Florencia looked at me with swollen, teary eyes.

“Do you really not remember me?” she asked quietly.

Suddenly I felt nervous. My heartbeat quickened and my breath became shallow.

“I don’t remember anything before Veneiea,” I said. For some reason I felt the need to explain myself, but I was torn whether to tell her about the lightless void I still remembered faintly, or the Darkness from where I came. "But..."

"But?" Florencia asked and looked up into my eyes. There burned a fierce pool of emotions I found impossible to match. Her eyes were wet and her lips trembled, and I felt she desperately needed to hold me, but was too scared. Very quickly I couldn't hold my eyes on her, and averted my gaze downward.

"Your medallion... I couldn't stop staring at it," I said, my throat hoarse and raspy. The words that came out were harsh and unmeasured. I must have sounded terrible and frightening.

Florencia traced the fish-shaped medallion and said: "You gave it to me on my birthday, the day before you disappeared."

Her gentle confidence shattered my own resolve, and I began doubting myself. I wanted her to be mistaken, and for me to be vindicated. But did I truly desire that, or was I merely confused?

It was an aggravating thing, not remembering my past. I knew many things and my intuition was strong, when I could distinguish it from some odd stubbornness, but the only thing I knew for certain was that I came into this world willingly. I wanted to be here. This was the lingering feeling I had since Veneiea. Could Florencia be telling the truth? Could she really know me from all those years back?

I chose to put that topic on hold, and focus on curing the cursed cut. It made itself felt again, and I groaned in pain the moment my thoughts returned to it. Cursed wounds tended to do that.

“Jonas, you look horrible,” Florencia said, looking at my scarred chest and stomach with worried eyes. "We need to get to the apothecaries quickly! And give you something to eat."

“I need to sit down,” I said. “My body aches. I had this stupid metal circled on my head and I'm so... exhausted."

“What metal thing?” she asked, pushed the red chair close to the fireplace, and sat me down.

“The metal circlet that put my mind to sleep—”

“Ah, of course. They used the Circlet of Aegisthies on you. For how long? A day, two?” she asked, her eyes now furious with a fiery glow.

“For the entire time I’ve been here,” I said and felt a heavy tiredness fall upon me. I was finally sitting in something soft, and I was temporarily free from the Lord Commander and blood-hungry Captain Dion, which finally let my body and mind fall to rest. My arms and legs felt like lead, and I thought I could never get up from this chair. It was by far the most comfortable thing in existence until Florencia kneeled next to me and set her hand on mine.

“They kept the Circlet on you for two weeks?” Florencia asked. “That’s—” The fireplace suddenly brightened and fired hot, even though the wood was done burning and there was only a bed of coals left. “I’ve heard no one can withstand it for more than a few days without their mind breaking. How is that possible that your mind is not lost?”

“I don’t know,” I said, knowing she was not really asking me. “It just made my head and eyes hurt. It was torture.”

Florencia crossed her arms on her chest and stared furiously at the door, mumbling: “We've only used it when we need to detain dangerous wizards or warlocks. And they dared use it on you for weeks? Sofia will pay for this!"

But her mood quickly shifted again, and she looked into my eyes. "I'm sorry, Jonas. This is wrong, all wrong. I'm sorry! I've dreamt about this moment for almost forty years and now that it's finally here, it's so different. So... grim. And you are so different. So distant and cold. I don't know what to say or what I can I say and if I can touch you or..."

Florencia broke down and began crying into the sleeve of her shirt. There were many things I was confident in tackling, but a crying woman was not one of those things. What made it even worse was I felt sorry for her; she was obviously in much pain, and it was over me. And I didn’t even know who she was. I wanted to take her hands into mine, kiss them and tell her it was all right.

Without even thinking, I stroked her hair as she wept. I didn’t even know why I did that. She immediately jumped up and embraced me, kissing my neck a few times. That sent a warm jolt through me, and I jumped back without meaning to.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“No, it’s—”

A single loud knock then interrupted us.

Two brawny guards entered the room, wearing dark coats with armored chest plates underneath, and gripping their weapon handles. They told us there was a room prepared on the top floor of the medical wing. Florencia thanked them and told them she’d take me there herself, but the two guards stared at us with uncaring eyes and told us their orders were clear and they must escort us upstairs. Orders were orders, they said unapologetically.

