“What?” Bojra’s lush brows creased, “Did any of that jog your memory?”

“No, no. Just…” his heart was thudding in his chest. “Just trying to process it all.”

She gave him an uncertain look. “If this is too much to take in all at once…”

Ten years.

He let out a shaky breath. “Thank you. It’s a lot, but I’ll tell you if it gets too much. Please, continue. Are we at war?”

“What?” Thebas laughed, turning back to look at Aleem. “No! This entire deployment is a biennial routine—uh… that means it happens every two years.”

Bojra nodded, a mollifying smile on her face, “Think of it as a mobilisation drill. Army struts around, engages in a few border skirmishes with Faaji. Nothing serious.”

Aleem nodded mutely. None of this was good news. ‘Tales of Woe’ had made it seem as though the Ontacreesians hadn’t been prepared for war.

A clinking sound approached the tent, and Thebas closed the flap firmly and looked back at Bojra with wide eyes. They all seemed to hold their breaths. The clinking footsteps moved past the tent, retreating into the distance.

“I think we should get going,” Bojra said, glancing over her shoulder. “We’ve stayed too long as is.”

“Wait. You haven’t told me why I’m tied up.”

She paused. “You got into a fight. Injured two locals and one Olomti.”

“And you’re very lucky to not have gotten away with worse than you did,” Thebas added. He was still keeping watch. “That Narum boy might be classless but he is very skilled with a sword. If he’d had one on him, you might have died.”

The name Olomti rung a bell. An old Order of mercenaries autochthonous to Ontracreese or something like that. Wasn’t important right now. “Do you know why I fought them?” Aleem was curious. If Gwa.yao.rai, the former owner of this body, had injured a talented cadet and possibly two other lackeys then, well, it was certainly interesting.

Shame passed across Thebas’s face.

“They were probably trying to goad you into doing something foolish again,” Bojra answered.

’Again’? Oh dear. Aleem wasn’t liking any of this.

“I suppose they got what they wanted. Undisciplined ginks.” She clacked her tongue and gave Aleem a stern look. “You’ll all get what’s coming to you.”

What was that supposed to mean? Hadn’t she just said that he was the victim here?

“There’s still a lot we don’t know,” Bojra continued with a sigh. “It became a mess at some point, and even Dwillo had to get involved.”

Aleem nodded his head.

“Well, I’ll let my elder sister know about the concussion. Yinsi, that is. She’s the healer who tended to your wounds.”

She sure had a lot of sisters. “So you’re not going to untie me?”

Bojra scoffed. “Tanton knotted those ropes himself.”

“Not even the gods would untie if they knew how,” Thebas said with a snort. He shifted the flap, not quite saying anything but seeming a little anxious about their protracted visit.

Aleem’s eyebrows had creased at the mention of the name ‘Tanton’. He knew who that was. In ‘Tales of Woe’, he’d been a decently influential Vriorian of considerable power. A non-player character notorious for his competence, along with some other less reputable things.

“Um … Tanton’s your guardian,” Borjra added. She must have mistaken his frown for confusion.

A chill ran down Aleem’s spine. Tanton wasn’t a ‘good’ person. In the game, Aleem reminded himself. He’d yet to determine the accuracy of the games’s read on characters. ‘People’, he corrected. Not characters. “I see,” Aleem said. He tilted his head. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me now?”

“The brevet would probably get involved. I’m not sure why they’re still keeping you here though.”

“Bojra—” Thebas began.

“I know, I know.” She hopped off her haunches, two long strides taking her away.

Aleem had more questions to ask, but they’d given him a lot to think about. “Thank you,” he said to her back.

She smirked over her shoulder. “Come find us at the Apotheca once you’ve received your ‘verdict’. I’ll treat you to some freshly baked tamcha.”

“I want some tamcha too,” Thebas said as Bojra slipped out past him. “Bojra.” He scrambled out after her. “Don’t ignore me.”

Well, that hadn’t gone too badly.

But still… holy shit. Ten years. Aleem sighed. He eyed the candle off to the side. The thing was barely an inch high, its flame flagging above the pooling puddle of wax.

