Darkness everywhere. Screaming coming from behind, faint and far away, but no matter where I look, it feels like it's always behind me. Cracking echo from all directions.
A golden lights appears, gradually growing brighter.
FIRE! somebody yells in the distance.
A piercing scream cuts through the darkness.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!"
Wake up screaming, my heart pounding, only to realize it's just a campfire, flickering gently in front of me.
A new voice appears from the behind the fire.
"I see somebody is finally awake."
"AHHHHH! Shirtless old man!" he yell screaming once again, scrambling to sit up.
He pushed himself to his feet, dropping into a defensive stance with his fists raised, eyes darting around the area as he calculated escape routes—just in case this wasn't a fight he could win. He looked directly at the old man, assessing him quickly: middle-aged, maybe fifty to sixty, about six feet, give or take. Didn't seem like a threat. His muscles tone but had a few scars—old, healed ones. Former fighter? No open wounds. No limping. Nothing screaming dangerous.
He scanned the environment, mind racing, before his train of thought was abruptly cut off.
"Easy there, human. Didn't mean to startle you."
The man lifted his hands in a calming gesture. "Look, I've got some fish grilling right now. We can have a meal, and from there we can figure things out."
"Easy there, human. Didn't mean to startle you."
The man lifted his hands slightly in a calming gesture. "Look, I've got some fish grilling right now. We can have a meal, and from there we can figure things out."
"Wait did you just called me a old man" he scream realizing that he's just been insulted.
Cautiously, he eased up, though he still positioned himself so he had a clear path into the forest behind him.
"Who are you?" he asked, scanning the area again, trying to keep claim. The stranger didn't seem to take the situation seriously at all— walking black towards the fire, grilling his fish and turning them from time to time to keep them from burning.
The man looked up at him. "Well, it's usually common courtesy to introduce yourself before asking for someone else's name, you know. But since you just woke up, I suppose it's fine if I go first."
His voice shifted to something more formal. "The name is Naro. Naro Bennu."
He raised one hand, offering it for a handshake, with his other one flipping the grilled fish making sure it didn't burn.
The young man glanced around one last time. No traps he thought, nothing out of the ordinary—just a forest behind, and a buff shirtless old man standing infront. Slowly and cautiously, he stepped forward, lowering his fists and extending his hand to accept the handshake. He opened his mouth.
"Sorry about that, i didn't mean to be disrespectful earlier. Hello, my name is…" He paused, thinking for a brief moment. "My name… I don't… i don't remember. Who am I?"
Naro looked at him with a mix of confusion and understanding—because he knew all too well what the loss of memory could do. but thinking to himself, at least this one has some manners.
"so what do i call you? just human? or what races do you go by now?"
"human? why are you calling me that? why not just John Doe? or something along the lines of that, why are you calling me by the name of my race?"
still shaking his hand, at this point both of them gave each other a award look
"Your a human aren't you? or was one at least? or still is one?"
"yeah and you aren't?" asking a sarcastic tone
Naro, staring dead at him with a look of pure confusion, then replied in the most serous tone, "No."
He set his grilled fish down after sprinkling a generous pinch of salt on it, then turned around. With both thumbs, he pointed at his back. His skin was reddish-brown and completely clean-shaven, and in the center of his back was a large, flaming tattoo of wings with a dark red glow emanating from it.
Turning back to face him, Naro scratched his beard and ran a hand over his head, even though his hair was tied back in a small ponytail. He opened his mouth again. "Wow… I didn't think the Trail would let blanks in here. For a second—" He cut himself off, then continued, "Never mind, that's not important. As I was saying, I'm what you'd call… I think from where you're from, they call me Viren. There are many names for beings like me." He looked at him again, taking in his dumbfounded expression.
"What? Don't believe me?" Naro asked, genuinely curious if he understood anything.
"WHAT? What the hell is a Viren? What's a blank? And where am I?" he burst out, his eyes darting around as if someone might jump out and tell him it was all a bad joke. But thinking carefully, he realized he had no memory of anything. Had he been knocked out? Was that why he couldn't remember anything?
