The first thing Leo became aware of, after the wonder of having a face and hands, was the breeze. It was a gentle wind, whispering across the plains, and it felt… different. It was no longer just a pressure against his form; it was a sensation. Cool, subtle, tracing the lines of his new body. And with that sensation came another, more pressing one.
The breeze was touching all of him.
He looked down. The handsome, human body he had crafted was complete in every anatomical detail, and it was entirely, starkly naked. A sudden, hot flush of something entirely new washed over him. It wasn't fear or sadness. It was a sharp, cringing embarrassment. His cheeks, following the human blueprint's involuntary responses, grew warm and tinged with red.
He quickly crouched. [Sage! Clothes!] he thought, the communication frantic.
[The acquired blueprint did not include data on manufactured textiles,] [Sage] replied, its tone as neutral as ever. [However, the principle of material construction is within your capabilities.]
Right. He focused, pulling trace minerals and earth-energy from the ground. The particles swirled around him, knitting together into a soft, dark grey, linen-like material. He formed simple trousers and a tunic, the fabric solidifying onto his body. It felt strange and weightless, a part of him yet not. But the embarrassing exposure was gone.
He began to walk again, every step a discovery. The pride in his new form was a quiet, warm glow. He saw a field of wildflowers and felt a simple happiness. The memory of the dead villagers brought a sharper, more personal sadness. A low, simmering anger burned at the monsters' mindless destruction. He was a whirlwind of new feelings.
He crested a hill and saw a merchant caravan under attack by Killer Rabbits. Men with spears were being overwhelmed. He felt their panic as his own.
He didn't use the staff. He raised a hand and focused his Terrakinesis with delicate precision. The ground beneath the rabbits erupted in a thousand tiny, sharp stone spikes. It was efficient, lethal, and controlled.
The rabbits were impaled. The chaos ended.
The surviving merchants stared, not at a monster, but at a handsome, stern-faced young man in simple clothes. An older man with a grizzled beard, who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward cautiously. He spoke in a language that was a stream of unfamiliar, guttural sounds.
Leo stared blankly. The man tried again, slower, but it was no use.
[Sage?]
[Language detected: Common Tongue of the Northern Plains Confederacy. No linguistic data available. Initiating analysis of phonetic patterns and contextual meaning.]
The merchant leader, seeing his confusion, changed tactics. He placed a hand on his own chest. "Boran," he said slowly. Then he gestured to Leo, a questioning look on his face.
Understanding dawned. A name. Leo thought quickly. He couldn't say "Leo"; it felt too connected to what he was. He needed something… new. A name for this new face. He thought of the staff in his hand, made from the bone of a forgotten leviathan.
"Kaito," he said, the name coming to him. In the old tongue of a land he could no longer remember, it meant "ocean." A fitting anchor.
Boran's face broke into a relieved smile. "Kaito!" He then pointed at the dead rabbits, then at Kaito, and bowed deeply. "Thank you." The meaning was clear, even if the words weren't.
Another merchant, a younger woman, hurried forward with a waterskin and a loaf of travel bread, offering them with a grateful nod.
Kaito took them. "Thank you," he said in his own language, knowing they wouldn't understand, but feeling the need to reciprocate the gesture. He mimed drinking and eating. The woman smiled.
[They are expressing gratitude. The offerings are a sign of peace and thanks.]
[I understand that,] Kaito thought, a little amused. It was strange, having Sage explain something he could intuitively grasp. He trusted her completely; she was the only constant in his blurred existence. He took a bite of the bread. It was coarse and dry, but the novelty of tasting, of chewing, was fascinating.
Boran gestured wildly towards the south, then mimed monsters attacking and made a running motion. He was warning him. The horde was moving south.
Kaito nodded, his expression grim. He pointed to himself, then in the direction Boran had indicated. "I will go," he said.
Boran clasped his arm in a warrior's grip, his eyes full of earnest respect. They saw a powerful, wandering mage, a silent hero. They didn't pray to any god for his safety; they simply wished him well in the manner of practical people who knew survival depended on strength and luck.
As Kaito walked away, he felt a profound difference. He had shared a moment, however simple. He had a name. He had a face. The wall of his forgotten past remained, a silent mystery even to Sage, but the future was unfolding in a language of gestures, shared bread, and human connection. He was Kaito now, a traveler with a terrible power and a simple goal: to stop the storm he had started.