And thus it was that they then escorted us through long and tall hallways, held aloft by thick and carved arches of stone. As we passed through the floors, it looked like the entire building was empty and I saw not a single soul there, and our steps echoed far and high through the halls. Florencia explained that this was because most of the lodge was away on assignments.

As we were going up some stairs, I thought it would be rather funny for an onlooker to witness this half-naked man walk through these halls on shaky knees, while dressed in a woman’s coat. It barely fit my shoulders, and the hem only reached mid-thigh, but it was better than walking around only in my underwear. The coat had Florencia’s smell on it and the further we went, the more difficult it was to ignore it.

But I was not the only one struggling—Florencia spoke little as the guards escorted us. She stumbled on the steps a few times, and I felt her arms tremble as she supported me. I felt her nervousness even without meaning to—it was radiating off of her that strongly and I found that also difficult to ignore.

And thus we went up and up through wide stairs of polished stone, which turned into staircases of narrow steps until we reached the last floor. There I saw, holding up the roof, dark and thick square logs and thinner wooden beams running a criss-cross pattern above them. The floor upon which we walked was dusty, with chips of wood and stone pebbles lying about, and before us was only a single narrow corridor and two windows—one on either side.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

The Lord Commander allocated the room on our left for my healing, and when we entered, the two guards stayed waiting in the corridor.

While it might’ve been shoddy, small, and even dirty for some people, to my standards, the room was pleasant and even had a charm to it. The ceiling was low, and through the roof tiles I could see the waning Sun, and on the floorboards were old chairs and woodworking leftovers, and the entire place smelled of sawdust and oil. And set there in the middle was a single narrow bed with some blankets and even a pillow.

It was more than I had in an eternity.

Without saying a word, Florencia set the mattress straight, fluffed the pillow, and struck the blanket clean of dust as best she could. There were many things I wanted to ask her, and even to apologize for being this dull and cold. But what happened instead was the moment my body fell onto the soft bed, I fell asleep.

*

I woke up shivering and covered in a cold sweat. My bedsheets were soaked through and a weight pressed down on me—someone had put a few more blankets on top of the first one. The cold soon passed, and I noticed the room still smelled of sawdust and stone, but now with an added hint of medicinal herbs and oils. I touched my side and discovered the cursed cut was covered in a damp and oily cloth and it felt hotter than the rest of my body.

It must have been some time at night, for there came no light through the roof tiles or through the single small window on the other side of the room. Only a dim light to my left illuminated the dusty floors and walls, and I heard no sound coming from anywhere.

I reached out with my extra sense, and my thoughts expanded outward. My mind spread beyond sight, beyond the dusty hospital room. It was like looking at the world through heavy, sparkling-white fog where shapes were blobs of grey and black and I sensed there was nobody guarding me. I saw the hallway outside the door was empty and the stairway was empty as well. But I couldn’t extend myself farther than that, and my tired mind retreated into itself, back where I lay in the dark bed.

“You talk in your sleep.”

I almost jumped up. It was Florencia whispering on my left. She was sitting there so quietly that I didn’t even notice she was there until she spoke. Only a faint light from the lantern shone light into the room, and her blonde hair was even more golden in the orange-yellow glow. But her eyes looked worried, brow turned upward.

“You were asleep for three days…” she said in a concerned and quiet tone. “You kept having nightmares and mumbling about Hiskandrios and someone else who you didn’t name. And then you said some other things, but…”

Florencia fell silent for what felt like a long time, and I only could hear her quiet breathing. “I’m sorry.”

“What was the name?” I asked her, choosing to ignore the apology, and lifted myself more upright in the bed. It felt comfortable. Very comfortable and soft, and the dampness didn’t bother me, and the cut, while not healed, was better. Strength flowed back into me with every passing moment, and I felt better than back in Veneiea. Perhaps I could even walk unaided?

“Hiskandrios, I think. But you were mumbling so much,” Florencia said.

Hiskandrios—savior! I thought. I knew no more and found no way to dig through the buried and hidden memories for an answer, but I felt like the name had no importance for the time being. I felt like I had to move forward, not back.

Florencia said I had been sleeping for three days. That would mean that she had also been here for the entire time, looking over at me. I should’ve, perhaps, been disturbed by that, but I wasn’t. It felt comforting to know she was here.

