One year later, in the far-off land of Arramaya...
A choked scream split the quiet.
"Gah!"
The man bolted upright, sucking in air like he'd been underwater. The sunset burned his eyes—orange and pink, too bright, too much. His chest heaved, each breath scraping his throat raw. He was sprawled on a muddy riverbank, the damp earth cold and clingy against his bare skin.
Where the hell am I?
His heart thumped so hard it hurt. Naked. Shaking like a leaf. Mud smeared his pale arms, sticking like glue. And his head—God, his head was empty. No name. No past. Just a big, scary blank where something should've been.
He scrambled to his feet, legs wobbly as a newborn calf. "Who am I?" he whispered, voice cracking. The words hung there, useless.
He scanned the place. A river curved through the valley, calm as anything, reflecting the sky's colors. Trees stood tall, dark, and silent. It was pretty, sure, but it didn't feel right. Like a painting he didn't belong in.
He ran.
Maybe moving would jog something loose. A name. A memory. Anything. His feet slapped the ground, rocks biting his soles. "This a dream?" he muttered, pinching his arm. Ow. Nope. Real. Too real.
He dropped to his knees by the river, mud squelching. The cold sank into his bones. He didn't even know what he looked like.
He leaned over the water. A stranger stared back. Messy black hair, eyes dark as coal, youngish face with a sharp jaw. No scars, no nothing. "Who're you?" he asked the reflection. It just looked scared.
The sun dipped low, the world turning soft and shadowy. The river gurgled, like it was trying to tell him something.
Then he saw it—a town.
Tucked between hills, with smoke curling up from chimneys. Lights flickered on, warm and inviting. A creaky wooden sign swung in the breeze: Vermint Town.
His chest ached with hope. Maybe someone there knew him. Maybe he wasn't alone.
He took off toward it, ignoring the sting in his feet. Closer in, he smelled bread baking, flowers, woodsmoke. Laughter bounced off cobblestone streets. Families hustled about, living their lives like everything was fine. It made his stomach twist.
People stared as he stumbled into town, half-naked, draped in leaves he'd grabbed to cover up. Some whispered. A kid pointed. Nobody's face lit up like they knew him.
A stocky guy was wrestling with a rice sack outside a shop. He spotted the stranger, dropped the sack, and jogged over. "Hey, you okay? Look like you got spit out by a storm."
The man swallowed, throat dry. "I woke up by the river. Don't remember nothing. No name. Only word I got is... Kyren. Might be mine. Might not."
The guy squinted, then gave a lopsided grin. "Kyren, huh? Good as any. Name's Hiro. Vermint Town's seen weirder. C'mon, let's get you some clothes before you freeze your backside off."
Hiro dug through his pack, tossing Kyren a scratchy shirt and pants. They felt stiff but real, something to hold onto. "Thanks," Kyren mumbled.
"Don't sweat it," Hiro said, waving a hand. "Let's grab some food. Tomorrow, we'll figure if anybody knows you."
They walked through town. Kids chased a yappy dog. Lanterns glowed in windows. It was all so... normal. Kyren's skin crawled. Why don't I fit here?
Hiro's place was a small cottage, ivy all over the walls, a garden smelling of herbs. "Welcome to my castle!" Hiro said, kicking the door open. Inside, it was warm, cozy, smelling of stew and fresh bread.
Over dinner, Hiro asked questions, but Kyren had nothing to give. They laughed a bit, but it felt forced, like they were both pretending things were fine. The silence was heavy.
Hiro pointed to the bed later. "Take it. You look like you need it."
Kyren lay there, staring at the ceiling. That face in the river wouldn't leave him alone. Who am I? Sleep wasn't coming.
------
Before the sun was up, Kyren couldn't stay still. Something pulled him outside, past the sleeping town, toward the forest. Maybe answers were out there, in the dark. He didn't know why, but he went.
The woods were thick, moonlight barely sneaking through the trees. It was cold, the air sharp in his lungs. A branch snapped behind him. His heart stopped.
"You don't belong here," a voice growled, rough like stones grinding.
Kyren whipped around. A figure stood there, cloaked, hood hiding their face. They held a dagger—curved, with weird carvings that seemed to glow faintly. The air felt wrong, like it was buzzing.
"Who're you?" Kyren asked, voice shaky but stubborn.
The figure stepped closer, their boots crunching leaves. "Question is, what are you?" Their tone was cold, but there was something else—pity, maybe? "You're trouble, and you don't even know it."
Kyren's stomach dropped. "I don't know anything! Woke up by the river, no memories—"
"Shut it," the figure snapped, raising the dagger. Not to stab, just to make a point. "You're a spark in a pile of dry grass. Stay in Vermint, and they'll come for you."
"Who's they?" Kyren pushed, fists clenched.
The figure's eyes glinted under the hood, bright like a cat's. "You don't wanna know." They leaned in, voice dropping. "Run, kid. Before it's too late."
A sudden wind howled through the trees, and just like that, the figure was gone. No footsteps, no trace. The forest went quiet, but Kyren's skin prickled, like something was still watching.
He bolted back to Hiro's, heart pounding. That voice, those words—what are you?—they stuck like burrs. Was it a threat? A warning? He couldn't shake the feeling that the figure knew him.
Kyren awoke with a start, gasping for breath. Sweat drenched his body, and his heart pounded as if it hadn't left the nightmare. He'd been running through the forest, the cloaked figure chasing him, their dagger glowing blood-red. What are you? they'd hissed, over and over, until the ground split open and swallowed him.
"Just a dream," he whispered, clutching the blanket. "Just a nightmare." But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
He sat up, squinting in the dim cottage. The fire was out, the room too still. "Hiro?" he called, voice rough.
Nothing.
Panic surged through him again. He stumbled out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor. The cottage was empty—Hiro's boots gone, his pack untouched. Where is he?
He threw on the scratchy shirt and pants, heart racing, and rushed outside. The air hit him like a punch, thick with smoke and the sharp, coppery stench of blood. His eyes widened.
The town was in chaos.
Buildings burned, flames roaring against a sky turned a sickening red. People screamed, their voices raw with terror, as red devil-like creatures ravaged the streets. Their claws tore through wood, flesh, anything in their path. The cobblestones were slick with blood, littered with broken carts and shattered glass. A child's cry cut off as a creature lunged.
Kyren's legs locked, fear rooting him in place. The smell of ash choked him. His mind screamed run, but he couldn't move.
Then he saw Hiro—barely breathing, slumped against a crumbling wall. Blood pooled beneath him, a jagged claw mark ripped through his stomach, his shirt soaked red.
"HIRO!" Kyren screamed, his heart shattering as he sprinted toward him, desperation driving every step. The world was collapsing—fire, screams, monsters—but all that mattered was Hiro, the only person who'd shown him kindness in this strange, cruel world.
He dropped to his knees beside Hiro, hands trembling as he pressed them to the wound. "Hiro, stay with me!" he choked out, tears stinging his eyes. He ripped a piece of his shirt, jamming it against the gash, but blood seeped through, warm and slippery. "You're gonna be okay, you hear me?"
Hiro's eyes flickered, his face gray. "Kyren..."