"Come, take a seat. The fish should be ready, and I've got some good, ice-cold beer. That should go well with it. Look, there's nobody around here but us, I swear I'm not planning to attack you. Besides, if i wanted to attack you then why did i set up a campfire by the river where might i remind you is where i found you."
He moved away from the fire and sat down, legs crossed, holding both fish, gesturing out to him to take one.
The smell drew him in like he hadn't eaten in months—which, honestly, he probably hadn't. His stomach growled at the worst possible time, giving away that he was as hungry as he felt. He thought to himself: what's the worst that could happen now? Maybe he could get some answers.
Following him away from the fire, he sat down right next to Naro and took the offered fish. Just before taking a bite, he paused, waiting for Naro to take the first bite. Not wanting to seem rude, he asked "Alright… let's start with this. What's a blank?"
after taking a bite of the grilled fish, steam still coming out of his mouth, quickly swallowing it so he could speak, Naro said, "We call humans or people that was once human who have no memories—well, everybody calls them that—'blanks.' It just means someone who has recently come to what we call Purgatorium. I think it comes from a language you call Latin… or something along those lines, I can't quite remember."
Trying not to get off topic, Naro pulled out a small pouch from his pocket, opened it, and took out two large cans, tossing one to him. "Long story short, people who just arrive in our world are often called blanks because they usually don't have memories of their past lives."
His face froze in shock, so much so that he almost failed to catch the can. He grabbed it quickly before it rolled too far. Finally, seeing that the fish wasn't poison, he took a bite of it, processing what he had just been told. Swallowing, he realized it was good—truly good. For the first time in years, maybe the first time ever, he'd had real food.
Opening his mouth again, this time calmer and trying to pretend he understood everything, he asked, "What… okay, you just raised like a million new questions. Like, what did you do? How did you do that? These cans—they're bigger than that pouch!"
Naro found himself in a position where he had to explain everything from the start again. "Right… I kinda forgot that blanks don't usually know about this, I believe it's what you people call magic. And this"—he pointed to the pouch using the canned beer—"is what you could call a magic pouch. Basically, it's connected to an area or dimension through the pouch where we can store things. Usually, depending on where it's connected and how much it can hold, they're really expensive. I mean, look at you—I'm pretty sure you've got one already." He pointed to the boy's waist before opening his own can and taking a long sip.
Looking down at his waist, he set his drink aside and took another bite of the skewered fish. His hands moved almost on instinct as he untied the small pouch fastened to his belt, lifting it up for a closer look.
"I don't remember having this," he muttered. "How do you even know it's a magic pouch?"
Naro shrugged. "Have you opened it?"
He loosened the knot and held the pouch close, peering directly inside. It was empty—just a small, hollow pouch.
"Ummm yeah… there's nothing in here," he said sounding defeated.
"You gotta use your hand," Naro replied, stuffing the last of his fish into his mouth. "Think of something you might've put in it before. But Since you've got no memory, just imagine grabbing anything. Depending on what kind of magic bag it is, it might give you whatever your mind gets closest to. If it's empty, it'll just feel empty."
Naro lay back on the grass, arms behind his head, soaking up the sun. He said "Come on, give it a try. I wanna see what this blank has." wanting to draw attentions away from him asking more question.
"Will you stop calling me 'blank'?" he snapped. "The bag doesn't feel empty."
He pushed his hand inside—then halfway up his arm.
"Wait… I think I've got something. Feels like… clothing, it's kind of thick?"
"There you go," Naro said, sitting up slightly, looking at his directions laughting a bit, to him it was like seeing a monkey scavenging . "Try pulling it out. Might give you a clue to who you are. Maybe even a name if you're lucky."
As he reached deeper, the pouch expanded magically, the opening stretching wide. Putting down his lunch, using both hands now, one firmly grasped on the pouch and his other grabbing a corner of it, he pulled out a majestic leather vest, polished to a reflective sheen that gleamed even in dark brown.
The armor consisted of three latching plates, with the lower sections shaped like skirt plates, built for fluid, unrestricted movement.