“Philemon and Ardovar came by yesterday, but I sent them away,” Florencia whispered, interrupting my thoughts. She spoke so quietly, almost as if afraid to stir up the calm. Or maybe she was just nervous.

“Do they still want my head?”

She frowned and said: “They promised to wait until you’re healed before interrogating you again.”

“That’s awfully nice of them to wait until I’m healed before they break my mind.”

If I’m healed, I thought, perhaps I could fight back, maybe even make them release me. But how could I even do that? I knew no such learning. Everything I did in my defense the last time was only out of instinct, and I could not really count on it again with certainty.

“I feel better. Thank you for the treatment and bandage,” I said plainly. It was only polite to do so. “The cut is better.”

Florencia silently got up from her chair, lifted the blanket, and mumbled: “Why is this not healing?”

She continued louder: “I tried to treat the cut with some salves and ointments from apothecarium, but it’s not healing. Its edges are reddish, which is good, but this cut should’ve been healed by now. I don’t understand.”

Before answering her, I asked for a glass of water, chugged it down quickly, and said almost like reciting from a book: “It’s not a simple cut. It needs a special tincture to cure it, but it’s not too complicated. If you bring me three grains of silver, one grain of gold, and thirty drops of pure alcohol and some purified water, that should cure it in a few days.”

“What?” she asked, dumbfounded. She dragged the narrow chair right next to the bed, as close as she could, and sat down. I saw her clearly now, before she was shrouded by darkness. Florencia seemed to not have slept much—she had tired eyes and the thick braid her hair was in was messy, with many loose strands poking up and away. She gently put her hands on the bed, on the many-layered blankets. “How do you know that?”

“I just… know.”

Florencia sighed and said: “You are covered in scars and strange tattoos. You knowing how to cure such wounds is not the strangest thing about our situation, I guess...”

Did she say our situation?

Despite this, I nodded, and she was right, except for perhaps the “our” part. There were many more strange things going on than my knowledge of curing cursed wounds.

After a while, my breathing became deeper, and I felt more relaxed in the soft bed. Florencia’s presence here was very calming, I had to admit. She spoke little, and very carefully, but she was growing on me. Whether it was the mere fact that she was very pleasant to look at, even in her tired and unslept state, or that she was very concerned about me, I did not know.

And there was the very small thing, which I had not addressed yet, but knew deeply—Florencia had saved my life back in that interrogation room. If she had not interfered, the Lord Commander, perhaps with the help of the dean, would’ve broken my mind then and there.

“I’ll go to the apothecary at sunrise,” Florencia said after a while of silence. “I brought you some clothes, though I only got you white patient’s robes. Lynne said that was all she could find, but I knew she was lying. Ardovar told her to keep away.”

“And I brought a razor as well, to shave off that ragged beard… if you let me.”

“It would probably help my case if I looked civilized before Ardovar and Philemon,” I said and tried to smirk, but my lips did not contort into a smile. It felt forced and unnatural, and I left it there.

But Florencia noticed my attempt at humor, and for the first time, smiled. And, if she had caught me unprepared, I would’ve melted into the bed for Florencia’s smile was so warm, and the way it lit up her eyes was almost infectious. I could barely comprehend the real depth of her emotions.

“I have to ask,” I said after another silence had passed. Florencia was sitting to my left, glancing out the window where faint hints of a sunrise showed, and I saw her steal glances at me often. “Why do you care so much about me or what happens to me? What makes you so sure I am who you think I am?”

“Jonas, do you know how we first met?” she asked instead and looked at me. I was silent.

“When I was little, I was out on a walk with my parents. I saw a flash of pink light and a loud noise. I ran there and found you lying unconscious and without memory. You were young as well, maybe five years old,” she said with confidence, but also softly. “Sofia and Ferchell saw the same pink flash, Jonas! It was in their Veneiea report.”

“So you ask how I know you, why I’m so sure? It’s because we’ve known each other all our lives. I know your face,” she instinctively raised her hand, but stopped before caressing my cheek, “I know your voice, and I know your soul. Before that day—” she suppressed a sob, and continued courageously, “I could sense you even across the city, night or day. Now your heart is closed off so tightly, but I still sense it’s you.”

“Oh,” I said dryly.