For the first time, he saw his new reflection. He was tall but not very tall, thin but not skinny, with grey hair and eyes of various grey hues, from nearly white to almost black. He looked like a man in the prime of his youth, twenty-three, twenty-five, somewhere around there. His clothes were the same as he last remembered, black longcoat with gold and red threads and a white undershirt, once fine but now tarnished by wear and mud.

It was about what he expected. The best human approximation of his being and a form he knew well. The familiarity failed to temper how wrong it felt, though. This was a human approximation of him, of his face. It wasn’t him. Except, now, he supposed it was. A dozen emotions flared and extinguished: despair, curiosity, loss of control, disbelief, and many more. Eventually, only anger remained. Once again, he clenched his fists in outrage.

“What have I done to deserve this?” He thought. “My years of loyalty, the sacrifices I made, all for… this. To be thrown away with prejudice.” His inner-anger threatened to break out, breath escalating in intensity, shout waiting on the precipice of his lips.

“Boy, are you alright?” A man, a blacksmith, approached him from behind. Dere looked away from the piece of polished metal he’d been staring into, trying to regain his lost composure. “That piece you’ve been staring at ain’t for sale. One of them fancy types up at the palace ordered it a few weeks ago.” He paused for a second. “Though, I suppose they mightn’t even be alive anymore.” He scratched his beard. “Suppose I could sell it to y…”

“No, no, I’m not interested.”

The blacksmith, a stocky man with greying brown hair and a booming voice, was taken off guard. “You been staring at it for the past three minutes. What you mean your not interested?”

“Suppose I just wanted to see my face.” Dere shrugged, the rage now dissipated.

“You ain’t that pretty, boy.” Said the blacksmith with some annoyance.

Dere laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

Shaking his head, the blacksmith walked past Dere and inspected the polished metal for some kind of damage. “Are you buying something or not?”

“Afraid not, just lost.”

Noticing a minor blemish in the metal, the blacksmith pulled out a rag and wiped at it. While he polished, Dere looked at the surrounding neighborhood. He had exited the tunnel into a decrepit cellar, abandoned for decades. After leaving, he wandered around the large city until it turned to night. He ended up falling asleep underneath some grubby bridge after finishing his wine, complimenting one of the worst days of his life with one of the worst nights as well. Waking past midday in an even worse mood than the day before, he once again wandered, this time for hours, until he ended up here.

“You need directions or what?” Said the man, not even looking at him now. His interest faded once he learned Dere didn’t want to buy anything.

“I would need a destination for directions. If you could just tell me where I am, I would appreciate it.”

Shrugging, the man turned to face him. “You’re in the East merchant’s district, smithing section. Underneath Highlord Besson’s jurisdiction.”

Dere filed the information away. “That’s great and all, but I was wondering if you could tell me what city I’m in?”

“What city?” The smith looked at him, eyebrow raised in perplexion.

“Yes.”

“You’re… you’re in Vicare.” Dere looked stumped, so the man continued. “Capital of Clovin?”

“Starting to sound a little more familiar.” Dere’s mind struggled to recall what little he knew of the mortal world. “Remind me, where is Clovin?”

“Where is Clovin!”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Boy, are you alright?”

Dere sighed. “Most certainly not, but that has nothing to do with not knowing where I am, so, if you could remind me, where is Clovin?”

“Southwest Adera, the Middle Continent.” The smith looked at Dere like he might look at a mad man.

Finally, Dere’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah, you should have led with that. Clovic’s old kingdom, right? I’ve heard of Clovic.” He reached back into his memory. Someone had mentioned Clovic to him once. He had been important. Dere hadn’t been paying much attention. “How long ago did he rule, again?”

The smith scratched his beard, unused to questions of history. “My ma could tell you better. She knows all this stuff, but, hmmmm… five-hundred years?”

“Five-hundred years…” Dere mused. “Actually, not too far off. Maybe I’m not as behind as I thought.”

The smith shook his head, baffled by the man in front of him. Dere gave him his best reassuring smile. “Thank you very much, sir. I think I’ll be leaving now.”

Stolen story; please report.

The smith watched Dere as he left, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Boy, where are you going?”

All he got in return was an exaggerated shrug. It was the most honest answer Dere could give.

--------------

The smith’s question rang echoed in his ears as he walked. “Where are you going?” It was a fair question, one he lacked an answer to. Where was he going? What was he going to do? Prove his innocence? How? He wrestled with each question as he wandered around Vicare, hopelessly lost.

After walking nowhere in particular for quite some time, he eventually ran into something interesting. A man, slight and skinny, stood up on a makeshift podium in the middle of the street, preparing to make some announcement. A modest crowd had gathered around him. He began, voice booming. “Ladies and Gentleman, I come with wonderful news.”Dere stopped and listened to what the man had to say, though he had a guess. “Yesterday was a triumphant day. The tyranny of Erdrick, scourge of Clovin, has ended. Highlord Duval, the just and mighty, has seized the throne and knocked the senile old man off the seat of power.” As he talked, he made grand gestures with his hands, waving them around with every syllable. “Duval will usher in a new era. One of peace and…” Dere zoned out the rest of the speech. It was all so standard. He could have filled in the rest, if asked.

