Rest was something foreign in concept and delivery to the recent individual known to themselves and few others as
Sam Fairbridge. Each steady and perfectly timed footfall was imparted upon the ground without care of how many had preceded it, as if it was merely the first, not the hundredth, not the thousandth. Small progress in each endeavour, inch by inch, measure by measure, passage by passage, and the flicker of thoughts and feelings reminded Sam that there was indeed a person to be addressed at all. Boredom too was something almost entirely unknown to Sam, for it was replaced by a diligence to learning, to curious thought, to some small measure of welcome and new feeling as and if it occurred.
These feelings seem to arrive more often than when the laboratory was sealed, Sam thought as the sun shined and the wind gently blew leaves into their vision, Sam lowered their small book as they kept their place with a gloved thumb, and thought of one known to few as Balestro Fairbridge, as Sam was often want to do.
Their former master, creator, and animator had not exactly given Sam the clothes they wore but Sam carried them with far calmer disposition and more benevolent purpose than Balestro ever had. The man had been a torrent of movement and magic, moving from project to project with scorn and fury, a true scorn for wasted time, a tempo that had required Sam's base creation. Now, with Balestro still and no longer moving, Sam walked in the guise of their former master, with copies of Balestro's collected works that Sam had scribed much as he had done in his base state.
No thought of disrespect existed in such a gesture. It just felt right to Sam, it felt correct somehow, and Sam felt utilitarian to the purpose and respect towards the future of the garments. Balestro had left no wishes upon their all too brief deathbed. Sam would not have been thought of as anything more than an unseen servant, even as they gained thoughts and sentience as Balestro lay there gasping, dying, bathed in green light of their own creation from an experiment gone terribly wrong and terribly right for Sam. Balestro had no idea as to the process that had robbed him of his life had given Sam their own freedom to be sentient, instead of a whisp of arcane energy to serve the magi in life. Balestro had only been aware that the two pinpricks of white light that floated in the whisps of black shadow that had assisted him in almost every small task within the laboratory widen as the life ebbed out of him. A trick of the light he thought. Nothing more.
He died among his equipment and servant without any words being exchanged. No lesson for the fledgling thing that existed now where there was thoughtless service before. Time was uncertain in the hermetically sealed place, but after a while, Balestro's things became Sam's, and the learning from all that Balestro had left in place of parenthood began with a fresh mind that felt no fatigue, that felt no boredom, yet felt from time to time in feeling and in thought learned some measure of what it was to be like Balestro. It was a new existence, and Sam cared for it. Cared to learn. Cared to simply be. To act. To will magic into the world.
Slowly came a thought that could not leave Sam. Balestro existed in the knowledge that he had unwittingly left behind in the world for Sam to learn from. Who else might enjoy this knowledge? Was there a way of unsealing the laboratory? And such thoughts brought freedom that had never been craved before that soon yielded it to the young magic user.
The books that Balestro Fairbridge had read, scribed, and bought to expand his collection was now at Sam's service, for Sam had plied a small trade as a merchant. The first exchanges had been awkward, yet serene. Sam had some knowledge of the value of the books, for Balestro was fastidious in scribing the cost of all earned knowledge on the front page in blue ink.
Sam resumed walking, a small manual on the value of prisms and light towards the purification of water being returned to, each line comforting Sam in the assuring tone that only ink could provide. This had no mark of cost upon it, for Sam did not pick up that same habit that Balestro did, but the information was internalised none the less. The lines and value were already memorised, but Sam enjoyed their revision as they read it again now. They felt, and Sam did indeed feel things contrary to their creator original intention of having a mere servant that performed function without perfunctory passages of consciousness and sentience, they felt that it was only the right thing to do before selling the book to someone else.
Knowledge should be shared. Where would I be without it?
And with more coin new foreign books could be acquired, and the terrarium of knowledge could grow from the cycle. Such things Sam hoped for.
So it was that Sam shared the knowledge once again with themselves as they trod upon the ground. Only the passage of light in the sky marked time out for Sam, in binary form. Light enough to read without illumination, dark enough to warrant a dancing mote of light underneath each well loved and appreciated passage.
And now, as they travelled as methodically as they might perform an experiment, with a elongated sense of patience and a lack of attention to how long an hour might become that might render them a point of frustration to others, something flickered. Something familiar. Sam's senses were unusual and alien, and could pick up on the whispers of magic and animation that others might not detect.
Sam looked to the glade that they found themselves within, for no map guided them, yet cardinal north remained within them, and a sense of where 'home' was at all times. The thought that this sensation was more akin to migrating birds than to humanity was not within Sam's consicousness yet. But it might with conversations to come.
The pin pricks of light situated within the blackness that Sam had adopted for themselves so they might best see their own eyes in the sight of a pool of water or a mirror narrowed as their sight scanned the area.
Birds made passes overhead, the clouds moved as Sam remained still and attentive. Sam drank in the stimuli.
“
There,” Sam said with the quietness that was their common way of speaking. Much quieter than the booming tones of Balestro that clamoured for more ingredients, books to be scribed, with an elevated sense of importances as to the task before them. Sam was quiet. And saw much.
Sam made slow approach to what they sensed, for fear of advancing too fast without due attention to how close they might get it. They still held the page open in their book as they did so. It was as if he was stalking something, but instead of prey it was a creature of curiosity and did not wish to startle with sudden movements. An oddity, such as Sam was.
The chest moved. There was a flicker of life within the bones, a deep slumber. Sam knew what sleep was but did not experience it themselves, and found it curious that something that should not rise and fall in dreams should appear as such.
Perhaps this one is as I was. Waiting in some form for the right magic to set them free. They seem to be have been sleeping for a time.
Sam made a decision, and placed down their mighty pack of books and magical devices they had deemed worthy of bringing on their excursion. It weighed more than most adults could lift above their heads, but Sam handled it with endless patience and ability to not damage the carefully packed assortment of things. The magic user reached into the pack and picked out a few items that they knew might serve the purpose and paused as they considered the order of operations.
“
First the components properly arranged, then the gestures, then the words. Yes. Yes as always Sam,” Sam spoke to themselves to further drive them on correctly. They spoke such things because he had seen Balestro speak in such a fashion before they conducted an art of magic. But while Balestro had been booming, self important, and self aggrandizing to build up their courage to command the fabric of reality as a show of conquering the impossible, Sam spoke to assure themselves that they would not make mistake, that they would not waste that which they inherited. They placed their book within their pack and attended their task.
Sam opened a small pouch of silver dust and crushed violets and mixed them together on their gloves methodically so that they were coated in the fine powder.
They stood up from their pack and approached the skeleton that slumbered. They took a moment to gather themselves, extended their hands, and began to speak words that would will the arcane into existence.
“
Who are you that slumbers with life bereft from them, rise once more and know the taste of the earth and air, rise and be known to me, Sam Fairbridge, do as I ask, do as I wish, rise and gain your senses, for slumber shall no longer rob you henceforth.”
The magic activated within Sam's frame, the robes glowing a faint blue as they sensed the will of magic course through them. A trail of purple and silver light beamed across to the skeleton that lay sleeping, and Sam's eyes were small and observant as they controlled the flow of rousing energy that might just bring this one back from the realms of sleep.
Just as that green light roused me from what I was before, I hope I can do the same for you...whoever you are.
Miles Rhodrik Le'Metayer 
