“Hey… hello?”

“Are you there?”

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Are you still alive?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s alive. See, he’s breathing. Here, let me wake him up.”

[SLAP!]

A firm slap to the face was all Zen needed, and he sat up in a frenzied manner. It seemed like he wasn’t dead after all. He was alive. He was still kicking. That was a relief.

Zen took a look at his surroundings. He appeared to be laying down in the sands of a gravelly riverbed. Deep green foliage was rooted all around him, with the sun beating down on his face. He squinted.

He turned his head and had the shock of his life. Two men were staring down at him. The first man, the one with the hoarse and tired voice calling out to him had the appearance of an old man, wrinkles on his face, a worn down brown cloak covering most of his body, a long gray beard, and wielding a long wooden cane. The whole nine yards.

The other man was much younger, at least middle aged. He wore a metal helmet of some kind and wore some flaky metal armor. His legs were covered in brown hide-like material, and in his hands he held a long metal spear. Must be a guard of some sort.

“Oh thank goodness you’re alive,” the old man said, clasping his hands together, letting his wooden cane fall. “You must have had the time of your life. Just a few moments ago, one of the guards saw a body floating down the river from his observation tower. You were lucky we managed to catch you in time.”

“Heh, you can thank me for that,” the guard said, pointing to himself with his thumb. “Tell me, do you have a name we can call you by?”

Zen tried to tell the helpful folks his name, but only gasps of air came out. Embarrassed, Zen held his neck, trying to force some words out from his stupid mute throat. It was his worst fear come true. His inability to talk with other humans.

The guard and the old man gasped. “Oh! It’s been months since we’ve had a Moro come along!” the old man whispered. “Quickly, Daryll, bring this poor young man to our outpost and get him some food, he must be starving. Also, show him around and get him a syringe of those neuroshock inhibitors. Whoever thought of muting their own workers is crazy I tell you. Hurry on now!”

The guard nodded and pulled out a blanket from his side satchel before wrapping Zen up in it. It felt nice and warm, and Zen nodded to the guard in thanks as he was guided up the grassy hill towards the supposed camp. It was the best he could do to show appreciation.

As Zen walked with the guard, he couldn’t help being confused. What was a Moro? Was that like a type of handicap person? How did that make him special? If these people could cure his muteness, he’d rapidly fire as many questions as he could to get the most answers. He wanted to know more about the world, more about life! He wanted to explore the world! Of course, he wanted to live in comfort, not in constant survival mode.

Zen took a good glance at everything he walked by. It appeared he was in some sort of beautiful and lush valley, with the magnificent and jagged peaks looming all around him. He shivered. The trauma he experienced up there was something he never wanted to happen again. But the lower levels looked way more hospitable. No snow, lots of dense trees, lots of birds and life, and generally looking very peaceful.

Eventually, Zen and the guard came into view of the outpost. It was fitted with basic log walls, thatched together with bundles of rope and twine, keeping it all together. The basic log walls didn’t look sturdy at all. There were multiple points in the seams that had rips and tears, and there were some whole chunks or rope hanging from the side. That wall would not last long. But past the walls, was an even bigger building, a fortress made of stone and metal, with great banners flying in the breeze. It looked magnificent, despite how decrepit it looked.

There were two other guards in brown hide uniforms that stood at the main entrance, swords in each hand. When they caught sight of the guard and Zen, they moved out of the way, allowing them to move into the actual outpost.

Inside, Zen could see the camp wasn’t doing too well. Chunks of barbed wire surrounded the fortress, where whole chunks of the foundation had been smashed up. Big cracks were present alongside the walls of the main fortress, and empty boxes lined the wooden walls and parapets. There were some people hanging around, but they were mainly sitting around playing some sort of card game.

“Do you want to know what happened to this place?” The guard walking with him said suddenly. “We’ve been attacked by hungry Crosserfang Arachnids. These types of spiders usually migrate in late autumn, not early autumn, like they’re doing now. It seems something has gone wrong, and these spiders have come to take us as their food. They’ve done a number on the walls, our people, and our morale.” He spread his hands out towards a group of tents, where people lay in them or lay on the grass, some covered head to toe in bloody bandages.

“And of course, there are the unlucky few,” as his eyes drifted to a group of body bags. Zen felt sorry for the guy. He looked like the head of the armed guards here, and not even he could protect all of the people living here. Maybe he could find a way to help them once he got his voice back.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the guard solemnly muttered. “You want to help us. Well, it’s a valiant thought you have, but crosser fang spiders are strong as shit. We need some god tier supplies to get through these waves, and without some decent equipment, we can’t be saved.” He smacked his thigh in frustration. “And the nearby town who always aids us has gone silent! They have always given us fresh supplies so we can remain functional, but now they haven’t given us anything in weeks! Sigh… Most of my men want to leave. But, we were personally told to come here and stay. The empire said that the people’s fate was in our hands. Doubt I know what that means though.”