Based on what they’d told him, he wouldn’t be left here for much longer. At least that was some good news.

His mind whirred. Ten years. If he started changing things up now, it would so severely alter the world’s timeline that his prior knowledge would be invalidated. He… didn’t know how to feel. He let out a sigh.

The candle flickered weakly before winking out.

* * *

Three hours later he was still in the tent.

The narcotic had worn off entirely. The pain had crashed into him all at once, and gotten much, much worse over time. His entire body hurt, especially the bruises on his head. Parts of his chest and arms burned as though excoriated. The lighting within the tent was too low to make out much, but he thought he could see abrasions on his skin. He’d started to sweat heavily and puff softly.

Aleem was whacked. Downright shit tired. Body and mind wrung dry. And for what felt like far too much time, he’d waited in the tent with nothing but his smarting body and troubled mind to keep him occupied. It was an uphill battle trying to think productively because he was just too cynical at his core. His mind stubbornly kept drifting towards worst-case scenarios. He’d tried to distract himself, but distractions were transient things. He kept circling back to the nerve-racking contemplation of his likely death. He’d eventually ceded ground in the end, and just spent the time prioritising possible outcomes from most to least unfortunate.

And all the while, he cycled through breathing exercises.

The jangling of armour outside the tent was like music to his ears. Aleem was prepared though, and when the tent flap came apart, his head was already turned away from the glare. After two generous Mississippis, he returned his gaze to the entrance, squinting.

Two men in dull silver armour walked into the tent. A third stood back, holding the flap open.

Aleem couldn’t quite trust his new eyes, but their gaits seemed smooth, uninhibited. It looked as though their armours were weightless and impractically bespoke, mimicking skintight suits with protective padding underneath. Just like Thebas’s, but bulkier. Was that even armour?

They had the bearings of men carrying out a mundane, if bothersome, errand. One was helmeted, while the other was not. Curiously enough there were no jangling sounds from them. He looked to the entrance where their companion stood in ‘real’ metal plating. The soldier was clad from head to toe in silver, sturdy armour.

“Mercies!” one soldier exclaimed. It was the one in the group without a helmet. He had a round face, his head completely shorn. His palm was cupped against his nose and mouth. “Smells like the crappers in here!”

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“Go on, sobo,” said the other in a decidedly female voice, which was muffled by her helmet. There were no distinguishing features on any of their armours, as far as Aleem could tell. She gave Round-face a light shove forward. “Let’s not dally.”

“Should have worn a helmet,” the man grumbled as he approached carefully.

Aleem watched them calmly. There was nothing he could do if they attacked him. He could shout. He would definitely shout. If it came to that.

“Just grab the boy, will ya,” Sturdy-armour said from his place at the tent flap.

“Easy thing to say from all the way back there,” Round-face retorted, though he watched Aleem as he spoke. His stance was low and guarded. “And what’s mellowed you so soundly, boy?” he asked Aleem. “Last I saw, you were frothing like a Tiimean mongrel.”

“I lost my memories,” Aleem said after a moment. “Can’t remember anything before waking up a few hours ago.” Neatly glib and unfalsifiable. Just the way some liked their religious beliefs.

“Huh. Well, just stay still while I untie your leash.” Round-face hesitated before moving closer. “I’ll concuss you afresh if you try to bite my fingers. You hear me, boy?”

The man had thick-looking gloves on, how in Dorothy’s holy name did he expect Aleem to bite through that?

“Yes, sir,” Aleem said, swallowing. “I’m holding very still.”

Round-face got about untying the length of rope from atop the block behind Aleem, who tried his very best to avoid spooking the man. He did not want to get hit in the face again today.

“And that makes fifty ticks,” said the female soldier, crossing her arms and looking over her shoulder at Sturdy-armour. “You owe me money.”

“Fucking Shades, sobo,” began Sturdy-armour in a tinny, hoarse voice, “you could shoot a thick line to the moons with your stories. You fucking wanker. Now, I’ll be out a few coin. Hearing you tell it, I expected to meet the equivalent of four rabid shoontau shoved into one body.”

