It was finally time to leave the unwelcoming halls of the Academy.

Before we left, Florencia got me a brown old coat made of coarse and stiff canvas cloth which was only good for stopping some wind sometimes, and a pair of patched and stitched-together felt slippers. She said this was so I would not walk through the city looking like I’d just escaped from prison, which was not the farthest thing from the truth.

First, we made our way down to the first floor, and then through long corridors with high ceilings and carved stone walls, until we finally left the gigantic building. This time there were more people around, giving us sharp stares, and after we had passed, speaking in whispered voices. On their faces, I saw suspicion, and in their heart, I felt fear, which left an exceedingly sugary taste in my mouth.

But Florencia stayed unbothered by their behavior and guided me outside with a bright smile. Many people acknowledged her presence with a respectful nod and moved aside to allow her passage. Some even whispered the words “High Warden”.

And then we were finally outside, and the sharp icy wind was the first thing that hit me even through the sack-like coat I had on. I saw the real world again, after two weeks of unjust imprisonment, and I made a silent promise to myself to never again be put in this kind of situation.

I looked up and saw the Sun. It was already long past midday, with some last orange rays of light peeking from behind the many bright rooftops in the distance, and it would not take long before the light of the day was lost to the night. And in the large stone courtyard we stood at, the shadows were long. And within those shadows grew dark and thick bushes, with prickly little spines on their many branches, and hidden amongst them were clusters of fuzzy little berries.

“Do you remember this place?” Florencia asked me.

I unfortunately did not.

“Don’t eat the berries,” she said.

I wasn’t even going to, though the berries looked appetizing.

“I used to go home through the artisan quarter, many years ago,” Florencia said, as we exited the Academy grounds, which were surrounded by a tall fence made of black iron. She still held my hand, and gently dragged me forward even though I wished to see the city some more without rushing. “But the city is changed now. We need to go around.”

“How is it changed?” I asked, mostly to make some conversation.

“When much of the imports stopped coming in from Evilebp and Valden, the money stopped too, and all the artists had to leave. Most went to the capital after that. And now the quarter is empty during the day, save for some random thugs who want trouble and the guards keeping them in check. And during the night you don’t want to be there.”

“Sounds like fun.”

But it was not so.

Florencia said that the city’s name was Bessou, but she said that she was merely reminding me of that fact. Unfortunately, the name did not spark any memories, but as I walked on and stared at the smooth yellow-white cobblestones, and heard the noise coming from every corner, I felt more comfortable than I had been in the Academy.

I could see how one would like the city. It was gorgeous, especially the bright and colorful scenery during the sunset. And even though it was already evening, people were still around and were closing their stores and shops for the day, and many wagons passed us, carrying loads of firewood, barrels of oil, or crates. I could hear the neighing of horses all around us, the metallic clicking sound of hooves on the smooth stone, and the sounds of people arguing and laughing and bartering. We passed a stonecutters workshop, which was still open, even though there was little light left in the day. The old man with weathered hands still chiseled away at the large grey-white slab of rock, uncaring by the many passers-by.

“You’ve never liked it in there,” Florencia said when we passed a crowded square. “You always like the city more. I think it rubbed off on me. Especially after you left.”

We approached the edifice of an impressive church, and I couldn’t help but notice the tall and grandiose bell tower with its golden white clock face gleaming in the Sun. Florencia told me that this was the place of worship dedicated to the minor goddess Iscia, whom she holds most dear out of all the deities. Later, she said she carries in her pocket a small, blessed rose trinket with her at all times, which was blessed from the holy water of this very church many years ago.

In front of the church was built a large square where merchants were busy packing up their goods and closing up shop for the evening. However, our attention was quickly drawn to a commotion in the distance. We heard raised voices and the sound of something breaking, and the shouting got louder as we passed them through a thick crowd of onlookers. Before we turned away, a pair of city guards ran past us, with their dark coats adorned with bright blue trim and golden medallions of a double-headed lion pinned to their chest. And as we moved further away, the noise grew louder still. Someone was screaming, and the crowd grew restless. And right before we turned away, I heard someone scream and wail, and the distinct sounds of metal clashing against metal.

I shot a glance at Florencia, who ignored the noise and simply shrugged.

In silence, we made our way through a few narrow streets to reach the river and continued walking in rushed steps. To our left was a wide street with a busy row of horses and carriages all going there and back. But to my right, the dock was empty and no ships were moored here. A group of dockworkers sat far away, idly throwing bread into the water, and watching as the many seagulls dove in to feast on it. Even more of those sea birds were walking close beside us and looking at us with hungry, beady eyes, but we had no bread or fish to give them.

We then turned left and walked up through a steep street, and to my right, I saw an old abandoned warehouse with broken windows and a boarded shut door. Above it hung crookedly a rotten sign, its letters faded beyond recognition save for the first letter, an “A”. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease as we made our way past the deserted building.

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The narrow street then turned to the right and seemed to slope endlessly upward. We went ahead a few blocks until Florencia stopped in front of a building with a dilapidated orange roof, turned into a dark side street, and opened a narrow, dark green door.

She gestured for me to follow her up.

And as I climbed the steep tall steps, I dared to expand my mind outward, as there were fewer people around and the storm of emotion and thoughts was peaceful here. I carefully sensed my surroundings but felt nothing but calm and worried waters, and the tired breathing of a city before the night’s rest.

Florencia seemed visibly nervous as she approached her front door, her hands shaking as she moved her hand over the middle of the door, where something metallic clicked on the other side. And for a moment, I saw her struggle to grip the handle firmly before succeeding, and then pulling the door open.

We stepped in, and were finally there, in Florencia’s home.

“It’s a bit messy,” she mumbled, as if ashamed of the state of it. “I wasn’t expecting company. When I got back from Rasker, I had no time to clean up. A little something came up that needed my attention.”

