His body was bleeding everywhere, and the scent of pine and wet earth was far behind. Peteson could only focus on the hands on his body, invading every corner and filling it with new wounds, marking him until his body no longer seemed to have a shape.
He remembered shouting, but he couldn't recall why.
He only shouted, and those symbols were forcibly imprinted on him, hunting him.
He wasn't alone, with a group of people around him, but their eyes were not friendly. It was like they were looking at an animal or something non-human.
He wasn't alone, but he felt alone.
Peteson shuddered and tried to move away, to ask for help, but was met by the bodies of his dead comrades on the ground.
He remembered wondering if it would end like this, eagerly accepting that fate.
He remembered that and more, but not why and how he ended up there.
He didn't remember.
Peteson didn't remember.
He simply didn't—
"Stop!" With his body on fire, and sweat accumulating on his back, Peteson leaped up in a single motion, moving in an instant.
It was the second time he had woken up so disoriented, but it was still strange.
Everything was burning, and the pain from before returned. His head pulsed with every ragged breath he took, and—
"It seems you're awake." Green eyes met honey, and the memories began to float in all at once, which was wrong.
He was no longer in the water.
He was free.
Peteson no longer needed to swim, so why was he still floating…?
Holding his head as if it were going to explode, Peteson let out a painful groan, which came out as a growl in the wooden room, "...Where am I?"
Everything was spinning, so against his instincts, Peteson completely closed his eyes and lay down on what seemed to be a bed.
A bed couldn't, shouldn't, be this comfortable… Were these silk sheets?
"You're in one of my houses." The voice was the only thing Peteson would focus on, and in the whirlwind of his mind, it was the only stable thing.
Rising from the chair she was in, the nameless woman approached Peteson, touching his forehead with her cold hand.
"You have a fever." Peteson exhaled a shivering sigh, sinking into the cold hand as if it were his salvation. "You shouldn't be like this; the lake healed you."
Peteson didn't know what she was talking about, "It's your fault… you broke me."
The cold hand withdrew suddenly, and if Peteson had had the strength, he would have complained, "Does your body hurt? Your throat? Do you feel cold or hot?"
The series of questions began, but Peteson just sank into the comfortable bed, trying to shut out the outside globe, and in a way, he succeeded.
His body alternated between being awake and asleep, with his consciousness coming and going. Even in these states, Peteson could feel the green eyes on him and the wet rags on his forehead and parts of his body.
At one point, when his body was shivering from the cold, one of the blankets was taken away, and Peteson tried to cling to it, "You're burning up; you're only going to roast yourself if you stay covered by the blanket."
Peteson shook his head, "It's cold…"
The blanket went away, along with his consciousness, and Peteson just kept dreaming.
Sometimes he dreamed of meadows and running after sheep with furry dogs, and other times it was just darkness.
It was like this until his body could no longer endure, and his temperature changed drastically, alternating between clinging to the bed's sheets as if his life depended on it or not being able to even have his new pair of clothes on due to the heat.
Cold.
Hot.
Temperatures unrelated but rapidly alternating in Peteson.
When he could recognize his surroundings well enough, a spoon was thrust into his mouth, and Peteson would have fought it if his stomach hadn't roared happily at having food in it.
It didn't taste very good, but it was a pleasant warmth in his stomach.
"Don't throw up; the vegetables are expensive…" That same voice again.
Opening his eyes, Peteson looked at the figure in front of him, "Why are you helping me?"
"...As I said, we started off on the wrong foot."
"But you're from Threta." Peteson continued eating, but now with doubt.
The woman in front of him attacked him one moment and was taking care of him the next.
Even worse, she was from Threta.
Sundai and Threta were powerful nations, both close territorially, so it was logical they would fight over the resources of the Tropic continent. Peteson was from Sundai, and although his hair wasn't the characteristic red colour of Sundai people, his honey-coloured eyes were a sign of his origin place.
He was from Sundai, and, above all, a Dai soldier, so it wasn't logical that someone from the opposite side would be helping him. Before dying, Peteson had been in battle with Threta soldiers, for the Gods.
"I don't know how or why you came to that conclusion, but I'm not from Threta." For the first time, Peteson stopped eating and looked at the woman in front of him with attention.
Her stature was too slender and small to be from Threta, even for women, who were at least 1.80 centimetres tall, and her complexion wasn't pale enough, with freckles reflecting the kisses of the sun.
Unable to help himself, Peteson laughed.
He laughed until his lungs began to protest and he started to cough.
The woman, still nameless but apparently not from Threta, didn't help him, and Peteson didn't ask for her help.
"Are you from Sundai?" Peteson asked, but he already knew the answer from the person's strange accent. Although he didn't know where that accent was from, he could bet that it wasn't from Sundai.