Just what kind of reputation had Aleem inherited?

“Hey now,” Round-face said, still struggling with the knots. “I was there. If you saw what I saw, you’d share my mind. And you heard it yourself, the boy’s been walloped something life-changing. Isn’t that right, boy?”

“There really was a fight?” Sturdy-armour asked.

“‘Course there was! Had a real hearty go, though I didn’t see it. Came at the tail end. Welts on the higher side of—” he grunted behind Aleem, the ropes swaying. “Argh! Pissing knots!”

“Can’t believe Muldran sent us three for this,” muttered the female soldier. She spoke louder, “Can’t we just cut the rope?”

“Here,” Round-face said, an unmistakable smile in his voice. Aleem felt the rope go rigid. “I’ll even hold it taut for you. Afterwards, you can tell Tanton personally why you damaged one of his precious knots. I doubt he’d mind.”

“Don’t do it,” Sturdy-armour warned her, laughing between phrases. “I swear, that noik freak has a thing for ropes. You do not want to get tangled in the middle of it.”

“Ha!” Round-face guffawed along with Sturdy-armour.

“Hilarious,” the female soldier said dryly.

“Um can I know where you’re taking me to?” Aleem spoke up.

“You’ll know when you get there, lad,” Sturdy-armour replied.

“Aha!” Round-face declared. “Take that, you gnarly knot!”

Aleem turned to look behind him and saw Round-face wrapping the rope about his armoured forearm.

“Up you get, Mangey,” Round-face ordered, tugging at the rope with exaggerated gentleness.

Aleem began awkwardly trying to negotiate himself off the floor. A firm hand seized Aleem under the arm and lifted him onto his feet. The display of strength left Aleem silently astonished. What were they feeding their children on this planet? Round-face made sure Aleem was steady before letting go.

“Follow,” the female soldier said in a stiff voice.

He wasn’t all that much shorter than the soldiers. Aleem didn’t know whether that was due to him being tall, or them being average of height. In ‘Tales of Woe’, Vriorians tended to be fairly large, though that wasn’t always the case.

They guided him out of the tent, the female soldier leading the way, Round-face walking a few paces behind. They kept sufficient space between themselves and Aleem, even though he literally had to shuffle all the way to the entrance with his arms still firmly bound behind him. It was a little silly, really. He was surprised that none of them rushed him along though. Aleem snuck a parting glance at what had been his abode for the past several hours. The solid, waist-high block. The metal pan with its lump of hardened candle wax. He wouldn’t be missing any of it.

Outside the tent was bright to a nigh blinding degree. And so, so sweltering. The thick scent of dust with a hint of freshly mowed grass travelled on a strong breeze, which really wasn’t doing anything about the heat. It was the sort of breeze that melted ice cubes. He spied the sun once more, imposing and, yup, unmistakably blue.

They were on a moderately steep gradient, and vast swathes of marquees lay before them, lining the horizon, each one seemingly much larger than the tent Aleem had sat in all day. There were a few other tiny tents here though. Isolated from the others with no immediately discernible pattern. Probably make-do holding cells of some sort.

There really wasn’t much else to look at.

A horse-drawn hay cart waited at the entrance. It was a compact three-wheeled box, about a metre high, with an open top. A teenage boy sat on the front lip of the vessel, holding the reins and keeping his face forward with a kind of nervous and intentional focus.

Round-face climbed into the box first, before hoisting Aleem in. About half the cart’s floor was covered with bales of hay. There was a bench at the side with enough room for three intimate people but Round-face unsurprisingly directed him to sit on the floor. Aleem sat with his back against the itchy hay. The female soldier entered the cart, but Sturdy-armour remained where he stood.

“I’ll leave the rest to you two,” he said, nodding.

Round-face returned the nod before leaning sideways to say something to the driver. The cart jerked into motion and they were off. The horse moved at a slow trot, yet still managing to kick up a thin plume of dust.

