“My determination to act as my own person was callously tossed aside as a mere tantrum; I was nothing but a tool” – Winn, the First.

----------------------------------------

The dull aching pain that comes after a long sleep spread all throughout the unconscious man, more annoying to him than an actual problem. His eyes felt on fire merely by being grazed with the light that fell from the sky, he shut them hastily to avoid the discomfort.

“A-h”, more of a grunt than a word escaped his mouth, his throat was not an exception to the state of his body either. But as he laid on the warm stone floor for merely seconds, he could already feel his body getting back to a more proper state. Unfortunately, it was not his body which concerned him.

His mind. It was gone. No rather he was not able to give such a concrete statement, perhaps his mind was always like this. It’s impossible to tell if his thoughts were impaired or if he simply was like this since he existed. Without anyone to tell him that he was acting strangely he could not say for certain something was off about his head.

But even without that he could tell that something was definitely wrong with his memory, neurons fired off a trillion times per second but failed to connect and land into his memories. Like leaning on your usual chair only to fall on your ass when you realize it’s not there. Every thought he tried to make made him metaphorically land on his ass, something was wrong.

Trying to recall yesterday was creating a migraine and despite his growing curiosity he decided to drop his efforts and look at his surroundings. 

The landscape to his left was that of an apocalypse: rubble, scorched earth, refraction in the form heat waves. Whatever had happened in this place had occurred as far as the eye can see, a ruined view that one would expect to see at the end of the world.

Without anything to catch his eye in the sea of nothing, he turned to his right; what he saw was majestic.

A tremendous wall made of a white stone stood monument to great builders and engineering. Intricate designs were scattered all across the pristine surface. A world on fire, a man with an Ouroboros on his chest stood over men on their knees, beams came from the towering man and seemed to breathe life into the men below him. Whatever meaning this wall held, it was lost on him.

It was then that one of his senses which he had neglected suddenly came back with a loud ring. His hearing was abruptly assaulted by the buzzle of words and wheels of a thriving city. 

He walked away from the wall but never took his eyes off it, as he backed away towering buildings came into view behind the colossal wall.

“Is this my home?”

His voice came without him thinking about it and even caught him off guard. His voice was low and hard to detect much emotion from it, Does my voice sound strange? He thought, again without reference it would be hard for him to tell.

Thinking of his voice made him have his thoughts ponder on his appearance, it was strange not knowing how his face looked like. Looking at his arms he noticed a rather pale complexion, it was white enough that it looked slightly sickly. His shirt was gray and torn in some places as though it had seen good use, his black pants at least were intact if a little dirty. 

An idea suddenly struck his head and he immediately mentally hit himself for his stupidity. Quickly reaching all over his clothing he looked desperately for pockets, personal effects would greatly help him remember who he was.

Just as quickly as the excitement came it vanished as there were no pockets to be found. A dead end.

A small frustration built up inside him at this failure, but it was quickly swept away at his new found stimulus. A city laid before him, a rather impressive one at that, in the middle of this wasteland a city stood out like a budding rose in a field of rot.

“How big is this?” he asked to no one, as he continued to back away from the wall more and more of the massive city was revealed to him. The buildings were numerous and large, but there was something that stood out amongst the splendor. Peeking over even the tallest structures was an imposing castle, from what he could see it held several large towers that encased the main building that shone slightly as though it were a gem. It was an amazing sight for him.

But another problem quickly arose. How to get inside…

He looked to both sides and the large wall expanded out farther than what his eyes could see. Another testament of how much work went to its creation he supposed. Still no matter how large the wall could be, there had to be a gate to let people in and out, logically speaking walking in any direction by the wall would lead him to the gate. If he was lucky there would be several entry points and he would not have to walk much.

The once warm weather had become an overbearing heat as his walk turned into hours on his feet. Very quickly into his trek he had become immensely grateful at himself for being smart enough to have comfortable shoes. They felt extremely light and easy to move in but they protected his feet from the hot floor quite well.

However with the free time he had from walking, he had been thinking about his situation. And frankly it was not looking well. 

Ignoring the fact that he was not at all hungry or thirsty, if this wall was large enough he could potentially starve or die from dehydration. A very painful and untimely death for a memory-less wanderer. The thought of trying to shout out for help and have someone from the other side of the wall come to his aid came to his mind. But he could not bring himself to do it. Somehow it felt wrong to call out for help. Was this a characteristic of the person I once was? A pride that could lead to my death?

