Eventually, the pain became manageable enough for Mikal to move. He had no idea how long he had been knocked out after the fight or how long he had sat there struggling with the pain, but looking up at the light shafts above, he suspected it was well into the afternoon.
Of all his pains and aches, strangely, the one that annoyed him the most was the feeling of the furled bark poking into his back. Luckily, that was the one thing he could do something about. Carefully. Sliding sideways so he lay on his stomach, he began crawling on his elbows towards the stream. Fortunately, the spike that had struck him in his shoulder had been stopped by bone, not penetrating that deep into his flesh.
Mikal crawled agonizingly slowly towards the stream, determined to get a much-needed drink of water. When he finally reached the stream, still laying flat out on his stomach, mist quickly drenching his clothes, he simply showed his face in the freezing cold water and drank greedily. He drank until his face went numb from the cold, the thundering sound of the water disappearing beneath the earth the only sound he heard besides his own throat gulping down water.
Rolling over on his back, he lay there, letting the mist gather in droplets on his skin. He had left his hoodie behind, and his t-shirt had become a torn crop top. The gathering water was ice-cold, but the cold dulled his senses, reducing the pain from his various wounds. A creeping feeling of hopelessness threatened at the edges of his mind, a weight settling on his chest. He could barely walk, bleeding from multiple wounds, and was stranded out in the open in a foreign dimension.
"How am I supposed to get back to the shack?" he asked the canopy above in a pleading tone.
He had to get up. He just had to endure the pain and get to his feet. There was nothing else to it. Just laying here would get him nowhere, and while nothing had attacked him so far, he was sure that would change as soon as night fell. "I will get no answers if I'm dead," he determinedly thought to himself as he prepared to get up.
Ever so slowly he rolled over, pushed himself up and set one foot under himself to carry his weight. He gagged, all the water he had just drank threatening to make an early reappearance, as the muscles in his thighs flexed to carry his weight. Pressing his lips together and gritting his teeth, he stood.
Standing up straight wasn't too bad, but moving his legs hurt. He slowly made his way back to his hoodie. He got the hoodie on, and found his bag of holding strewn on the ground not far from it. He looked at the bag, and then back to the stream. If he could somehow bring some water with him, he wouldn't have to make this trip again. At least not for a while.
Sighing at having to make the short trip back to the stream, he limped his way over. Opening up the bag and lowering it in, he hoped this would work. He held it there for a few seconds before willing the bag's inventory to open.
Small Bag of Holding Name Quantity Book (Unknown Language) 1 Rowaberries 278 Ayoga Finger 1 Rotted Quill 1 Furs 2 Freshwater 13L Space Used: 0.08m³ / 1m³
It worked! He submerged the bag again until he had about 150 liters of freshwater in the bag. He was a little surprised the bag could hold so much, but even after adding 150 liters of water, it only said he had used 0.22m3 out of the 1m3 he had available. He wasn't completely sure how that math worked, but he wouldn't complain since it meant he had a ready supply of water he could use.
Happy that even though things hadn't exactly gone to plan he had at least accomplished his goal for the trip. He actually felt a little proud of himself. As he walked back he stumbled upon the corpse of the venomspike he had killed. He had been actively avoiding looking at it until now, but suddenly he found himself standing right on top of it. He stared at the blackened remains; the continued spell casts had burned away almost all of the spikes, digging their way into the creature's body. All that remained was the creature's underbelly and legs.
It had been kill or be killed. He didn't regret killing the creature, but he just couldn't feel good about it either. He thought of his experiences so far, the Ayoga in the night, the darkspike, the violent spell he had gotten. Everything he had encountered so far seemed violent. This world had a brutality to it that felt unfamiliar and primal. He didn't know how things had been in his before, but he was certain it had not been this brutal.
He considered taking the corpse with him, but there was barely any meat left on the charred remains. Instead, he went over to where he had collapsed against the tree and picked up the three spikes he had pulled from his body. He didn't read the prompt, his mind on other things, he simply stuffed them in his bag.
His mind churning, he started the slow and arduous trek back to his shack.
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The trek back had been uneventful, Mikal barely glancing up from the ground as it had taken all his will just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He had not paused a single time for the entire walk, completely absorbed in the rhythm of movement and pain. Still, as he got to the shack, night had almost fallen, the light-shafts above disappearing as the shack came into view.