"Lombrom."
"What?"
"Lombrom. I'm from Lombrom," The woman said, and Peteson found the whole situation amusing. Quite funny, really.
"Where?" The woman looked at him strangely, "I'm sorry, I've never heard of it."
"Lombrom is near Paradise." Not receiving a response, she continued, "You know, Paradise? One of the three remaining empires."
"Alright." Peteson turned to look away, feeling embarrassed by his lack of geographical knowledge.
He never had a proper education and barely knew how to read. It was never an issue in the Dai army, but in the presence of educated people, it always hurt his ego.
And apparently, the woman in front of him was important, considering she had more than one property.
A lady?
Duchess?
Or just someone with money?
"My name is Peteson, by the way." He said, scratching his neck, and added, "Sorry for not introducing myself earlier, and for the misunderstanding, lady…"
"Margot."
"Lady Margot."
"Just Margot." The woman, Margot, stood up and walked to the table, giving Peteson time to look around now that he wasn't fainting and was feeling somewhat better.
The place wasn't very big, just a simple room, but it was certainly well-furnished. Though the appearance could deceive when considering the mess, with a pile of papers scattered on the table and the floor.
"You don't have anything to apologise for; I'm the one who should apologise." Margot left the room, but her voice could still be heard, "I'm sure you felt confused, and I didn't do anything to fix the situation."
A painful memory, without a doubt, came to his mind, and by instinct, Peteson touched his shoulder.
His brow furrowed.
Healed?
Why the fuck was it healed?
Not that he was complaining, but it didn't make sense. Nothing made sense lately, actually.
"Let's leave that in the past." A new doubt arose in his mind, and although Peteson knew he was at a disadvantage and shouldn't ask—due to the possibility of setting Margot on edge—he couldn't help it, "But if you're from Lobrom, it still doesn't explain why you helped me."
"Lombrom," Margot corrected him, re-entering the room, this time with more clothes in hand.
"And don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the help, but I attacked you, and even if I hadn't, Sundai has no allies. Not since the wars started."
Margot didn't say anything, and Peteson let it be.
Everyone knows that since the wars, no one is safe, and Peteson knows this especially well. His hands are stained with blood, and if it had been him, he wouldn't have hesitated to slit Margot's throat.
The idea is still not off the table.
From Lombrom or not, her actions didn't make sense, unless Margot was simply stupid.
"There is no nationality, though many want to deny it." Margot said calmly, "It's just humans against moles."
Peteson gave her a few seconds to continue and not make him doubt Margot's mental state, because moles… really?
Is it a code?
A name for an organisation?
Seeing the doubt in his eyes, Margot asked, "Do you know about moles?"
"The animals that dig…?"
Sighing, Margot said, "You shouldn't, but I hoped you'd be a person who knows everything."
With the headache returning, Peteson was starting to be tired of the cryptic way she spoke, "I think you're confusing me with someone."
"No. The saviour is not easy to confuse."
"Yes. You're totally confusing me for someone else." Peteson felt something wrong was going on, so, still weak, he got up from the bed, and Margot didn't stop him.
"Professor Philius is dead." Margot said from where she was, waiting for a reaction from Peteson.
One that didn't come, or at least, not the one she wanted.
"I'm sorry for him?"
"He died for you." Now, Margot was also standing, with a murderous glint in her eyes. "He died so you would come and save us, and I'm not doubting what he believed or why he sacrificed himself, but I've only seen a bloke. One who doesn't seem able to fight against a simple weapon and knows nothing about—"
"I don't know who the fuck that man is, or who you think I am, but everyone would have problems fighting that witchcraft of yours." Peteson spat, raising his hands to indicate the stupidity of the situation.
"Witchcraft?!" With an incredulous voice, Margot approached where he was, "You, of all people, should have."
"Again, you are confusing me with someone!"
"Nuh uh." Margot said, "I'm totally not."
Confused by the way she spoke, Peteson stopped for a few seconds and said, testing the words, "Yuh huh."
"Nuh uh."
With more confidence, Peteson said again, "Yuh huh. You are totally getting it all wrong." Pointing at Margot, the honey-eyed young man said before being interrupted again, "I'm just a Sundai soldier, and I don't know what the hell you think you know, but I'm not anyone's saviour, and that professor of yours didn't bring me back from anywhere."
They stared at each other, the air growing thicker with each passing second, until, with one last angry glance, Margot left the room, slamming the door.
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Peteson is another way of saying Peteson, so start guessing the level of my imagination by judging these poor excuses of names.
Peteson?
Phileas?
Don't know them.
English is not my first language, so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, sorry in advance and please tell me.