Turning it over, they both spotted an engraving across the back—
The name "BROCK," etched cleanly and precisely.
Well, would you look at that, a pretty nice looking brigandine " Naro said. "Lucky you, Badger. With a K, apparently." quietly adding "didn't know humans had such strange family name."
"Badger? What? The engraving says Brock. Can't you read English?" Brock asked, brows lifting in confusion.
"English? What? I thought you were speaking Latin," Naro groaned, realizing his efforts of speaking Latin had been wasted. "You're telling me all that work was for nothing?"
"We're talking in English right now, aren't we?"
Defeated, Naro took a large sip before laid back down, accepting that the enigma sitting before him was apparently named Brock. exhaling slowly, "Story for another time kid. just forget everything I said."
Brock shrugged off the strangeness. At this point, he was as defeated as Naro; everything only raised more questions than answers. He kept inspecting the armor, lost in deep thought as he tried to recall what he had done to obtain it. His train of thought was cut short when—
"You gonna stare at it all day? Come on, try it on," Naro said, hoping to distract him before he could ask any more questions. After all, he just wanted to enjoy what was left of his beer.
Brock slid the brigandine on, one arm at a time. His left arm snagged on his wrist guard before finally slipping through. As soon as he latched the three straps tight, the armor's aura radiated supernatural durability—
as if lightning itself could strike it without leaving a single mark.
taking a few steps around, making sure everything was properly fitted, The skirt plates shifted like living metal, moving with him as if the armor were a second skin.
"pretty snug, but still flexible." Brock remark admiring the craftsmanship.
Naro turning his head observing it, remarked "Looks elven-made but modified for a human" pointing towards the midsection of it, adding "See the cuts there in between the midsection and skirt plates Whoever gave you this is sponsoring you hard. And—" cutting himself off before snapping with "No more new questions."
Brock froze, finally coming to the realization that if magic was real, then everything from fairy tales to nightmares was real too. He cracked open the long-needed can of beer and took a slow, steady sip. Smooth, mildly sweet, with just a hint of bitterness—finally, something familiar.
"Alright, no more questions," Brock said, which of course meant another one was coming. "But earlier you said 'human or once human' and something about Purgatorium. Is this… purgatory? I can't be dead. can I? I still have a pulse"
He pressed his fingers to his wrist feeling a pulse. he added "Yep. One hundred percent alive. Heart's pumping."
Naro closed his eyes, folding his arms behind his head like he was settling in for a nap.
"Look, kid. To sum it up—you're an enigma. Souls of the dead show up here all the time. Why? No clue. Live humans? Way rarer. My guess? You're a visitor who either made a deal or pissed off the wrong person and got dumped into this trial. And if you want answers? Tough luck. Everybody here is either stuck because of greed or stupidity. The only ones winning are the merchants."
He pointed down the river with one hand.
"There's a town that way. Go explore. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long-awaited nap to get to. Wake me up in an hour or so."
With his other hand, he rummaged through his pouch, pulled out a large wavy hat, setting it over his eyes, and started snoring as if nothing else in the world mattered.
Kid? he thought, scratching his chin as if something were missing.
Wait—"kid"? The word echoed in his head. Something felt off, like a piece of himself had slipped away unnoticed. Finishing the last of his drink and tucking the empty can into his pouch, he walked toward the river. He leaned over the running water, searching for his reflection.
There he was.
He studied his face, turning slightly every few seconds, checking it from every possible angle. For a moment, it felt like he hadn't seen it in ages. He scratched his chin again—smooth, hairless. Strange. It felt like something important was missing.
Running his fingers through his hair—thicker than I remember, he thought—he noticed it reached about the length of his index finger. He dipped his hand into the river and combed it to one side, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar image staring back. Eventually his gaze met his own blue eyes. The first impression that struck him was young. Younger than he should have been. As if something about him had been rewritten… or taken.
Seeing that Naro was fast asleep, he decided to follow the directions leading towards the town, hoping he might find others like himself. Knowing the odds were slim, he still felt that his ultimate goal was to return to where he had come from—something deep in the back of his mind kept urging him to go back.