Zen was silent as ever, as he and the guard walked to the front entrance of the deteriorated fort. “Come inside,” the guard gestured. “Let’s cure your speechlessness.”

The guard brought Zen over into a side medical room in the fort where he was seated on a small wooden stool. From a small white box, the guard took out a small syringe. Zen winced, as the guard pushed the needle into his arm. It was almost as if a rush of air poured into his lungs, as Zen was finally able to speak.

“Hhhaaaaaaaaaahhh…” Zen breathed, letting the words roll out of his mouth. He breathed the sweet sound of voice from his mouth. It was plain, but beautiful.

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“That’s alright,” the guard said, leaning against the wall. “Take your time. It must be astounding being able to speak again.”

“Yeah,” Zen whispered, patting his chest where his lungs would be. “It is great. So, what’s with all the problems going on with this fort? Because you damn well know I want to help out. Anything. You guys saved me after all.”

The guard chuckled. “I knew you’d say that. And please. Call me Stephen.”

Stephen picked up a clipboard from the nearby countertop. “Let’s see what we have in order. I’m not much of a mentor kind of guy, but there are a ton of problems with Fort Schisms. Great name am I right? Anyways, as you’ve probably seen, the main fort is broken to high hell, the walls are in disrepair, we’re running out of food for our men, and we need more medical supplies. I doubt you have any of that.”

Zen nodded. “You bet I don’t. The only thing I had with me was a cloth bag of metal fragments.”

Stephen looked up. “You had metal with you? That may come in handy. I believe our old man is trying to find it back at the river. He has a good eye for luxuries and riches. You don’t have to mind him, he was an excellent scavenger in his prime.” He giggled. “Oh the story I could tell of old man Vincent. He was a scavenging legend. Once found an abandoned pulsar ruin in one of his adventures. Made a killing selling the loot. God damn wish I was as lucky as he was.”

He sighed, before standing up from his chair. “Come on, let's head back out. I’ll show you your new mentor, and then you can ask him all the questions you like.” Stephen swung around and narrowed his eyes, looking at Zen. “You know… actually we need a change in clothing. You cannot go around wearing stuff like that.”

Zen looked down. He was still wearing that shabby hospital gown from his containment chamber and that simple t-shirt and shorts. He hadn’t noticed because of all the scenic changes around him.

“Yeah,” Zen said. “I guess you could say I need a change of clothing. What do you have in stock?”

“I got the perfect outfit for you. We’ve got a ton of them, after Tempatown accidentally sent us ten times more than what was needed.” Stephen said, before he left the room.

Zen waited for at least a few seconds, before Stephen burst through the door again. “Here, it’s nothing much, but it’s what everyone around here wears. You can change here, don’t worry, I won’t peek.” Stephen closed the door behind him, before opening it slightly to only reveal his face. “Oh, and can you please leave your gown and clothes behind? It’s not for weird reasons I swear.”

“Oh… kay? Just leave please while I’m changing.”

“You got it champ!” Stephen said, giving Zen a thumbs up, before closing the door with a click.

Zen hastily took off his gown and simple garments, before putting on the new ones he was given. It was just simple attire. Gray cloth leggings, white cotton shirt, a leather chestpiece, socks and steel toed shoes. Simple, light, and offered some protection.

He patted his hair. He had complained about how long it was, so why not cut it a bit? This was after all a medical room, and there was bound to be a pair of scissors somewhere. Walking over to the countertop, Zen opened the drawers and rifled through the contents of medical bandages and scalpels, until he found a sturdy pair of metal scissors. Using the wall mirror as a guide, he snipped off swaths of his hair, freeing his other eye from only seeing black.

His new bangs didn’t look too bad. They were messy and wonk, just the way he liked it. After his makeover, he didn’t really know what to do with all of the hair on the floor, so he just kicked it under a medical cabinet. Hopefully no one will find it.

“I’m done, Steph!” Zen yelled. “Take a good look at me!”

The door opened as Stephen stepped in. “God, you didn’t have to yell, I was right outside-aghhhHH! What happened to your hair dude?” Stephen stared at Zen’s head. “Where were those long flowing locks of hair? Did you really cut them off? You couldn’t have at least done it somewhere else? And where did the hair even go?”

“Uh… I kicked the hair underneath that medical cabinet.” Zen replied.

“Ugh… Couldn’t you have at least put your hair in the waste bin?”

Zen turned and stared at the corner of the room, where a beige colored waste basket basically blended into the walls.

“To be fair, your color scheme on the inside of the fort is terrible and I didn’t see it.” Zen countered.

“Well, your eyes are your problem,” Stephen said blankly. “And don’t blame us for the color scheme! Beige is the only color we have available. Where are your old garments, by the way?”

