The world was dark, but the feelings were clear.
Arthur felt a hand clamped over his mouth, pressing firmly against his lips. Something dry and flavorless touched his tongue, sliding down his throat like sandpaper. His heart trembled in his chest, each beat a painful reminder that he was still alive, still fighting. Broken, blurry words filtered through the darkness surrounding him.
"It—be—ok... Why?"
Then, once again for the very first time, a hand touched his shoulder, pushing him starkly awake.
"Arthur, wake up! You're sleeping the day away."
Arthur's eyes shot open, consciousness returning in a violent rush. He launched upward, muscles tensing as he prepared to manifest his sword—only to find Luke kneeling before him, eyes wide with shock, recoiling from Arthur's sudden movement.
"Relax! It's just me, Arthur," Luke said, hands raised in a placating gesture, palms facing outward.
Arthur released a held breath of restlessness and fell back against the cold stone wall of the temple, the rough surface grounding him to reality. He was safe. He was with his friend.
"S-sorry," he mumbled, his voice rough and scratchy, as though he hadn't used it in days rather than hours.
Luke's expression softened, and he shifted to sit beside Arthur, their shoulders touching in that reassuring way that only true friends could manage. The simple contact was an anchor, keeping Arthur from drifting back into the disturbing images that had plagued his sleep.
"No worries, man. I get it... it's been rough out here." Luke's voice was gentle, understanding without pity.
Arthur smiled weakly and nodded, tilting his head up to observe the sun looming overhead through the cloudless sky. Its warm rays contrasted with the chill that had settled in his bones, a remnant of dreams he couldn't quite remember.
'I slept all night,' Arthur thought while yawning and stretching his arms and back. Relief washed over him, along with a renewed vigor that only came from the kind of deep sleep he'd so desperately needed.
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, watching the roses that surrounded the temple sway in the gentle breeze. Their grey, withered petals glinted in the sunlight—somehow beautiful despite their deadly nature.
But soon, a grim reality settled over Arthur. 'We can't stay here forever. I need to figure out what's next.'
He turned to his friend, the comfortable silence breaking as he voiced his thoughts. "Hey, so what do you say we get moving here in a little bit? I know the fields are scary, but I'm stronger now, and I can help protect us. Plus, we at least need to try to get home."
Luke met his gaze and smiled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. I'm done just sitting around. I want to get home no matter what..." His voice trailed off, and then he added with a hint of hesitation, "But I think we should rest here for one more day. I mean, it's safe here, and who knows when we'll find the next safe place. And you still don't seem fully recharged, so what do you say we stay here for one more night and leave first thing in the morning?"
Arthur sighed and considered the suggestion. The urgent need to press forward warred with the wisdom of being fully rested for the journey ahead. The fields beyond the temple were dangerous, filled with creatures that had nearly killed them both when they'd first arrived in this strange world.
"I don't know..."
He glanced at his friend's encouraging face and then looked down to assess his own beaten bod- Wait—
Arthur froze, staring at himself in confusion, then at his hand... the same one he had driven his sword through only a couple of days ago in a desperate attempt to break from the temptation of the roses.
'My wounds... They're all healed.'
That was impossible. They had still been in the process of healing just last night. The cut across his palm should have been an angry red line, not smooth, unblemished skin. The gash on his forearm from the grimhound should have been scabbed over, not completely gone as if it had never existed.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar yet somehow brand new sensation. Déjà vu crashed over him like a wave, followed by a splitting headache that made him feel like his skull was being cleaved in two. He groaned and clutched his head in pain.
'What the hell is happening? What is this feeling?'
Suddenly, fragments of the dream started coming back to him, and Arthur felt like his brain might explode. He didn't understand what he was seeing... what he was remembering, but he did understand the feelings they provoked, and he did not like them. Not one bit.
"Arthur? You ok?" Luke's concerned voice cut through the pain as he placed a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur flinched reflexively and tore his shoulder away from Luke's touch. Immediately, shame flooded him at his own reaction, and he glanced at his friend, whose face now reflected genuine worry.
"S-sorry, I um—I'm gonna take a quick walk around the temple. I don't feel so good."
Luke looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue and nodded, allowing Arthur to walk away without further questions.
'Why did I do that? What's going on?'
Arthur turned the corner of the wall on the outside of the temple where they had been sitting, now hidden from Luke's view. The headache intensified, and his body swayed against the rough stone surface.
'Agh, I—I need some water.'
Fighting through the pain, Arthur leaned his back against the wall and concentrated. He summoned a jar of water. The ancient container materialized in his hands, and he quickly raised it to his lips, desperate to quench his inexplicable thirst.
But when he tilted it back... nothing. It was empty.
'What the hell? I thought for sure I grabbed a filled one.'
Arthur dismissed the jar and summoned another, which also turned out to be empty. He tried again and again, until twelve empty bottles lay scattered on the ground before him.
'Empty? This is impossible! I still had at least eight full ones just last night. I—'
Arthur's mind was struck by another headache, this one far worse than any before. He collapsed to the ground, curling into himself but keeping his voice down to avoid alarming Luke. Images flashed behind his eyelids—not fragments of dreams, but memories. Real memories that had been buried, hidden away.
And suddenly, as he lay balled up on the cold stone floor, holding his head and gasping for air, Arthur Kendrick remembered everything...