"Oh, no."

Vega said it so quietly that Samson almost didn't catch it, and on the other side of the fire, Den'il covered her mouth, hiding the bulk of her expression from view.

"Oh no?" Samson repeated, before feeling another beat of sharp pain in his arm and flinching again. The adrenaline rush that he'd been coasting off of kept ebbing and flowing, spiking again as his pulse picked up in worry. Looking between the two of them, he began to doubt the slight trust he'd already laid in them. "Why 'oh no'?"

"It's not 'oh no', it's more 'oh, no'," Vega clarified, expression unschooled and showing surprise, slight worry, and- "Gods help us," he whispered seemingly to himself, a hand reaching up to scrub at his eyes.

Fear?

Off to the side, Den'il's hands spiked up, Samson seeing her shimmy open palms skyward in what looked like celebration. On her face was a massive grin, a complete contrast of Vega's mixed expression, before she put both of her hands over her heart, turning to look at Vega who didn't seem to want to make eye contact with her. Den'il clicked her tongue, and Vega's expression pinched in resignation before he turned to look at his traveling partner. Her grin widened impossibly further, her hands lifting to begin an inference before Vega cut her off, "I know. Fine. We need to bring him to get his arm healed, however."

At that, Den'il nearly hopped to stand before she started reapplying her armor with a completely renewed vigor, weariness gone from her frame and making Samson even more confused at their opposite reactions and a lack of answers. "Why-"

"How bad is your pain?" Vega cut Samson's question off as he, too, pushed to stand, though much slower and more lackadaisical. He didn't seem like he was about to answer his question, and that got a patience Samson didn't know the edges of to wane slightly.

"... Guess," Samson said flatly, looking at him with a defensive set to his shoulders. There seemed to be enjoyment in keeping him at a minimum of information.

Vega hummed, beginning to pad over to Samson himself this time with too quiet of footfalls. His movements were more subtle, as his cloak was still in place and masking his arms, but upon his approach his hand slipped out and offered forward a water satchel.

As frustrated as he was, the prospect of water was too tempting. Samson's hand lifted and grabbed the bag unceremoniously. It was two or three drinks in that he registered how thirsty he'd been, and before the minute was up he'd emptied the water dry. While it was a small thing, the relief it gave was unparalleled, Samson panting after finishing drinking and using the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth. "Thank you," He said earnestly, before seeing Vega's hand sticking out again.

"Eat these."

Opening his palm, two very small pieces of dried and pressed fruit were deposited, their colors a deep sapphire and shapes oblong but flat. It was so little that it didn't seem like they would do much of anything. Brow furrowing, Samson looked up at Vega before squinting, obviously distrusting. "Why?"

"If you enjoy the pain of your injury, be my guest and give them back. Those berries may grow on trees, but they are incredibly difficult to find," Vega said, though his threat of taking them back felt empty. "It will tide you over until we reach Sanbieta, it has proper healers there that can close your wound fully."

"Will they be able to help-" This time, it was Samson who cut himself off, pausing, "Me?" Motioning at his head and person, he hoped Vega would understand what he meant.

For the first time since he had met them, however, he was offered the information openly, "Ah, that? You had your memory taken." It was said as if it were obvious, which apparently it was to anyone besides Samson. It took a moment to even make sense, and even then, it still did not.

".... What?"

"Eat," Vega said, motioning at the meager berries as he then offered out his hand to help Samson up, "We should get going, and I will explain on the way."

Behind him, there was a great plume of smoke as Den'il kicked sand over the fire, smothering it.

Looking at the offered hand, Samson took in a deep breath. Even if he wanted to keep his reservations, there wasn't much choice in following them or not it seemed. Plus, they held all the cards by knowing, well. Anything. Another heartbeat, another stab of pain, and he tossed the fruit into his mouth. His face puckered at the tartness of the berries, for a half second nearly spitting them, but the warmth sinking from the crown of his head beat out the instinct. It crept down his neck, causing his shoulders to slump when it reached them as pain relief sank into his fried nerves. Vega gave the slightest of smiles, wiggling his offered hand before Samson remembered to take it.

Hands clasping tightly, he staggered to stand. Vega helped steady him, and with two feet on the ground Samson felt that aiding warmth from the berries reach across his chest and down his stomach. It fought off the chill of the early morning air without the fire or a cloak of his own. There was a slight puff of opaque air in front of each exhale. His hair was still damp, and hung heavy against his back. It was uncomfortable, but the relief from the pain was too good for it to matter much.

-

Sanbieta was one of the three largest villages on Moltev'ji, and the oldest of any settlement on the island. It was built along the curvature of a fairly rounded bay, nestled in the foothills of the much larger mountain to gain protection from inclement weather when the sea summoned it. It was the main port for the island, with the notable difference of there being a primary focus only on export ships as opposed to import.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

It was about a league away from where Den'il and Vega had spotted a body washed up on shore, the gravity of their find lost on them at the moment of discovery.

When that body turned out to be a living person, things only became somewhat more difficult. Truly, people washing ashore was uncommon, but not entirely so. That is the reason they patrolled the shores, in fact. Many craved the treasures that could be found there, and since man could row a boat, people had tried to reach the shores of the island. There was what was considered to be a charm on Moltev'ji, or what some would consider a curse; upon entering even just the reefs surrounding it, one would forget their intent of attempted contact. This alone usually served in people leaving when they arrived, boats making a long, sliced bow across the bay as they turned around. If they managed to somehow reach the shoreline, the very sand would pull everything from their memory and render them confused and docile, to keep harm and ill intent from Moltev'ji and her people.