Zen pointed to the stool, where his gown and previous undergarments were, neatly folded. “Ah!” Stephen awed. He picked them up and caressed the clothing up and down. Zen shuddered in mild disgust. “Ah! Sweet sweet synthaweave! It’s been a while since I’ve seen clothing made of this stuff. Truly wonderful. These can be sold for a lot of money, or be fashioned into a strong pair of armor.”

“Wait wait wait.” Zen said, pinching the roof of his nose. “Is my clothing that valuable?”

“Valuable?” Stephen grinned. “Of course it’s valuable! Synthaweave is only available in the higher echelon societies, and are nearly unobtainable in regions of the world here. Those who do discover pieces like these usually find them in small scraps from inside higher tech ruins. And let's not hide the fact that synthaweave is a great insulator. Perfect for chilly nights!”

“I see…” Zen whispered. “Can we leave now? I’m set and ready to go.”

“Oh, yes. Right. Sorry! Out this way!”

Zen and Stephen made their way out of the building, and Zen’s eyes squinted as they had to readapt to the harsh sunlight. They walked out into the center of the fort, where a man in chainmail vest was talking with some rather bored looking guards.

“I’ll leave you in the hands of Devan. He’s an adventurer that knows these parts well, and saved our asses plenty of times. Also, he’s a much better instructor than me. So… toodles!”

“Hey, Devan!” Stephen yelled, causing Devan to turn towards him. “I’m gonna leave this guy to you! Teach him well alright?”

“Oh! Um.. okay!” Devan reaffirmed, as Stephen ran off to do his own things. “Now lets see who we’re teaching–”

Devan stopped in his tracks, staring at Zen for a moment, before smiling like he was before. “You’re a Moro aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Zen said pointedly. “Did you notice me from when I came into the fort?”

“Of course I saw you. No one wouldn’t notice a guy in a synthaweave hospital gown getting escorted by the head guard. It was really obvious. And I’m betting that now that you’re well equipped and raring to go, you probably have a zillion questions to ask me don’t you?”

“Right on, buddy.” Zen said, pointing his finger at him with gusto. “First off. Let’s start with what you guys call me. Why am I called a Moro?”

“Well, are you ready to be kind of insulted? Because Moro is the shortened term for the word Moron.” Devan said. “I know, it must sound insanely rude, but it’s true. Most people that come down from the mountains act very strangely, as some of them can lift objects five times their body weight and run for days on end. But they are unable to feel pain, making them incredibly stupid sometimes.”

“Can you elaborate?” Zen asked.

“Of course. One time, two Moros were enlisted into the ranks of the empire as conscripts, and before the battle even started, I guess they wanted to figure out how sharp the knives were? Because they began stabbing each other in the chest over and over until they bled out and died with their organs spilling out of their bodies. Must be horrific to see, having to witness your comrades killing themselves.”

Zen was aghast. There were others like him, that couldn’t feel pain? That was killing monsters? What the heck was he? Who was he?

“I have more questions! First of all, I can’t remember anything. And second, why couldn’t I speak when I woke up from my containment cell? I heard the old man talking about it, but I want an in depth answer. Can you provide it?”

“Oh sure I can,” Devan answered. “So, from the information the higher echelon societies have given us, you Moros come from cryo-sleep containment cells of some old abandoned ruin in the top of the Cowry Mountains. Hella dangerous, hella cold. We don’t actually have that many ideas of the life any of you had before, but we do know Moros sometimes were given serums that erased memories and were always given serums to mute them. Of course, as you know, we have a cure for that.”

“The memories however?” Devan said, spinning on one foot. “That’s big Elefthotech technology. There is no way we can get our hands on it. But maybe you can.”

“Huh? Me? Why should I be the one to go out there?” Zen asked, perplexed.

“Look…what’s your name?” Devan asked.

“My name is Zen.”

“Alright Zen. You will probably have to go on a journey to find your own memories or your past, it's pretty much destiny for all Moros. All Moros I’ve ever met always go on a journey to explore the world, meet new folks, or try to get their memory back. It’s just how it always has been. But from looking at you, you don’t look prepared at all. You need some basic training. First let me assign you a tent. That’ll be your lodging while you live here.”

Devan tugged Zen’s arm and guided him towards a group of tents. Devan was slightly shorter than he was, and had short spiky brown hair. He looked younger too, but he still gave off a stern and experienced vibe.

“This will be your tent for now. It's pretty alright, can fit about three people. Should be big enough for one person and their belongings. I’ll meet you back in front of the stone tower building in thirty minutes. You probably want to get yourself situated. I promised to teach some new guards how to properly use a crossbow. They kept getting hit by recoil, which should be impossible”

Zen sat down on the grass in front of his tent as Devan turned to leave.

“Oh one more thing,” Devan said, turning his head to Zen. “Welcome to your new home.”