It is every human's dream to fly or at least that is what it said in a book Blank liked to read. There were so many stories about the world above and the wonders about what it would be like to fly. He'd assumed that his ancestors or at least the whimsical persons who wrote these stories were lunatics, dreaming of something they couldn't achieve. But there was such a feeling of wanting left between the pages that he couldn't tear his eyes away. Perhaps it was the same feeling that led him to Origin Station.

The sun rose high in the sky and it was a few hours past lunch time. Some adventurers were going out to make their next mark on the world but he wanted to stay behind for awhile, just sit back and think. There were so many things running through his mind. He'd heard of airships and trains and the likes but never saw them a day in his life that he could recall.

That I can recall.

Although he came to terms with not being able to remember anything from his past, it only made it that much more irritating. He could read and read as much as he wanted but there were no stories about him. There were no tales speaking about his deeds or whether he was a hero or a villain. Nothing at all to be found because he didn't exist in this world.

I suppose Blank was a good name for me.

He climbed the steps to the station although his jaunty steps were sullen and dragging now. But as he heard the grinding of metal and the whirring of propellers, his head lifted and he stared with awe at the sight in front of him. The awe being so powerful that it made him forget that he was standing in the midst of a crowd rushing inside of the station. Someone knocked into him from behind and turned around.

"Oh, sorry."