He remembered the sound of water before he remembered pain.
It was loud. Endless. A roar that swallowed thought. When he tried to breathe, water filled his mouth and nose, cold enough to burn. His body twisted instinctively, small fingers clawing at nothing, legs kicking against a current that did not care.
The river did not slow.
It did not hesitate.
It did not notice him.
Panic flared—sharp, animal—then dulled as his chest burned and his limbs grew heavy. He tried to call out. His mouth filled with water instead.
He let go.
Not because he wanted to.
Because his body could not hold on any longer.
The river took him.
When awareness returned, it did so in pieces.
Cold first.Then weight.Then pain.
A sharp, distant pain pulsed in time with his heart, spreading outward until it filled his entire arm. It hurt in a way that made thinking difficult, as though pain itself had mass and was pressing him down.
He tried to open his eyes. They burned. He closed them again.
Something pressed against his chest, steady and firm, forcing water from his lungs. He coughed weakly as breath returned in ragged bursts. Each gasp scraped his throat raw.
He cried out.
The sound barely escaped his mouth.
Hands turned him onto his side. Rough hands. Calloused. They did not shake. More coughing. More burning. River water and bile spilled onto stone.
"Easy," someone said.
Not kindly.
Not unkindly.
Just present.
Then stillness.
He woke again to light.
Not bright. Filtered. Dusty.
The sky above him was unfamiliar, framed by stone instead of trees. He lay on something hard, wrapped in fabric that smelled old and clean at the same time.
Not home.
His arm hurt.
Not like a scrape. Not like a bruise.
It hurt in a way that made his breath hitch when he tried to move.
He whimpered and tried to pull it closer.
Someone held him still.
"Don't," a voice said.
Flat. Measured.
The boy turned his head weakly. An old man sat beside him, sleeves rolled past his elbows. His hands were dark with dried blood. A metal tray lay nearby, tools arranged with care.
The boy did not understand what the tools were for.
He understood they were meant for him.
"Where…?" he whispered.
The word came out wrong.
The man did not answer.
Instead, he placed a folded cloth gently, firmly, between the boy's teeth.
"Bite."
The boy's eyes widened.
"No," he whispered around the cloth. "Please."
The man did not react.
Pressure came next.
Then fire.
The pain erased everything else.
When he woke again, the world felt lighter.
Too light.
He turned his head.
And saw that his arm was gone.
Where it should have been, there was only bandaged absence.
For a long time, he did not react.
Then he screamed.