Usually, when someone was found washed up, they were disoriented and waterlogged. The next move was to take them to Sanbieta, and pass them to the Elders for assessment, perhaps for healing, and the process was out of their hands.

By the time Vega had explained this much, Samson's puffs of exertion behind him were becoming just barely more noticeable. "We are facing a new issue, this time," Vega continued, and Samson watched Den'il slip into the lead silently. She outpaced Vega a good ten steps quickly before veering off to the side of a thin ravine, disappearing down it. The two paused for a break, and Samson looked over at him. "You remember your name."

"Yes." The halt was much needed because while the berries had helped with his pain, Samson was still weak. Aiming to catch his breath, Samson went with, "You both seemed surprised."

"We are," Vega responded.

"... You seemed scared," Samson said, and he watched Vega stiffen. Now that the day was lighter a bit lighter, he could make out more detail; Vega had a small gold piercing through one side of his nostril, his good eye an incredibly dark brown and almond shaped. His hair and its style was hidden under his cloak hood, and his injured eye had scarring all the way up to his forehead, masking nearly half of his eyebrow. When their gazes met, Vega broke it instantly, looking onward towards where Den'il had disappeared to.

"It is not often someone remembers their name," Vega offered in way of an explanation, though the offering seemed weak.

"She seemed pretty happy about it," Samson rebutted, motioning to the ravine Den'il went down.

"She has won a very old argument, due to you," Vega said with a shrug, reaching to scratch his cheek, "Though at a great cost, I worry. When a memory is taken, it is usually an all-encompassing erasure; The fact that you remember your name is a sign that something is incredibly wrong in a way it has not been until recent years."

"How so?" Samson asked, and up ahead they heard a call like a small bird, Den'il signaling that the water was low enough to cross. Vega motioned with his hand for Samson to follow, taking his time to climb down the ravine himself.

For a moment, Vega ceased talking, and Samson also just focused on climbing down the light gray stone that made up the ravine. There were many questions left unanswered, but he felt somewhat like he had a grasp on his situation. No control, mind you, but bare minimum understanding. When they reached the bottom and crossed, it was a mere trickle of a stream that they stepped over. The evaporated waterlines showed that this ravine had the potential of being neck deep even on Samson, so it made sense why Den'il scouted ahead. So far ahead, in fact, that they could not see her anymore. When they were crossing, Samson caught Vega sneaking glances at him, before the shorter one spoke again. "Do you remember anything else?"

The question didn't take much pondering, but the affirmative answer did. Should he tell Vega about the metal sounds, and the roar? It seemed like such a small detail, but it was the only connection he had between the name 'Samson' and himself. They walked in silence for a short time, and to his credit, Vega didn't push. Perhaps it was because of that that Samson gave half a true answer, "Chimes, I think. Or metal... something." The roar, he kept to himself.

To his side, Vega gave a flat hum, and Samson caught sight of a somewhat pinched expression on the man. It may not have been the correct thing to say, but it was the truth, and Vega had asked after all. "... You are the second person, like this." Samson's head swiveled to stare at Vega in surprise, though far up ahead of him Samson could see what looked to be columns of a large wall poking out from the edge of the tree line. It was first fraction they could see of the village.

The archer continued, "It was nearly eight years ago, and had caused much turmoil due to it being unprecedented. The Elders showed benevolence with the insistence this issue would never arise again, and at the time it was considered a risk to do so, since a being that could go against the will of Moltev'ji may have ties to dark magic. While kind of them to exhibit, trust is rare here, and takes much longer than one generation to earn. Many still rebuke the decision.

None of the living Elders have heard of something like this happening, and there have been other signs that the island may be ill as it is. Den'il has been arguing for nearly a decade that someone needs to appeal to the Gods, and get insight and support by visiting the Spires. They argued back that their history dictates the Gods will request audience, not be requested, and that it is dangerous and foolish to knock on Their doors. They have been telling her no, but with you here now..." As they walked, the columns got closer, and the forest got thinner, the mouth of Sambeta beginning to appear in front of them.

"What happened to the other person?" Samson asked, swallowing thickly as he looked at the village they were approaching. His nerves were starting to act up, wondering how he could defend that he wasn't connected to dark magic when he himself was technically unsure. It was akin to a blind trial, though he was blind in it too.

The village sounded tolerant enough, but not necessarily inviting.

"The Elders were unable to help him regain his memories, but he also is unable to leave because they are worried of him attempting to get back here and keeping his consciousness intact. If he made it to the shores with his name already, imagine what he could do if he could prepare. The risk is too great to release him, but they cannot help him either."

That didn't sound particularly good. "So, captive then?" He clarified, and for an unknown reason, that got a short chuckle out of Vega.

"In some terms, you could say."

"And after eight years, they still fear him to be evil?" The idea was somewhat of a sad one. It sounded like an alienating way to spend time, in a land you don't know, surrounded by people who didn't want to trust you. They will do the same to me, if I am not allowed to leave. Will they be able to help me?

Vega gave an affirmative hum, and didn't extrapolate. Samson prodded further.

"And you?" Stride slowing, Vega paused at Samson's inquiry, looking back at him.

"And I?"

"Do you trust him?" Samson asked, the question weighted.

"I have to," Vega clarified, shooting Samson a critical eye before heading for the front gate of the village, "I am he."