"WAKE UP! Please, you have to wake up!"
"A kid?"
He tried to rise instinctively, but his muscles locked, defying every command. Not exhaustion.
Fear.
"I'm com—" His mouth sealed shut, the words strangled before they could form. Only his thoughts slipped through as phantom hands closed around his throat, tightening, choking, grasping at a voice that would never come.
"Wake up!" The voice kept calling, pleading over and over.
But all he felt were cold hands clinging to him, nails dragging, pulling him further down. The voice faded with every desperate cry until it vanished entirely, leaving him alone, engulfed in nothing but his own thoughts.
Rage surged through him. Veins stood out, his body straining against itself, but nothing moved. His eyes locked in place.
Screaming in eternal silence.
Then a dim light cut through the darkness. Even through the unyielding cold that held him in place, he could feel it. Heat began to creep closer, and soon the faint crackle of embers followed.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
The cry tore from him as if dragged out of some deep and unseen place.
He surged upright with a violent start, breath breaking in his throat, his heart hammering like a war drum against his ribs. One arm clutched tight to his chest, the other already lifted, half-formed into a strike before thought could catch it.
Before him, a fire burned.
Low and steady, its embers crackled as the heat flowed like a living breath, waves of warmth pulsing toward him and carrying a crisp, smoky scent.
Fixated on it, he dragged himself upright, ragged and unsteady, as a deep voice emerged from beyond the flames.
"I see someone is finally awake."
"Where's the kid?!" he screamed, stumbling as he rose, his footing unsure. He caught himself, then drew back into a guarded stance, fists clenched, gaze darting and searching.
From the river, a figure slowly approached.
Water ran from him in silver threads with each step he took into the light, evaporating more quickly the closer he came to the fire. His form came into view, revealing an old man, tall and bare-chested, the glow of the flames tracing the lines of old strength upon him. Scars, long-healed, crossed his skin like faint, weathered runes. No wound lay open upon him, nor did he falter in his step.
"Easy there, human," he said, lifting his hands a little, not too high, just enough to show he wasn't holding anything. His voice dropped softer, looser now, like he was figuring it out as he went. "There's no kid around here. Just you and me."
His breathing came fast and uneven, each inhale sharp, each exhale unsteady. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a sudden wind. He cast a glance behind him.
A great tree stood upon the hill, and behind it the forest gathered thick and deep, rank amongst rank, each thicker than the last, stretching into shadow and leaving no sign of what lay beyond.
He turned again to the clearing. The stranger stood between him and the river, barring that way.
The water not very promising.
There remained the dirt path, faint and narrow, cutting away from the clearing into the open.
Maybe.
"Who are you?" he demanded, still scanning the clearing, eyes never settling.
The old man dragged his fingers back through his hair. The water hissed softly, thinning into steam, curling his hair away in small wisps.
"Look at you," he said. The words came easier this time, less careful, though something in them pulled a little tighter than before. "If I wanted to attack you, wouldn't I have done it by now?"
He drew in a slow breath, then let it out, as if steadying himself before continuing.
"Proper introductions usually work the other way around. But I suppose, given the circumstances…"
He extended his hand, almost formally.
"Naro Bennu."
Drawing in a steadying breath, trying to calm himself. One last glance around, his eyes stinging as his guard lowers slightly.
He looks down.
The shirt sits close to his body, worn soft with use.
The pouch at his side, made with fine craftsmanship.
The pants are sturdy, reinforced in places. Practical.
The boots are scuffed, solid, made for rough ground.
An armguard wraps tightly around his forearm, fitted close against the skin. It's thicker than the rest of his gear, solidly built without adding bulk. Five shallow recesses are set into its surface, each bordered with fine engravings.
None of it seems to be his.
Nothing feels familiar.
"I… I'm sorry. I…" His voice faltered, trailing off as his expression shifted, worry creeping in. He looked back at Naro. "I don't know what my name is."
Naro studies him for a moment, holding his gaze. The confusion lingers on the man's face. He doesn't look away, just exhales slowly.
"A blank," he whispers, then lets out a small chuckle, low and dry.
"Hell of a thing to wake up to."
Nudging his hand a little closer, gesturing for a shake.
"Lucky for you, I got a few beers with no name on them human"
Hesitant, but ultimately lowering his guard, he steps forward and takes Naro's hand.
His eyes never quite meet his, darting instead, searching for anything else to settle on.
"Why…?" he asks, voice catching. "I mean… why are you calling me human?"
Puzzled, still avoiding his gaze.
"I get this is weird, but… why?"
Naro glances at him as he pulls his hand free, pressing his thumb along his jaw, dragging it slowly as his eyes drift off.
"Right. No memories," he mutters.
He clears his throat, gathering the thought.
"You are human. Or at least… were. Otherwise this would be awkward."
He turns toward the fire, one arm lifting over his shoulder as he moves.
Wings stretch across his back, inked in deep crimson. The feathers glow faintly, brightening with every step he takes.
From the other side of the pit, he calls back "I'm what you'd call a Viren..."
