He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing with memories and regrets. The guild had been his life, his family, until betrayal had shattered everything. He had been naïve, too trusting, and it had cost him dearly. He wondered who had saved him? Was it because his face was covered? Maybe. But who knew where he lived?

Determined to find answers, he pressed on the bracelet, activating its holographic interface. He navigated through the menus, searching for any clues or footage that could shed light on his mysterious savior. But to his frustration, a message flashed on the display: “Disconnected from main control unit.”

It had all started with the rise of Mendaciti 7 years ago, a powerful corporation that had revolutionized the way people interacted with magic.

Before, magic had been a rare force, wielded only by those born with innate talent and abilities. Those sorcerers had specific affinities based on their personality, build and true nature. But Mendaciti changed everything. Using lightning magic signals, they had developed interfaces that ran on natural resources with inbuilt energy,

The introduction of these interfaces had sparked a new era of innovation and progress. Suddenly, spells and incantations were replaced by binary code and algorithms, and magic became a tool as commonplace as a toothbrush. But the magic within oneself was still faster to summon and had more possibilities than having a wide array of spells related to one’s affinity decided by Mendaciti’s database. He had tried to use magic on his own, but fell flat quickly. It was a thousand times harder to cultivate naturally than with Mendaciti’s tech.

All he could do was shoot a small spike of darkness.

Sitting up in his bed, he closed his eyes and started to visualize the darkness inside him. He focused on the energy, willing it to coalesce. Slowly, a small spike of shadow formed in his hand, its edges sharp and menacing. But as he held it, he remembered his frustration: he couldn’t even launch it, couldn’t wield it as a weapon. It was a hollow trick, a reminder of his inadequacies.

The effort left him feeling completely drained. He sighed, letting the spike dissipate into thin air. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, and he knew he had pushed himself too far for one night. He lay back down, pulling the thin blanket over himself.

When he was settling down into the peace and quiet, a large clanging sound intended to disturb him from focusing on his injuries. It must have been a castaway spell. After a few more seconds however, he realized something and rose with alarm.

He hadn't paid rent.

Rushing to an oak table in the living room, he grabbed an ornate letter and slid it under the door, silently cursing his luck. The landlord was ruthless, but this house held too many memories to be inhabited by someone else.

Suddenly, he heard a yelp, followed by the creak of the door opening and someone tumbling onto the carpet. He tensed, instinctively making his bracelet invisible.

“You?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Oh...hey,” came the response.

It was her.

The girl he had shielded from the rain with his umbrella.

She stood at his doorstep, willingly talking with him.

“W...W...Why? Were you the one who carried me home?” he stammered, his confusion evident.

She seemed puzzled by his question, and he couldn't help but wonder how she knew where he lived then.

Pointing a finger at him, she expressed her annoyance. “Moreover, why is your door open?”

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He grunted in response, insisting that she owed him nothing and should leave before they were seen together. But she refused. “Mister, I didn't come here for you. Do you have a chair anywhere?”

He gawked at her like a fish and she waved her hands in front of his face. He snapped out of the confusion, muttering to himself and rubbing his neck. She plopped down on the table where he had kept the envelope with the cash, and crossed her legs.

He sat on the floor, squeezing his hands together. It had been years since someone had entered the home other than him. She sighed, asking for his attention.

“I work at the Mendaciti Postal Service.”

He took a breath of relief. “I promise that I have no letters…so maybe the address got switched up during transi...”

She looked at him, surprised. “Really?” She paused, then continued, “The corporation’s database had considered removing your house from its records due to your inactivity.”

He frowned, the weight of her words settling in. “I didn’t think anyone would notice,” he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

She shrugged, her expression softening. “People notice. Even if it’s just the system. But that’s why I’m here—to make sure you’re still on the map. Do you want to stay connected to the Mendaciti postal service?”

He hesitated, memories and doubts flickering in his mind. Finally, he shook his head. “No, I don’t need it,” he said firmly.

She clapped her hands together, the sound breaking the lingering tension. “Well, that’s all with the official business,” she said with a bright smile. “Why don’t you sit with me for a bit? We can talk.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden friendliness. “Talk? About what?”

She shrugged, her expression open and inviting. “Anything. Sometimes it helps to just have a conversation… you know my grandmother...”

He zoned out, rethinking if he heard her right. She wanted him to sit next to her. The outcast, the fool, the weak…

“Wait…” he whispered. “I understand. Don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything for my treatment of you in the rain. In fact, it was probably humiliating for you to deal with me that night. You can leave now.” He forced a smile, trying to relax his nervously clenched hands.

She jumped down from the table and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for helping me that day,” she said softly. “But unlike what you think, you’re not a fool, nor are you weak.” Her eyes met his, sincere and unwavering.

“I never sai–”

“You just muttered it!” She said, chuckling softly.

He jumped back, anger overwhelming him. “Do you know who I am?” he yelled, his voice shaking. “If anyone sees you with me, your life will be ruined!”

She didn’t flinch, her gaze steady. “I know who you are,” she replied. “And I’m not afraid.”

“Even if I…with my own hands…ended his life?” he stammered.

She looked at him, her expression unwavering. “I know you believe that less than I do,” she said.

She took both of his hands in hers, and he stood there in complete shock. Her touch was warm and comforting, contrasting with the turmoil raging within him. She looked at him for a moment, her gaze soft and searching.

“I wonder why you hide your face when you look like this,” she said softly, her words tinged with curiosity.

Heat flooded his cheeks, and he recoiled slightly, feeling the surrealness of the moment. Was this a dream? He slapped himself, half-expecting to wake up.

She smiled at his bewildered expression. “I should go before my pay gets deducted,” she told him, pulling him onto his feet and turning to leave.

As she walked away, he stood there, still reeling from the encounter. The door creaked to a close.

Regret gnawed at him as he realized he never asked for her name. For a brief moment, he entertained the thought of asking her name the next time they met. But then reality set in. There wouldn’t be a next time. She was probably just trying to comfort him, nothing more. Yes, that had to be if. No one would call him…him.

His eyes widened, a sudden realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. What was his name? He repeated the question to himself, feeling a sense of panic rising within him. How long had it been since he had heard it spoken aloud? How long had he been living in isolation, disconnected from his own identity?

But his rational mind intervened, quelling the rising panic. Perhaps it was for the best that he remained nameless, detached from his past.

He sat there alone for a few moments, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. Slowly, he began to peel off the plasters covering his wounds, each movement a reminder of the pain he had endured. As he did, he pondered who had brought him home if it wasn’t that girl.

Eventually, he made his way to the wall where the sword hung, its blade gleaming in the faint light. He stared at his reflection in its polished surface, searching for answers in the depths of his own eyes. But all he found was a hollow emptiness, a void where his identity should have been.