Silence.
Everything lay still—
until the stillness shattered.
Tap... ploc... ploc...
The air was heavy, stagnant. It smelled of moldy wood, rusted metal, and dust that clung to the roof of the mouth. Something was dripping steadily somewhere in the shadows. There was no human sound.
Just the slow beat: ploc... ploc... ploc.
A man sat on an old wooden chair, a peaceful expression on his face, and without warning,
he opened his eyes.
No panic. No pain showed on his face. Just a cold emptiness 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 saw was an old room, high-ceilinged, too dark to see its boundaries in those first few seconds. The walls were lined with empty shelves. The furniture was made of dark wood, blackened and cracked with age. A broken window let in a pale, washed-out light.
It was an old workshop, long abandoned.
He felt cold. He started rubbing his arms, his legs. His body felt stiff and numb.
He couldn't see any wounds, nor bruises. Nothing.
And yet he remembered nothing. No faces came to his mind. No voices. No story.
Except...
A name.
"Kael."
The name came naturally. It left his lips in a half-breath, like a reflex. He hadn't remembered it. It had simply come out of his mouth.
He went silent.
The sound of his voice had been strange, completely foreign.
He slowly raised a hand to his face. His fingers brushed his cheek, then slid beneath his left eye. Two fine marks there, parallel. Scars, it seemed. It wasn't painful and didn't seem fresh at all but he felt something odd as he touched his skin. A shiver went through his body, it was as if his face wasn't entirely his own, it felt new. Which made sense, he thought, considering I remember nothing.
He stood up.
And staggered, his muscles felt weak, but his reflexes remained intact.
He could walk, well as much as a weak body could, he consider as he tried taking some steps foward, legs feeling weak but fonctionnal. He didn't fall face first that's a start.
His eyes caught a poster haphazardly pasted on the wall, he approach it slowly.
He saw letters he knew the sound of. The letters coming together in his mind to form words and sentences he could understand. A small relief for his still processing mind.
"Circus of Toran. 15.BL.... Family offer, only 4 solmar...Get at the hotel Brooth until 33.LI..." Kael read slowly outloud testing the words, it came out rather fluently... beside the hoarce voice, he thought wryly.
So he could read too. He just didn't know... who he was.
He took a few steps back and saw a crooked bookshelf leaning against the wall. His gaze turn to the floor where a few old notebooks lay buried in dust.
He opens one and sees sketches of toys, lists of orders, notes on spring-loaded systems.
"Model No. 54: Rabbit."
He turned 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 closed the notebook. It felt like an exploration of sort, as if he was in a quest trying to find some clues around. He muse slightly amused.
His slightly dry lips quiver gently, a faint smile forming on his lips, but the smile fades quickly. Even that normal gesture felt strange. A slow feeling of unfamiliarity settling in his chest, it felt unconfortable, as if the room was slowly closing on him.
In a corner of the room, he even noticed a puppet left behind with another pile of broken toys. A little blond prince with a small crown, tangled in marionette strings. He also saw a dozen of other same marionette in the left corner.
In another corner there was a broken mirror.
He approached it. On it he saw a man with tousled black hair. Tired, slightly drawn features. Skin too pale, almost ashen, like someone who hadn't seen sunlight in a long time. And those eyes... grey, too clear, almost disconnected from the world in the sense that it would make you almost uncomfortable if he stared too long.
Beneath his left eye, he saw again the scars he'd felt earlier: two fine lines, subtle but hard to ignore.
Twenty... one? Twenty-two?
He guessed his age by sight, lacking anything better. Young, but not a teenager. His features were mature, though his body looked starved.
While he was contemplating, something caught his attention.
A ring on his right hand. Simple, and made of a dark metal. Etched with faint floral motifs. Where had it come from? He didn't remember. He hadn't noticed it before.
It fit perfectly, Is it something i owned? he thought.
A shaft of light drew his gaze away from his ring to a broken window.
Kael approached it.
Outside, the sky was grey. The street was made of dirty stone and lined with dull gas lamps. Silhouettes passed in the distance. People wore long coats and some cloaks. Barefoot children hurried by, either begging or rushing somewhere. Women carried crates and several men leaned against walls. It seemed like a poor neighbourhood, worn out, but lively.
A road curved to the right. It seems to lead somewhere broader and even more active, Kael thought.
The fog rose, and he managed to glimpse a tramway groaning in the distance.
He inhaled.
And for the first time since waking up, he felt something.
Not fear. Not anxiety. Since the beginning, he hadn't been worried—as if, even though he'd forgotten everything, everything was fine, though nothing was.
It was as if my brain refused to understand—or refused to allow itself to understand, to realize the situation. Kael thought to himself.
He then made a simple decision.
He had to go outside. He felt it.
He needed to see this world unfamiliar to him, he needed to know more.
A small, amused smile touched his lips.