He crouches down, casually picking up two skewered fish with nothing but his bare hands, hesitating before clearing his throat. "Ummmm... well, there are a lot of names for beings like me, but Viren is... well, me."
Shrugging, he heads back over, smoke curling from his hands as he extends one of the fish out.
Facing it, the scales shimmered burnt amber, catching the light, impossible to look away from. The flesh had split open, skin breaking apart just enough to let the steam and smell seep out, hooking him in.
His stomach answers before he can stop it, a low rolling growl that gives him away completely. Looking at Naro with wet eyes, he reluctantly accepts it. Hesitant, drawing on the last of his strength, he waits, waiting for Naro to take the first bite.
Naro's gaze settles over him, finding the wariness rooted in tension. Taking a step back, he says with a lightness to his voice, "Come on, don't let it get cold." He takes a large first bite, then turns and makes his way toward the wide tree at the edge of the clearing, stepping into the shade of its canopy before reaching up into the leaves above, pulling his bag free from where it sat tucked out of sight.
Seeing Naro eat without hesitation, he closes his eyes and takes his first bite. The salt hits him first, crunching through as he breaks the skin, revealing a rich tender flesh beneath, leaving a light umami aftertaste. Eyes open, his palate dancing with flavor.
Taking another bite, Naro notices the small smile forming on his face, the way he was inhaling it.
"Easy there," he says with a chuckle. "Before you finish that, I want notes on it."
"Sorry... it's just so good," he replies, mid licking his fingers. "The mouthfeel, the aftertaste..." he almost chokes, forcing himself to swallow. "Oh, that really hits the spot."
Relieved, Naro takes a small exhale, slightly disappointed at the response yet still forming a smirk, stunned at the rate he had devoured the fish while still working through his own. "At least you enjoyed it."
Walking up to Naro, he quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his thumb lingering at his lips, confused. He covers his mouth as he burps. "Sorry..." he mumbles before straightening his posture and asking, "Alright, what's a blank?"
Mumbling through a mouthful, forcing the words out, "'Blank' is what we call people who arrive here with no memories." Swallowing hard, he digs into his bag and pulls out two oversized cans, flicking one toward him. "Humans, or humans who were something else. It's from..." knocking the can lightly against his temple, "Latin, I think," he says before popping it open, carbonation spilling over his hand.
Locked on the bag, the can clips his hands, slipping before he catches it with the tips of his fingers. Slowing lifting the can, holding it in view against the bag.
"Umm..." he murmurs, "What… what is that!?"
Naro's eyes moved over him as he raised the can to his lips, drawing a long pull before his body settled, the exhale leaving him slow and quiet.
Chickleing. "After all that—" swirling the can, as the fizz knock against the aluminum "—I needed it."
Holding it out for a moment, turning it over in his hand. "I believe it's called beer."
A finger rose past his can, trembling toward the bag.
"I was referring to that."
"What?... I mean how?!." Eyes fixated on the bag. "How did you pull two of those out of there?"
"What? the pouch? It's enchanted, I think its called...." Eyes drifting somewhere past him, the word sitting just out of reach. "Magic."
"Magic?"
His voice cracks as he stares at Naro, jaw slack. "Wait… magic is actually real?"
Naro doesn't answer, just points at the pouch hanging from his waist, utterly unfazed.
Looking down, he slowly grabs it, hesitating on the clasp.
"I don't even know if this thing is mine," he mutters. "How do you know it's magic?"
Glancing back at Naro, he catches the smug look on his face.
Frowning, he unclips the pouch and turns it over in his hands. Running his fingers over the seams, he notices small bumps beneath the fabric.
Taking a closer look, he sees golden threads woven through the stitching in strange, jagged patterns.
Grabbing his things, Naro steps out of the shade before dropping into the bright green grass, tucking the pouch beneath his head.
"You gonna stare at it all day or what, kid?"
Irritated, he loosens the knot and carefully peeks inside.
Nothing.
Just darkness stretching far deeper than the pouch should allow.
"There's nothing—"
"Use your hand," Naro says, relaxing back into the grass. "Reach inside. Think of something you own—or might own. The bag will show you whatever's closest to that in your memory."
Shaking his head, he plunges his arm inside.
His hand sinks past his wrist, his elbow, then his shoulder.
The pouch seems endless as his arm sinks deeper inside.
His fingers brush against something solid.
Fabric. Thick and Heavy.
"I—I think I've got something."
Turning his head, Naro's eyes narrows with interest. "Well, come on, pull it out."
Gripping the material with one hand and the pouch with the other, he watches with widened eyes as the opening stretches around the item, clinging tightly to it as it emerges.
Sunlight pierces through the leaves above, glinting off the polished dark-brown leather of the vest.
turning the vest over in his hands, fingers brushing across the leather he could feel some bumps. Three fitted metal latches run down the front, refelcting off the beans of light.
Inspecting it closer, golden threads stand out as they weave through the stitching in intricate patterns, blending seamlessly into the armor.
Lowering his gaze, he finds layered flaps hanging around the waist like skirt plates, overlapping one another with faint emblems etched along their edges.
"Well, would you look at that," Naro yells, eyeing the brigandine. "Lucky you, Badger. With a K, apparently."
