonight. Unfamiliar faces dotted the crowd, packing themselves into every table and corner they could find room to sit or stand. Jarod even saw someone with a thick hood still up who he suspected might be half-beastmen. Basma had her work cut out for her tonight, keeping up with all the visitors and trying to keep the more rowdy townsfolk in hand for the night. Jarod settled back though, with a fresh drink in hand, he was just going to enjoy the festivities.

  While the musical trio continued to provide the night’s entertainment, Jarod had time to take stock of the strange position he found himself in. He could still remember the strange void where he’d first seen the body of Jarod that he now inhabited; could still remember the ethereal voice telling him to make a choice. He knew that he’d become this new person with all the memories they had lived through before, but still felt as if he was, well… himself.

  Is there another soul inside this body fighting for control? Jarod wondered. I can tell from my new memories that an experience like this isn’t normal. Has it happened to me before? Was there anything before that void I found myself in? The void was the furthest thing back he could remember, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something before. Perhaps he’d been displaced from a body in a similar manner to whoever this new person had been. Assuming there was actually another soul there before him.

  It was a disorienting experience, arriving at a new place as a new person without any understanding of how you’d gotten there. Somehow though, it just seemed like the right place to be, and Jarod knew from some intuition before he’d become himself, that he had a whole life to live now.

  He pondered over these thoughts as the night wore on. Basma came around a couple more times, each time telling him it was his final drink. Despite the inner turmoil of the strange situation, he found himself happy. Happy to be in a warm place with music and food and drink.

  The musicians announced their final song to cries of disappointment from their captivated audience, but it was getting late, and there would be work to be done in the morning, so the crowd relented. The final song changed in tone from the festive and upbeat music of earlier. The final song spoke of adventure. Brave heroes travelled to distant lands, fought their enemies, and rescued the kingdom. It was here where Jarod realized that, though he might be happy, he wasn’t content with his life. He craved that adventure sung about in that song. It was something core to his being, something that demanded to see the world and make his name in it.

  With a final chord and a couple beats on the drum, the song came to a finish. Jarod applauded along with the rest of the tavern as the performers gave bows. The singer hopped down off the stage, hat in hand, seeking donations to fund the next leg of their journey.

  From the whoops and hollers coming from a section near the front of the stage, it sounded like some of the guests to Cleftshire weren’t ready for the night to be over. Others of them were eagerly leaving, hoping to make it back home by the moonlight before it got too dark, or wanting to find a bed for the night before they were all filled. Jarod decided it would be smart to pay off his tab and drop a few coins in the singer’s hat quickly to avoid the rush out of town.

  Basma gave a curt nod as he walked past. “Careful out there tonight dear. Some of our guests are getting a little too eager for more of a show tonight.”

  Jarod dropped off his money, then danced around a very drunk group in fine clothes blocking the doorway. He narrowly avoided being splashed by a swinging mug of ale by ducking under an arm, and out into the cool night air.

  The greater moon was bright tonight, hanging overhead like a steady watching eye. The lesser moon was nowhere to be seen, though a slim crescent as it was this time in the cycle, it wouldn’t have provided much extra light. Not that it was necessary. What wasn’t illuminated by the moonlight glowed warmly from the torches of the tavern’s visitors.

  It was the glowing torches of a visiting carriage that drew Jarod’s eye to the man perched like a bird in the driver’s seat. He wore a dark black cloak, heaping in excess around him. Even the mounds of fabric could not contain his curious stature. Jarod thought the man was standing up when he first spied him. Looking closer though, he could see the man was hunched over, knees drawn up to his chest. The length of the driver’s torso must have been nearly 6 feet on its own. He must have been well over 10 feet tall if he stretched out all the way.

  There was little time to ponder over the hunched man however, for at that moment, Jarod felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and sprawled forward onto his knees.