Silence.
Everything lies still to our ears... Until the stillness shatters.
Tap... ploc... ploc...ploc... The air is heavy. It smells of wet wood, rusted metal, and dust that clings to the roof of the mouth. Something seems to be dripping steadily somewhere in the shadows. We can't hear any human sound. Just the slow beat.
ploc... ploc... ploc...
Behind a large worktable in the middle of the room, a man seated on an old wooden chair, wears a peaceful expression.
His eyes are closed, his breathing so faint that, had you not been paying attention, you might have missed it entirely. He is so still that one could mistake him for a sculpture.
In front of the unmoving stand large stained-glass windows stretching from one corner of the room to the other. Some have been broken ages ago, the cause long forgotten. They let the slow morning light spill inside. The sunlight steadily creeps further and further into the room until its rays finally caress its pale face.
It's a weightless light that still feels heavier than shadows.
And without warning, he opens his eyes.
A breath, then another.
The sound of his breathing slowly fills the room, adding life to this gothic picture.
No panic. No pain shows on his face. Just a cold emptiness settles in his chest, a kind of bottomless hole. As if something had been torn out without leaving a single drop of blood.
The first thing he sees is an old room, high-ceilinged, too dark to make out its boundaries in those first few seconds. The walls are lined with half-empty shelves. The furniture is made of dark wood, blackened and cracked with age, or something else, hard to tell at first sight. His eyes drop to the broken window letting in a pale washed-out light.
It was an old workshop, long abandoned.
The first thing he feels is cold.
He feels cold. His trembling hands rise and start weakly rubbing his arms and legs. His body feels stiff and numb. The movement seems almost mechanical. His eyes are dull, as if he is stuggling to wake up.
He can't see any injuries.
And yet, the feeling of emptiness doesn't wash away.
He remembers naught.
Nothing. It's empty.Really empty.Empty…
Is it supposed to feel like this?Why is it empty?Why is it empty! Something is wrong!
The first thought shoots through his mind. Again. And again. The words won't stop spinning. His mind searches for an anchor, anything, to fill the void. The sudden emptiness in a space that was supposed to be full makes his mind spiral into dread.
No faces came to his racing mind. No voices. No story.
Except...
A name.
"Kael."
The name comes naturally. It leaves his lips in a half-breath, like a reflex. He hadn't remembered it. It had simply come out of his mouth, like a desperate search for something from the bottomless pit that is his mind.
He went silent. His mind went silent.
The first sound of his voice had been strange, completely and utterly foreign.
He slowly raises a trembling hand to his face, his breath uneven, his ears hot. His fingers brush against his skin as if searching for something. He doesn't know what, but something.
His fingers slide across his cheeks, then feel something beneath his left eye. Two fine marks, parallel. Scars, it seems. It isn't painful and doesn't seem fresh at all, but he feels something odd as he touches his skin. A shiver goes through his body. It is as if his face isn't entirely his own; it feels new. It made sense, he thought, considering he remembered nothing.
He stands up.
And immediately staggers. His muscles feel weak. His legs give out beneath him and he catches himself on the table with both hands before he can fall. For a moment, all he can hear is his own shaky breathing and the frantic beat of his heart.
He can walk. Well, as much as a weak body can, he supposes. He takes a few cautious steps forward, his legs still shaky but functional. He doesn't fall face-first. That's a start.
He looks up from his feet to the wall ahead and notices a poster haphazardly pasted against it. Its bright colours instantly catch his attention.
It stands out against the dark surroundings. He thinks as he approaches it slowly, muscles rigid, his ears warm and his breath still deep and uneven.
He raises his eyes to the poster and sees letters whose sounds he somehow recognises. In his mind, they slowly come together to form words and sentences he can understand. A small relief for his still-processing mind.
"Circus of Toran. 15.CR.... Family offer, only 4 solmar...Get at the hotel Brooth until 33.BL..." Kael reads outloud testing the words, it came out rather fluently... beside the hoarce voice, he thought wryly, clearing his throat.
Even if he says that he can't help the small sigh of relief that escapes him. He doesn't know why, but seeing something he recognizes calms him, even if it's for a moment.
So I know how to read, but I don't know where I am or even who I am. Great. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration creeping in.
He takes a few steps back and sees a crooked bookshelf leaning against the wall. His gaze falls to the floor, where a few old notebooks lie buried in dust, tangled in grime-covered spider webs. They look old and untouched.
It better be useful. He stares down at the notebook for a moment before picking one up at random.
Opening it, he finds sketches of toys, lists of orders, and notes on spring-loaded systems.
"Model No. 54: Rabbit." He turns the page.
"Client: Lonez Family. Delivery: canceled."
"Reason: delivery ship sank."
"The boss said it was over. I'll keep the plans. Maybe someday, someone will bring the shop back."
Kael closes the notebook. A brief silence follows.
That was… completely useless.
Kael flops back into the chair, letting out a sigh as he stares at the ceiling. His mind blank.
He slowly turns his head to look back at the remaining notebooks, staring at them intensely before slowly dragging the chair closer to the pile. He exhales through his nose, grabs one hesitantly, and flips through it.
A long moment passes before he throws the book aside.
Waste of time.
It feels like a strange kind of exploration, as if he's on a small quest for clues. The thought amuses him slightly.
Well… at least it helped me clear my mind.
His lips twitch, a faint smile forming before fading quickly. Even that simple gesture feels unfamiliar. A slow sense of unfamiliarity settles again in his chest, uncomfortable, as if the room itself were slowly closing in on him.