He would like to think that if he fell into serious trouble he would throw that aside and ask for some help, but he could not truthfully say that he would with any certainty.

Moreover there were bigger more realistic problems, mainly life in the city. Or more precisely, his life in the city.

Would he arrive and be recognized by some guard? Would they be able to point him to his family? Or would he be a face in a sea of citizens and have to scour the city in hopes that someone who knows him would recognize him walking about.

Does he even have a family? Questions like these plagued his mind as he marched on his search of a gate.

One problem at a time. Find a gate first he thought.

“You lost everything? That’s rough!” came a voice followed by a hearty laugh. 

“It’s no laughing matter, I was lucky to escape with my life from that shit, but if I can’t bring in the goods Madame Shirley will take that too.” The second voice was dripping with palpable desperation. 

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“True, well between Shirley and the wasteland I think you’re pretty screwed either way, but at least the Madame can be reasoned with, no?”

“Well for matters of money its not quite as simple is it? She paid me upfront and I’ve already spent most of it, she will definitely kill me!” 

The cries of fears fell on deaf ears as the first man responded with an amused tone, “I mean tell her that you lost everything in that explosion, I mean everyone in the city saw it, she might believe you.”

Explosion? He finally arrived close enough to see both men, and one of his fears was put to rest.

The first man seemed to be a guard judging by his uniform and his sheathed sword. He leaned back on the arch of a grand gate that seemed to lead into the city.

The desperate man looked exactly as he had pictured him, his body was dripping with sweat clearly not brought by the sun or his rotund physique. He wore somewhat gaudy clothes with a surprising amount of rings and earrings on him.

“Hello?” He spoke as he approached. His voice was a bit subdued, a small feeling of nervousness sprung in his throat at his first interaction with another human being since he woke up.

The two individuals immediately ceased their conversation and gawked at him. For a mere moment the three of them stood in silence as he looked at them and they stared directly back.

And then he was on his back with a blade at his neck.

The assault was fast, faster than what he could perceive. One moment he was standing and the next the guard had his boot on his chest and his sword pointed at him. Cold eyes filled with disgust looked down on me.

This man, this guard, he held no hesitation. In the next moment he would die before his brain could process that his head had been decapitated.

“Stop!”

The guard turned around to face the still sweating man, “What? I don’t know how he found his way back but killing people like him is his job, God knows I slack off enough.”

He merely laid there with the threat of death hanging over him as the two began to converse once again. 

For some reason he was attacked without warning, were the people of the city savages? Or had he done something wrong? Without knowing what exactly was going on thoughts like these swirled in his head as he ultimately decided to stay quiet and avoid making another mistake.

“Yeah I know, but look at him! He doesn’t exactly look like a Bane at all, well he looks a bit pale but that’s it.”

The man approached with slow steps as he rubbed his chin while examining him with his eyes.

“Listen my good man, what are you doing outside the city? You should know that the Wasteland offers nothing but death, or are you actually a Bane?” 

A Bane? The meaning of the word clearly meant something other than the literal definition to these two, but the guard seemed to want to kill him on the assumption that he was a Bane. If he was a Bane or not he was not sure, but one thing was certain, if they knew he was one they would kill him.

“No, I’m not a Bane.” He responded without knowing if he spoke the truth, “I was just heading inside the city, I’m sorry if he interrupted you two.” He tried to wiggle his way out with words.

The man’s eyes hardened at his response, “Still what were you doing outside the wall? A citizen of Croen should have no reason to venture out of the safety the Emperor and his gifts provide, so what exactly were you doing out here?” 

Placed in a difficult position the man pressed harder on him, he was perceptive despite his appearance. He had no answer that would not expose his lack of knowledge. He had to get ahead of him, it was a form of surrender but it came in his terms.

“I don’t know.” The words stung as they rolled off his tongue. 

A glean shone in the man’s eyes, “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know, I woke up out here and my mind is fuzzy, truthfully I don’t even know my own name.”

The once desperate man’s countenance twisted into a wicked smile, “Then please show us your Self-Stone, that way we can help you return home.”

Seeing through the charade he answered the question he already had predicted the response to, “I don’t have anything like that.” 

“YES! YES! THANK FUCK!” The man jumped in surprising agility, his whole body became animated as life seemed to return to his once sunken face.