The tingling sensation he had felt across his skin the previous night returned. He stumbled the last few paces into his shack, shutting the door behind him. Fumbling around in the darkness of the windowless shack, he managed to push the large desk in between the door and the shack. The desk barely squeezing into the gap between the bedframe and the door, creating a good barricade.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Too tired to get the furs he had taken from his bag, he collapsed on the bed. Finally feeling a semblance of safety, he fell asleep immediately.
Two times during the night, he was torn awake by distant howls and growls. Lying awake, listening to a cacophony of terrifying sounds. The creatures sounded nothing like the sounds the Ayoga had made. These creatures sounded bestial and frenzied. The howls and growls never seemed close, always coming from somewhere far away, and he fell asleep again fast, too exhausted to be afraid.
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The next morning Mikal awoke to a chime in his ears, the same chime he had heard when he had been offered the Companion.
Notice Anamneses completed. Completion rates:
* Semantic 11% (Damaged/Blocked)
* Linguistic 87%(Damaged)
* Episodic 0.1%(Not present)
Memory has been severely damaged. Path reassembly protocol: Partial Failure. Records incomplete, inference rate at 29.2%.
Semantic memories uncovered will be released as explicit memories to bond over time to lessen the risk of more damage caused to bonds' memory.
Mikal lay there in utter darkness, trying to process the information in front of him. The words not making much sense to him. When he had first gotten the companion, he had gotten a box that said something about the "path reassembly protocol" being launched. He had hoped that meant his Companion was trying to fix his memory. Had that failed? But the Companion had given him his name. And he knew that Mikal was his true name, his name from before. So, some memories must still be there. Was that what the prompt told him?
As to the percentages, the words semantic and episodic didn't mean much to him. If he were to guess, he would think "semantic" meant the meaning of things, but that didn't make much sense, seeing as he thought "linguistic" meant essentially the same thing. As for "episodic," he knew what an episode was; could that refer to a memory of events, things that had happened to him? That made some sense; if all his "episodic" memories from before were gone, the memories he had made the past couple of days would be less than 0.1%. He assumed "linguistic" meant his ability to speak and read. He would have thought that was higher than 87% as he thought he understood quite a lot, but seeing as he didn't understand these words, 87% might be correct.
The last line both excited and worried him. Some of his memories would be given back to him? How long would that take, and what was that part about causing more damage? He assumed he was the "bond" being referred to. So, there was a risk of him losing more memories if he got his memories back? Why? "Maybe the memories just won't make any sense to me since I only have some of them," he pondered.
A sharp jolt of pain focused him back to reality. He had unconsciously shifted his position, putting his weight on his damaged shoulder.
"This day is gonna suck," he said to the unsympathetic darkness.
Getting some more information on the state of his memory had been great, but there wasn't much he could do about it. His more pressing concern was checking his wounds for infection and finding something to eat that wouldn't mess with his bowels.
He dismissed the prompt and was about to get out of bed when a new one took its place.
Notice Companion functionality restored: Status
He focused on the bold word, and a new prompt popped up:
Status Overview
GENERAL:
* Name: Mikal
* Race: Human
* Age: 22
* Class: Undefined
Willpower Rank: Whisper Level: 4 Companion Rank: E
SPELLS:
* Sparrow Strike
ABILITIES:
* Meditation
TRAITS:
*
Immediately after, a second prompt showed up, overlaying his status.
Congratulations! You have absorbed enough records and essence to gain the trait, Poison Resistance. Companion will now help neutralize toxins as they enter your being.
Overwhelmed by the amount of information thrust in his face. Mikal took a minute to go through his new status, trying to get more information on all the words. He found he could get information on most things in his status.
The level thing seemed to be a measure of power like he had suspected. It was an estimate of how powerful a being was when in peak condition; it was based on a lot of factors like records, aura, movement fidelity, and other stuff he didn't really understand.
Willpower and companion rank were also a form of measurement of strength. The higher these two were the more powerful and frequent spells he could cast. He didn't get any information on how high a rank whisper was, but he assumed that his willpower being classified as a whisper couldn't mean it was very strong. Thinking back on his trek back to the shack yesterday he thought his willpower must be more than a whisper, but maybe people in this world just had really strong wills.
Spells were, according to his interface, "Companion-assisted exertions of will on mana," he didn't truly understand what that meant. But seeing as he could cast his sparrow strike without much problem he just glossed it over.
Abilities and traits were straightforward; abilities were things he could activate where his Companion would assist in performing some action. Traits were the same, just that they were always on and he did not have to activate them.
It also soothed his curiosity somewhat to learn his age. Even though the knowledge that he had essentially forgotten 22 years of experiences was a little disheartening.