The female soldier took off her helmet. Short, wispy raven hair fluttered in the hot wind. Aleem’s eyes widened as he stared at her. There was a black tattoo on her face; a straight line, half the width of a finger, that ran from the edge of her forehead, skimming the corner of her left eye, all the way down to her neck, and terminating just above her chest-plate. The line had circular notches. Aleem didn’t need to count to know that there would be at least seven of them.

The Seal of Thamior.

It was the token symbol of a secret society that venerated the inter-dimensional entity known as Thamior. The entity known as Thamior, while not a member of the local pantheon, was equivalent in power to the gods of this world. Thamiorites played a very monumental role in ‘Tales of Woe’. And despite being functionally a death cult, they were not particularly evil… just really, really obsessed with death and testing their survivability. It was foolish. They had only started to gain prominence in the early half of the game’s timeline. Meaning that right now, they were a functional unknown to everyone else.

Aleem’s mind whirred. Thamiorites were less like vultures drawn to the scent of carrion, and more like dark clouds presaging a storm. Their presence here was less than comforting, as it all but confirmed the fact that there was some serious shit going down here. Which was all quite contrary to what Bojra and Thebas had said.

What could he do with this information? How could he use it to improve his odds of survival?

“Shades, boy!” Round-face laughed heartily. “Never seen one of our Barveyan broads before? Don’t be fooled by her easy looks. She’d gouge out your eyes in a heartbeat and feed it to the Depths.”

Aleem’s face, heated. He looked at the frowning woman. “Sorry for staring,” he said. “I was just curious about your tattoo.”

“A tribal mark among my people,” she said smoothly.

Aleem blinked at the blatant lie, but nodded all the same.

“Noik-adjacent, if you ask me,” Round-face muttered with a teasing smile.

She glared at him, but her lips were quirked upwards in a repressed smile. “What was that, sobo?”

“Matches your eyes quite well, I said,” Round-face laughed, eliciting a snort from her.

Aleem looked at his torso once more. Under the sunlight, he could see thick abrasions crisscrossing his skin in varying shades of pink. He swayed in place as the cart jounced along the uneven road. The cart ascended the terrain, twisting past tents that blurred by. There seemed to be some form of dedicated bridleway, with how often people ceded passage to the cart or walked pathside. He saw more soldiers donning glistening armour similar to those of the soldiers with him in the cart, but there were many others equipped in more recognisable sheathing.

“He really fought Narum?” the woman asked quietly.

“Plugged him good too from what I saw,” her companion muttered.

“He doesn’t look capable.”

These idiots realised he could hear them, right?

“Hmm…” Round-face gave Aleem a thoughtful once-over. “Bushwhacked the poor lad, could be. Which was it, boy?”

“He said he lost memories, sobo.”

“Oh right, right. And what’s that like?”

Aleem shrugged. “Don’t really have anything to compare it to.”

“Huh.” Round-face gave him a decidedly pitying look, “Well, don’t let it bother you too much. You’ll get what’s coming to you, for sure. But considering how much of a beating you took, I’m sure the Brevet’ll let you off easy.”

Bojra had used that word too. Aleem didn’t know what the term meant here on Orig, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with unpaid promotion within the military. “Is that where we’re going? To meet the Brevet?”

“Command tent. Just to clear things up, I think. Narum’s folks are big shots in Ontnmor, and this is sure to get to them.”

That explained why a Brevet was getting involved at all. It was very annoying, but better to know now than be taken by surprise later. Bojra had seemed to hint at the fact that Gwa.yao.rai, his body’s former owner, and this Narum fellow had ‘beef’. Of all the things he’d come to inherit, a ‘young master’ nemesis was going to be a real pain. Aleem did not have the energy for teenage drama and petty squabbles.

The two soldiers began conversing about something else. Aleem tuned them out and tried to prepare himself for the meeting. He wasn’t sure what to expect. But Tanton might be there. Maybe even the boys he’d gotten into a fight with.

He allowed the horse’s trotting and the soughing of the cart’s motion to lull him into a sort of quietude. He kept his eyes open. The wind tousled his unkempt locks, sending loose strands of pitch black hair in his face and his mouth. He hated it.

Eventually, a light green tent came into view. Aleem perked up.