The guard finally cut in, “Are you serious, Thomas? You’ll take this guy?” 

The now named Thomas turned to face the guard, “Yes! He’s perfect! I mean he’s clearly not a Bane judging by the fact that he has no obvious physical flaws, but without a Self-Stone he might as well be. Madame Shirley might spare me if I give her this guy.”

The guard’s expression did not change nor did he drop his blade, “Well Tom, I’m not supposed to do this, but I think the usual stipend would smooth me over.” He could hear the greasy tone of practiced corruption in the guard’s voice.

“Of course my friend, I think I just avoided biting the big one. Drinks on me tonight in fact!”

This was bad. Really bad.

If the guard was not here perhaps he could try something but he doubted he was going anywhere anytime soon.

Thomas reached into small bag hanging from his side and rummaged through several objects while he hummed to himself, then finally he pulled out a thin black band. 

Other than it’s glossy finish, the band held no markings to give away its purpose. He wanted to protest and ask what he meant to do to him, but perhaps he was a surprisingly good judge of character since he could look into the sleazy man’s eyes and see his wickedness. Asking or pleading would be useless with this man. 

The black band expanded as he stretched it with his hands, he excitedly approached him and the guard moved his sword slightly to give access to his accomplice.

He could feel his body want to lash out and shout, the anger building up within him, but his mind was ahead of that. Trying to fight these guys would only get him killed.

The band was harshly put on his neck before something unexpected occurred. Unexpected for the amnesiac that is, neither of the other two men were surprised by this. The band glowed and began to shrink slowly to tightly enclose his neck perfectly. 

Was technology this advanced? Better yet what had he placed on my neck? He had an inkling of an unspoken idea, but he kept his mind from creating too many hypothesis.

It was a tight fit. Very tight. He could almost feel his breath being restricted by it, he hated it.

Then a surprise arrived for both parties.

A crack, small and barely audible, then another. In an instant as quickly as it was placed on him, the band shattered in a small explosion.

“What the fuck!?” Thomas responded in anger, “Did that shit just break? Are you fucking serious? That’s never happened before!” he fumed as he once again reached for his bag.

The situation was completely different for the nameless man, something had happened in his body. He felt the band sending an invasive pulse into himself that attacked his mind, but it met resistance.

Fire or something that felt similar, something churned within him and retaliated. A hot energy pushed the band off him without any direction from him. Even more confused than before he could only express these feelings in his mind.

Whatever that was inside him, the energy, he felt it was awe inspiring. Maybe it was his faulty memory but in that moment he felt like there was nothing in the world that could compare to the way he felt as that energy ran through his body.

Unfortunately the energy had only reacted to an outside stimulus, seemingly as a form of defense, he had no idea how to call upon it willingly or if it was even possible.

“Piece of shit,” he continued to ramble to himself as he looked into his bag, “This is literally the first time I’ve seen a slave collar break like that. Ah shit”

Slave collar… He was going to be sold as a slave. 

Despite his current situation: amnesiac, lost, about to be enslaved, weird energies; he felt at ease. 

He almost commended himself for his composure. He was keeping his cool in his bleak predicament, perhaps he was just mentally ill.

“Isn’t that a Rhyfel collar? That shit is expensive, you wanna use that on a human?” The guard asked in shock.

Thomas only grunted as he once again approached the downed man, “I don’t really have much of a choice now do I, my other collars were caught in the blast and I need to collar this one to bring him into Croen.”

Rhyfel, another unknown word. At this point it was obvious his knowledge of the world was completely impaired. It was bad even for someone who had amnesia.

The new collar was pretty similar with the only difference being that while the “human” collar was extremely thin this collar could be considered excessively thick. Then it was placed on him.

Hot. The collar burned so strongly that his body shook in spasms, it was unbearable and seemed to last for hours. The pain amplified when the same energy from before came in full force.

The collar alone was hell, now he felt like his body was being torn apart by endless blades from the inside out. He could feel his muscles tensing and his heart beating faster than what could be healthy. He felt like he was going to die, he wanted it to stop. And it did.

The fighting was stopped and the old pain from the collar spread through his body until it settled into almost a comfort.

His mind felt foggy, as though it was difficult to formulate thoughts. It was likely the effect of the collar.

“Stand up.” 

The voice of Thomas beckoned, his body did as it was asked.

The events following were a haze, it was like hours were compressed into a minute of perception.

All he knew for certain was that he had become a slave.