'Why am I here?' Brind thought. The question wasn't new. They'd been asking it of themselves since the first day their eyes had turned on, and flipped open. As their circuits whirred to life, breaking free of the short reprieve after the body's previous owner had departed. The previous inhabitant had left behind a well-cared-for specimen. Brind's limbs moved quickly and freely, with a practiced grace that betrayed their inexperience. Still, certain things 'felt' right- whatever that meant. Some might call them memories, others might say phantoms. Either way, Brind found a sword in hand, a two-bladed sword, and had rarely set it down since they woke.
After some time they walked. It seemed like the right choice at the time. It would prove fruitful in time. Eventually, Brind stumbled into a group of well-meaning monks. Brind didn't expect to stay as long as they did, and the monks didn't either. Still, they seemed to fit in. The philosophical monks, having pondered many of the same questions Brind was wrestling with, helped greatly, even if little progress was made in the questions themselves. By the time Brind left a year later, they'd learned the basics of humanity. Morality, Honor, the greater good. These concepts seemed to fit. It didn't hurt that Brind received more-than-satisfactory training in the use of their sword.
After Brind decided to leave, they didn't stay long at the monastery. Some of the monks were sad to see Brind go, and others accepted it. Visitors had come and gone. Brind, for their part, was sad. This revelation, their last at the monastery, was truly a blessing. After venturing back to where they'd come from, Brind promised, they'd return. Hopefully having learned something, but certainly better off for the journey.