He takes a deep breath, trying to regain control.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in...
While he tries to calm himself down, he looks around for anything to distract himself. His eyes search the room and notice something in the corner. It's a puppet thrown there carelessly among a pile of broken toys. Something about it draws his attention. His thoughts are slowly pulled away from the climbing unease. Breathing out shakily, he approaches the corner. His steps still a little unsteady but better than before.
His hand extends toward the pile and grabs a little blond prince adorned with a small golden crown. Thin strings are tangled around its limbs and neck. The puppet is carefully carved, though the mechanism feels rough beneath his fingers, likely a bit old.
In the corner, he sees dozen of more marionettes set aside, ranging from little princesses in faded dresses to twisted ogres and strange animals with long wooden limbs.
He observes the toy and turn it around, fingeting with it. A temporary feeling of calmness settles in his heart as he manage to slow his mind down a bit.
Turning back to the room, Kael decides to look around further. Even the tiniest things could be useful.
His gaze sweeps across the workshop.
There's dust almost everywhere, making his throat feel itchy and dry. On the walls there are empty shelves lined side by side, mostly bare except for a few tools and broken toys. There are thick wooden tables everywhere, against the walls, on the opposite side, even a large worktable in the center of the room. Their surfaces are worn and perhaps marked with tool scratches. He isn't sure what those marks are.
The stained glass windows spill colours onto the floor as the sun rises higher. One of them is shattered. The jagged edges catch the rays of sunlight, casting dull reds and yellows onto the floor, while the other windows have their pretty patterns blurred by grime.
More toys were scattered across the floor, similar to the ones he saw in the corner.
Kael's gaze drifts downward, and he notices a worn rug stretched beneath the tables, its patterns erased by years of use.
Behind him on the left, stairs descend into darkness, likely leading outside since it's the only exit from the room.
In the far corner, he sees a mirror leaning against the wall, its surface buried beneath a thick layer of dust. Curiosity rises inside him. What do I look like?
He approaches it almost apprehensively, nervous about what he is going to see, yet doesn't stop.
His trembling hand drags across the dusty glass, clearing enough for him to finally see himself.
Standing in front of the mirror, he sees the reflection of a man. Or should he say himself?
The man staring back at him has tousled, slightly overgrown black hair, as if it hasn't been cut in a long time. His features look tired, faintly drawn. His skin is too pale, like polished marble with a hint of grey, as if he hasn't seen sunlight in years.
And those eyes… grey, almost too clear. More of a striking silver. They seem disconnected from the world, the kind of gaze that would make anyone uncomfortable if it lingered a bit too long.
Beneath his left eye, he sees the scars he felt earlier: two fine lines, subtle yet hard to ignore.
Twenty-one… Twenty-two?
He guesses his age by sight, lacking anything better. He looks young, but not quite like a teenager. Still, he wouldn't trust his own judgment. For one, he could simply be someone who looks young and could actually be thirty. And secondly, he doesn't have any idea of what a twenty-two-year-old is even supposed to look like.
The information comes to him naturally, yet whenever he tries to find the memory tied to it, he finds nothing.
His features are mature, though his body looks slightly starved. His ragged clothes only add to his worn-down appearance.
While contemplating, his attention shifts to his fingers.
There is a ring on his right hand. His fingers have been instinctively playing with it while thinking. It looks rather simple, and is made of a dark metal etched with faint floral motifs. Where did it come from? He can't remember; he hadn't even noticed it before.
It fits almost perfectly, just a little loose. Is it something I owned? he wonders. But it doesn't remind him of anything either.
Rays of light draw his gaze away from his ring to the broken window, time had passed and the sun is brighter than before.
Kael approaches the window; a feeling of apprehension slowly creeps into his chest.
What will I see outside?
What if I don't like it?
What if I still don't recognise anything?
His feets slow to a stop a short distance from the window, his grey gaze takes in the scene ahead.
Most of the coloured glass has turned dull and opaque beneath layers of dust and age, barely allowing the morning light to pass through anymore. Yet traces of colour still spill across the floor. Reds. Golds. Faint blues. Just slightly.
Near the top, part of the glass is broken. Outside, the sky beyond is grey.
Somehow, it is the clearest thing in the entire room.
He stands there for a moment, watching the light on the floor.
Then, slowly, his gaze shifts past the stained glass.
Outside.
The street is made of dirty stone and lined with dull gas lamps. Old buildings stand side by side along it. Their shutters are a striking red, the colour of red oxide.
Then he sees it.
Silhouettes.
People move down the street, wearing long coats and cloaks. Children, barefoot, hurry past, some begging, others simply running and playing. Women carry crates, while several men lean against the walls. It seems like a poor neighbourhood: worn out, but lively.
The road curves to the right. It seems to lead somewhere broader and more dynamic, Kael thinks.
The fog rises slowly, and through it he catches a glimpse of a tram groaning in the distance.
He inhales.
And for the first time since waking up, he feels something more.
Not fear. Not anxiety. Since earlier, he has been less worried, as if, even though he has forgotten everything, everything is fine, would be fine, though nothing is.
It is as if my brain refuses to understand now, or refuses to allow itself to understand, to realise the full gravity of the situation. Kael thinks.
Either way, he will deal with it later.
Right now, there is only one thing to do.
Decide.
He looks back outside for a moment longer. Just a second.
Then he turns away.
He will go outside. He feels it, no, not feel.
He wants it. He needs to see this world, so unfamiliar to him. He needs to know more.
Bathed in sunlight, a small, slow smile stretches across his lips.