A dull ache pounded at the back of the skull, a person slowly stumbled through the narrow streets of Kingsport. The early morning mist looked like a carpet on the cobblestones, making each step feel heavy and uncertain. The vision blurred, and the world swam in and out of focus as the person tried to piece together the shattered fragments of their memory.
The city was quiet as if still recovering from the night before. Only a few early risers and the occasional merchant preparing for the day were out and about.
A figure moved through the fog, unbalanced steps and mind somewhere lost. Every sound was muted, every sight blurred, out of focus. The figure wandered without a goal, aimlessly, unable to recall how they had come to be here, or even where they were going. The fog in the air covered their thoughts, the fog was thick and impenetrable.
They passed by unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar places, and the feeling of something amiss grew with each step. There was a faint throb at the back of their skull, a dull ache that made it hard to think. Bits and pieces of the night before flashed in their mind - laughter, music, the clinking of glasses - but the details were just small pieces of a much bigger puzzle, slipping away whenever they tried to grasp them.
The streets felt strange, the buildings seemed to lean in closer, their windows dark like a portal to another dimension, that would open at any minute and swallow them whole. The figure shivered, pulling its cloak tighter against the chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
They turned down a narrow alley, the sound of distant waves crashing against the dock barely audible over the pounding in their head. A faint memory flickered - a flash of light, salad, a tune half-remembered, and then… nothing.
The figure stopped in front of a small fountain, its water dirty but still. Something made it to move closer. They knelt by the fountain, staring into the dirty water. The reflection that stared back was pale and tired, with dark circles under the eyes and hair long and untidy.
And then, in that reflection, the figure saw themselves clearly for the first time: the soft curve of the cheek, the delicate line of the jaw, and the unmistakable features of a young woman in her twenties.
She stared at her reflection, trying to piece together the fragments of memory that refused to come together. But no matter how hard she tried, the answers remained just out of her reach, hidden in the fog that still spread to her mind.
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Turning a corner, she found herself in front of a tavern. The sign above the door swung lazily in the breeze, the name painted in faded letters: “The Rusty Anchor.”
The sight of it moved a memory deep within her, a flicker of hope, but it was running away swiftly. She hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door and stepping inside.
The tavern looked like any other, the smell of stale ale and smoke hanging heavy in the air. A few people sat at the bar, drinking and speaking quietly. The barkeep glanced up as she entered, scanning her before returning to polishing a glass.
She approached the bar, her throat dry, and her voice barely got out as she finally spoke. “Do you… Do you know me?”
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The barkeep raised an eyebrow, setting the glass down. “Should I?” he asked, his tone neither friendly nor hostile.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. “I can’t remember anything. Last night, I… I think I was here. Do you remember seeing me?”
The barkeep frowned, rubbing his chin as he looked her over again. “You were here alright. Came in with a group, if I recall. But you were quiet, kept to yourself mostly. Then you began drinking, a lot. You said something like, you never tried this, then that, and before you knew it, you were dead drunk on my table right there,” he pointed with his finger at a big table in the center of the room. “Then, later, you all left together. Don’t know where you went after that.”
“A group?” she tried to picture it, but her mind was still blank. “Do you know who they were?”
The barkeep shook his head. “Never saw them before, regular adventurers I think. Didn’t get their names. Are you sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I don’t know,” she said again, frustration creeping into her voice. “I don’t know what’s happened.”
“Maybe try the market square. It’s where most folks end up after a night like yours. Someone there might know something.”
She nodded, thanking the barkeep before stumbling back out into the streets. The market square wasn’t far, just a few blocks away. But each step felt heavier than the last as if something was dragging her down.
The sudden cold win bit at her cheeks as she left the tavern. She was with a group. Regular adventurers. But she couldn’t remember their faces, their voices, or even how she had ended up with them.
Behind the corner, she spotted a figure moving ahead of her. Something about the way he walked, his posture, the tilt of his head, felt… familiar. He wore a large, pointy hat that flopped slightly with each step, his hair long and unkempt as if he hadn’t bothered with a haircut in over a year. There was a slight bounce to his step as if he was in a hurry but also lost in thought.
She quickened her pace, keeping her distance but never letting him out of her sight. Her mind fought to connect the dots, the missing pieces, but she couldn’t quite reach the end. Her heart pounded in her chest, she had to remember.
He turned down another street, and she followed, her gaze locked on the back of his head. He looked around like he was looking for someone or something, but she couldn’t see his face like it was always hidden by the mist in mystery.
Finally, the boy reached a large building with a wooden sign swinging above the entrance. “It is the adventurer’s guild,” she said silently. He pushed the door open and disappeared inside. She hesitated for a moment, a name circled around her head, a memory just out of reach. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it struck her.
“Max,” she whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a long-forgotten secret. The boy’s name was Max.
Her feet moved on their own, she hurried to the window beside the entrance. She pressed her hand against the glass, peeking inside. The building was full of people. But her eyes were drawn to a large figure at the far end of the room, hunched over a table.
“Boorg,” she said a little louder this time. The massive warrior she had somehow known for what felt like forever. But instead of the usual laughter, she had come to expect, he was crying, his broad shoulders shaking with each sob. The sight of that made her sad, emotions drowning her like a wave. She didn’t know why Boorg was crying, but it made her want to cry as well.
She got away from the window, her mind fighting a battle of what to do now. Why was Boorg crying? What had happened last night? And why couldn’t she remember any of it? The answers felt close, just within her grasp, but every time she tried to reach for them, they slipped away, leaving her more confused and desperate.
“Hey! There you are!” a female voice talked to her. “Where were you? We were so worried! Boorg couldn’t stop looking for you, come inside he will be happy to see you.”
She followed without saying a word. That seemed to be the best decision right now. The best way to find answers she looked for. Who is she, and what the fuck did she do?