I scanned the apartment. It was of a decent size in my estimation. A large, and comfortable bed sat in the center, fit against the far wall. To its right was a separate washroom overlooking the narrow side street where we had just entered. To my left was a small open kitchen area, with a little metallic box set on the long wooden tabletop, which almost seemed to glow a faint blue light. And built in the middle of the kitchen and living area was a wide-mouthed fireplace of dark brown brick, with a cast-iron plate reaching into the kitchen area for cooking. On there was a large pan with some old and cold leftovers.

And finally, to my right, was set a massive, dark brown, and weathered table, on top of which was a mess of old clothes, maps, books, and a muddy backpack filled to the brim. The worst offender was hidden away under the table—a second pair of even older-looking boots which desperately needed buffing and a coating of oil. But what caught my eye the moment I saw it was an old sword, sheathed in a dark and old scabbard, leaning against the table edge in the far right corner of the room. Its hilt was a dull silver, with a symbol of a circle pierced by the letter “J” symbol etched in the center, and an impossibly worn handle of rich maroon.

“That’s my sword,” Florencia said. “I found it in some old ruins many years ago, and I’ve had it since then. It holds a good edge. I hardly need to sharpen it. And it seems to enhance with my gifts, but don’t that to others.”

I nodded and tore my attention away from the sword and back to the room.

Despite the mess and disarray of the apartment, there was an indescribable feeling of coziness there. Florencia gently brushed past me and set a couple of logs ready in the fireplace, and with only a wave of her hand, the pile burst aflame, filling the room with a warm light. With a happy sigh, she then sat herself down on the bed, throwing her coat on the large table, and began taking off her boots. Soon her home was warm, and the light from the fire and a few small lanterns made it a homely sight indeed.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Come on in and sit next to me.”

I took off the hideous thing, which was supposed to be a coat and slippers, and settled down on the bed. The fire was warm and inviting, but Florencia’s presence was even more comforting. She seemed to radiate warmth, and I felt drawn to her.

“Can I just… Please, I—” she mumbled and reached her arms around me. I leaned in and let her wrap herself in a tight hug.

Florencia stayed there unmoving, and I only heard quiet breathing until she fell asleep sometime later, when the logs were already white with ash and the Sun already set, and her sweet flowery perfume imprinted into my memory. A comforting smell and a comforting embrace.

*

I was sitting on the windowsill in the dead of night, in total silence, and looking out onto the empty street which was only lit by silver moonlight. The only sounds that reached my ears were the distant cries of seagulls and the occasional rushed footsteps from far away.

It was the first time I had time to think and fully understand the situation I found myself in.

Not knowing who I was was a strange and disorienting feeling. My mind was a blank slate, completely devoid of personal memories or details. The only things I felt a sense of recognition for were certain words, places, like the sight of Bessou, and things, like Florencia’s fish medallion. And despite my hesitation to take on the name of Jonas, it stirred something within me, a sense of familiarity.

The uncertainty of not remembering who I was was a weight on my shoulders, which only seemed to grow heavier the more I thought about it. I did not know how or where to move forward, and the only thing to give me a sense of direction was a deep knowing that I was where I belonged. That I was back, and that was all that mattered, like a long road had ended.

But when one road ends, another begins. So now what? With no memories to guide me, would I let Florencia take the lead with my life? It seemed that motivation to take action was linked with memory. Without memories, there was no road forward, and with no road forward, there was no motivation to move. So I was stuck.

“Still haven’t got rid of those dark thoughts, Jonas?” I heard a voice come from the right. It was Florencia who had just woken up and sat on the bed with tired eyes. And in her eyes I saw a longing even from where I was. She got up and came close, dressed in loose wool trousers and a wrinkled cream-white shirt with two buttons opened.

Instead of answering her, I simply looked at her and nodded with a faint smile.

“You used to do that a lot, you know?”

I said nothing, but raised an eyebrow.

“Thinking,” she said. “You used to do that a lot. Especially late at night. You stayed up and kept thinking about this and that.”

“Did something good ever come from that habit?” I asked rhetorically.

Florencia suppressed a giggle, and changed topics: “You know, without that haggard beard and hair, you almost look the same as before. Except for the scars. And your eyes. You have old eyes. And there’s a darkness there now.”

“I look the same?”

“Yes,” she said. “So I’m sorry that you don’t remember me, and I can sense that you don’t believe what I’m telling you. But I’m right. I know I’m right.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled, not really meaning anything by it.

“And many things have changed,” she said. “You’re so quiet now and barely speak. But I guess that’s not so strange considering everything. So I won’t get upset about it. Yet.”

I looked her way and saw a playful smile in her eyes. She made a joke, and I was relieved. I wanted to find words to explain my thoughts to her, but I knew them not. And even if I did, I would not dare to tell her yet.

“It’s alright, Jonas,” she said. “You were gone a very long time. I’ve seen people raise families in that time. But now you’re back, and I don’t think you know how happy I am.”

“I can sense that you are,” I said, and Florencia smiled, but did not press the matter further.

“Don’t think too much, Jonas. Give it time. Things usually sort themselves out,” she said and added a few logs to the fire. She then snapped her fingers to ignite the flame anew and set a chair next to me to sit down.

I was still confused about my feelings for Florencia. I felt deeply drawn to her presence, and I knew it was not only because she had saved my life twice. It was not even because of the closeness she had with me. No. I was attracted to her, pure and simple.

“I won’t ask about your tattoos or scars,” Florencia said after we had sat in silence some more, and the moon had made its way around. “But you have to tell me about Veneiea, please.”

“Alright,” I said. “I will. But you have to tell me about my life. And about yours.”

“Alright,” Florencia said.