Looking over at him, he sees Naro pointing toward the back.
Flipping it over, he finds an engraving etched across the leather:
BROCK
"Badger? The engraving says Brock. Can't you read English?"
He yell toward Naro, brows lifted in confusion.
"English? What? I thought you were speaking—"
Naro groans, rolling his eyes.
"You're telling me all that work was for nothing?"
Taking another swig before lying back down.
"Don't worry about it, kid." he said defeated
"I guess my name is Brock," he mumbles as he continues to amire the work, while his thoughts were scramminbleing, trying ot remember anything about it.
"You gonna put it on or just admire it?" Naro calls, eyes closed as he basks in the sun. "It's not getting any less impressive."
Shaking his head, he threads one arm through, the leather catching briefly on his arm guard before he forces it past and slips the other through.
Fastening the straps with a satisfying click, the armor fits snug yet not restrictive, almost like a second skin.
Taking a few steps, he feels the armor shift naturally with his movements, the layered plates flowing like water despite the leather feeling thick enough to stop a blade.
"It's perfect," he wishpers.
"Looks elven-made, but modified for a human," Sitting up now, Naro studies the piece, pointing toward the midsection. "See the cuts between the waist and the skirt plates? Whoever made this spent a fortune on it. Armor like this would make a dwarf drool, I remember when—"
Cutting himselft of, changing his tone while a few cracks remain in his voice
"Umm… never mind."
Brock's eyes widen.
Dwarf.
The word sticks in his mind as the realization settles in.
Magic is real.
So what else is?
Fairytales?
Monsters?
Picking up the much-needed can of beer, he cracks it open and takes a slow sip.
Sweet.
Cold.
A faint bitterness lingers afterward.
Lowering the can, he lets out a quiet breath.
Burp.
Lightly pounding his chest, he winces.
"Sorry... I mean, excuse me. That is smooth."
Looking over at Naro, already laid back in the grass enjoying the sun, Brock hesitates before finally speaking.
"Where... where am I?"
The words stumble out unevenly, forcing him to try again.
"I mean, if magic and monsters are real... am I dead? Am I in heav—?
His throat tightens.
"Hell?"
Panicking, he almost spills his beer.
Placing it down, he presses his fingers against his neck, feeling his pulse pounding beneath them as his eyes lock onto Naro.
Chuckling, Naro sits back up, crossing his legs before downing the rest of the beer.
"Was wondering how long it'd take for you to ask that." tossing the empty can back into his bag. "And I'm happy to say you're stuck here with us in the Trails."
Rummaging through his pouch, he pulls out a large wavy hat.
"Personally? If I had to guess, you either made a very stupid deal with somebody dangerous... or pissed off someone even worse." His eyes flick toward the armor. "Though judging by that thing, I'd say the latter. Either way, you got dumped here."
"TRAILS? What are you talking about?" he yells, dragging a hand through his hair as he struggles to make sense of it all. "I have a life to get back to! How do I get back? Where's the nearest town?"
His voice falters.
"There has to be some way to send me back... right?"
Looking at Naro, he finds nothing in his expression except quiet concern.
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asks softly.
"I... I..."
The words refuse to come.
Dropping back into the grass, Brock throws his left arm over his eyes, the armguard shielding him from the sunlight.
What's wrong?
A kid's voice calls to him.
Two children flash through his mind. A small boy clutching a bow, black veins crawling along his hand, and a taller girl with bandaged arms and oversized knuckle dusters.
Their faces blur beyond recognition, yet somewhere deep inside, something pulls at him to go back to them.
"Kids..."
he says quietly.
Getting back up, he looks over at Naro, still wearing that same disappointed expression.
"A boy and a girl." Confidence finally slips into his voice. "I have to get back to them."
Naro smirks slightly. "Looks like you aren't a total blank."
Laying back down and pulling the hat over his eyes, he points down the river with one hand.
"Look kid, town's that way. Watch out for shady merchants. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a long-awaited nap to get to. Wake me up later... or better yet, not at all."
"Kid"?
The word echoes in his head. Something feels off, like a piece of himself slipped away unnoticed.
Picking up the can and chugging the rest before stuffing it into his pouch, he steps out of the shade.
As the sun fully hits his skin, warmth spreads across him.
Alive.
He makes his way past the crackling firepit and toward the river.
Leaning over the running water, searching for his reflection.
There he is.
Studing his face, turning slightly every few seconds, checking it from every possible angle. For a moment, it feels like he hasn't seen it in ages.
Scratching his chin again, he pauses.
Smooth. Hairless.
Strange.
It feels like something important is missing.
Running his fingers through his hair, noticing how thick it feels, falling roughly to the length of his index finger.
Dipping a hand into the river, combing it to one side, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar image staring back at him.
Eventually, his gaze settles on his own blue eyes.
Young.
Younger than he expected.
As if something about him had been rewritten, or worst taken.
Seeing Naro clearly didn't want to be disturbed, a creeping sense of dread settles in.
The reality of magic still sits heavily in his mind.
Shaking the thought away, he turns toward the dirt path, setting his sights on town