The forest was quiet and calm. Sunlight filtered through the thick leaves high above, making shifting patterns on the mossy ground. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, rustling leaves and carrying the scent of damp earth and growing things. Birds chirped softly in the distance, adding to the peaceful feeling. It felt like a place untouched, serene.
In a small clearing, beneath the wide branches of an old, shady tree, a man lay on his back. He was completely still, except for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, a clear sign that he was still alive. He seemed out of place in the otherwise undisturbed nature around him.
After a while, the man's eyelids fluttered. He groaned softly, a sound swallowed by the vastness of the woods. His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the dappled light. Everything was blurry at first, shapes and colours mixing together. He felt groggy, like waking up from a very deep sleep, and his head felt fuzzy and distant. Confusion clouded his mind.
With some effort, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, one hand going to his forehead. He looked around, his eyes gradually focusing. He saw tall trees stretching towards the sky, their trunks thick and covered in moss. Smaller bushes and ferns grew densely around them, creating walls of green. The air was cool and fresh. It was clear he was deep inside a forest.
But… which forest? He had no idea.
He couldn't remember how he had gotten here, or where 'here' even was. There were no paths nearby, no signs of civilization, just endless trees.
He tried to remember something, anything, about how he ended up lying unconscious under a tree. He searched his mind for a clue, a name, a face, a place.
But there was nothing. His mind was completely blank. He didn't know where he came from, what he was doing before he woke up, or even… who he was.
The realization hit him quietly – he couldn't remember his own name.
He gripped his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to force a memory to surface. Think! Anything! But only emptiness answered back.
Yet, despite the confusing situation, he didn't get panic.
He took a slow, deep breath, letting the cool forest air fill his lungs. He needed to stay calm and figure things out, step by step.
First step: work out where he was. Second step... maybe find out who he was supposed to be. That seemed important.
The man sat there for a moment longer.
He rubbed his temples again, hoping something, anything, would spark.
Just then, a voice spoke, clear as a bell, cutting through the quiet woods. "Ah, you're finally awake."
It sounded like a woman's voice, calm and smooth.
Startled, his head snapped up, eyes darting around the clearing. "Who's there?" he called out, his own voice sounding strange to his ears.
He looked behind the thick tree trunk, peered into the dense bushes nearby. There was no one. Just trees, leaves, and shadows.
Was he hearing things? Maybe the fall, or whatever happened to him, had rattled his brain more than he thought.
"Who said that?" he asked again, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Relax," the voice replied, sounding unnervingly close now. "Look down. At your right hand. Your middle finger."
Confused, the man hesitantly lowered his gaze to his right hand, which was resting on his knee. He blinked.
There, on his middle finger, sat a ring he hadn't noticed before. It was sleek and black, the colour deep and absorbing, like polished obsidian that shimmered faintly even in the dim forest light. The design was simple, almost minimalist, but intricate, ancient-looking runes were delicately carved into its surface. It felt cool against his skin.
He stared at it, puzzled. It was a nice ring, sure, but...
"You... you're the one talking?" he asked, directing his question towards the piece of jewellery. It felt ridiculous, talking to a ring.
Maybe he was going crazy.
"Correct," the ring affirmed. Its voice seemed to emanate directly from the object itself, clear and without echo.
The man gaped. A talking ring? He'd woken up with amnesia in a strange forest, and now he had a chatty accessory.
Things were getting weirder by the minute. Still, it was the only lead he had.
"Do you remember anything at all? About yourself? How you got here?"
He focused again, digging deep into the blank space where his memories should have been. Nothing. Just emptiness.
"No," he admitted, frustration creeping into his voice. "Nothing. It's all gone. How did you know I wouldn't remember?"
"Because," the ring stated, its tone unchanging, "if you don't remember anything, it means our plan was successful."
The man frowned. "Plan? What plan are you talking about?"
"The plan to erase your memories, of course," the ring said, as if explaining something obvious.
He recoiled slightly. "Wait... erased my memories? What for? Why would I agree to that?"
"It was necessary," the ring explained. "You were under a curse. A particularly nasty one. Erasing your memories was the only known way to break it."
"A curse?" The man stared at the black ring on his finger, his mind reeling. "What kind of curse? How did I even get cursed?"
"Well, it's a long story. Definitely not something we can cover in a quick chat while sitting under a tree, you know?"
The man frowned. That wasn't helpful. "But... I need to know. How can I not know about a curse that was apparently bad enough to wipe my entire memory?"
"Patience, patience," the ring said soothingly, though its tone still held a hint of playfulness. "We'll get there. Trying to dump the whole story on your newly scrubbed brain right now might just scramble it again. And trust me, we went through a lot of trouble for this memory wipe plan to work. Don't want to mess it up five minutes after you wake up, right?"
He couldn't exactly argue with that logic, even if the lack of information was maddening.
"Anyway," the ring added, "for now, why don't you check the right side of your chest?"
"My chest?" The man blinked. "Why?"
"Just have a look," the ring prompted. "Go on."
Hesitantly, the man reached for the hem of his simple, somewhat worn tunic. He pulled the fabric upwards, exposing the skin beneath. His eyes scanned his chest, searching for... he wasn't sure what.
Then he saw it.
On the upper right side of his chest, stark against his skin, was a scar. But it wasn't just any scar from some old injury. This one was deliberate, precise.
It formed the distinct shape of a five-pointed star, but inverted, with two points facing upwards and one downwards.
It was a pentagram-shaped scar.