Ignoring the man, still gesticulating wildly behind him, Dere walked forward and looked around. He had wandered into a more residential area. Children ran on the street, mothers yelling at them to come back. Men chatted in the shade. The smell of freshly made dinner wafted through the air. His stomach rumbled and, for the first time in a while, his mind stopped thinking about the smith’s question. He was hungry again. In the distance, he spotted a pub. At least, it looked like the pubs he had known. Without thinking, he walked over to it, drifting between the throngs of people and away from the herald.

The building sat on the edge of the residential area, close to what looked like a docks. A muddy river, brimming with small ships flowed not too far away. It was a wooden structure, built atop a strong stone foundation and isolated from the rest of the buildings. Men of all types walked in and out: merchants, dockworkers, guards, and scoundrels. From inside, wonderful aromas drifted out onto the street, tantalizing any passerby. Among them he could make out the smell of beer, bread, and meat, three things his famished mortal body begged for. Yet, he had a slight problem. He had no coin.

As he sifted through empty pockets, two figures, one tall and one short, walked out of the pub. Well, one walked, the other, the short one, mostly stumbled.

“Get offa me. Don need ya help.” The drunk man yanked away from his taller companion and immediately barrelled straight into Dere. Dere caught him with ease and handed him over to his friend.

“Thanks for the help.” Said the sober one, a tall man with reddish hair. Nodding at Dere, he grabbed the drunken man by the arm and led him away. Dere watched them leave and, after they turned down an alley, held the drunken man’s purse in front of his face, feeling its weight. There was some satisfying bulk to it. It was the first lucky thing to happen to him all day.

-------------

Dere sat in the corner of the room, watching the door and sipping on warm beer. The meal he had purchased for a silver coin from the smiling blond serving girl at the counter rested satisfyingly in his stomach. A nearby fire warmed his cold bones and the idle chatter between the patrons helped settle his mind. It felt nice.

He had been relaxing for thirty minutes or so when a strange new patron entered the bar. He was a tall man with a large build, who walked easily with the sword on his belt. A soldier, Dere assumed, but there was something wrong with him. He kept glancing around the bar like he was scared of everything and everyone. The blonde bartender at the counter turned to smile at the new customer, but when she saw him the grin slid from her face.“Nicolas!” She said, shock shaking her voice. “I thought you were dead!”

Dere and the rest of the customers turned to observe the conversation. Nicolas sat at the counter, back hunched, shivering. “I should be.” He murmured, voice struggling to stay composed

She looked at him, her face filled with clear concern. "Nicolas, what happened?"

“It was a massacre, a shame to Horon. Everyone is dead.” He shook back and forth in his seat. The girl glanced at the other patrons, at a loss for what to do. Most of them looked away, wanting no part of it.

One of the customers, who sat at a nearby table with two other men, spoke up. “Tell us boy, what really happened? Duval’s entered the city unopposed. The royal family has been overthrown and the loyal Highlords are either on the run or have already knelt. I thought the loyalists outnumbered Duval’s side?” There was that name again, Duval. Dere’s interest in the conversation faded. He returned to his beer but kept his ear on it for boredom’s sake.

The soldier broke into tears. His sobs filling the whole bar. Everybody looked at him, worried and confused. Dere examined his drink. “We outnumbered them two to one. Sergeant was saying it was a sure victory, surest he had seen in years. Bu… but… but...”

“Pull yourself together, kid. What happened?”

He was sobbing uncontrollably, shaking in his seat as he did. “Amongst Duval’s men, there were…. there were…. monsters, faceless men who felt no pain!”

Dere whipped his head away from his beer and straight to the soldier, eyes wide. The man continued. “No matter how much we cut them they just kept coming. They were so strong! I had no choice! They were killing everyone!” There was a manic intensity to his tone. “I had to run. I had to. Barely anyone else made it out alive!” He paused. “No choice… no choice.”

The pub had gone silent, the sole noise coming from the deserter’s sobs. Everyone watched him. Some decided he was mad, others gave him nervous glances, not so sure. All of them sat petrified, stuck to their seat. Their fear hung in the air like a shroud, deafening. Nobody wanted to speak. Surprisingly, it was Dere who ended up breaking the silence.“These faceless men, describe them.”

Still crying, the man tried to speak. “Monsters, horrible monsters. They had no faces, blank skin where the eyes should be, no mouth, no nostrils. They weren’t human. I’m telling you, they weren’t human!”

He looked at Dere now, eyes filled with terror. Dere looked back, thinking a million different thoughts. “No hair either?” Dere already knew the answer.

The man shook his head, looking at the floor as he did. The blonde bartender turned to look at Dere. Her face warped with fright and confusion. “What? You know these things?

Dere stood and stretched his neck. Things had changed and fast. He started heading for the door, but, before he left, he answered her question. “I guees I do.” 

With that he left out the front door, conversation from the tavern buzzing behind him as he did. He ignored it all, mind sorting ideas and possibilities. He still didn’t know where he wanted to go, but he did know what he needed to do and who he might need to talk to.