Chapter 3: Nightmares of the Past
The morning sun filtered through the mist, casting a soft light over the farm. Alexander grunted as he hauled another heavy burlap sack of grain across the yard, his muscles aching with every step. His body was sore from the laborious chore, but the work had become routine over the last month—a necessary grind to rebuild his strength. He could feel his endurance growing daily, yet every task reminded him how far he still had to go. He could see the changes in his body. Muscles began to show as his chest, arms, and legs filled out. Even as he looked at his body somethings still seemed foreign to him.
Amara stood nearby, feeding the pigs and watching him with a playful grin. "How’s the back holding up, old man?" she teased, her voice light as she tossed another handful of feed.
Alexander shot her a look, his face twisted in mock annoyance. "You keep calling me ‘old man,’ but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll let that slide."
She laughed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You haven’t outrun me once yet. Until you do, the name sticks."
"Alright then you little troublemaker you win this round. I'll beat you soon enough and then you'll have to find something else to call me."
"Yeah, sure. By the time that happens, I might be an old woman", she said as she snickered.
Lyra, standing by the barn, watched the exchange with a faint smile. Over the weeks, Alexander had slowly earned her trust. His playful bond with Amara, treating her like a little sister, had chipped away at Lyra’s initial wariness. She still kept her distance, but her stance had softened.
"You two better focus on the work," Lyra called over, her voice stern but tinged with warmth. "There’s still plenty to do before the sun sets."
Amara made a face but obediently returned to her chores. Alexander, despite his soreness, moved to grab another sack of grain. The weight pressed down onto his shoulders, and he grit his teeth against the strain. His body was healing, but each step forward seemed like climbing a mountain. Every muscle ached, every movement sent pain shooting through his limbs, a constant reminder of the toll his injuries had taken.
Notification: Physical Fitness – 48% to Basic
The sound in his head was becoming familiar, the steady progression of his skills a small comfort amid the struggle. But progress came slower now. The closer he got to mastering his physical abilities, the more difficult each incremental increase became. Over the next few hours, he, Lyra, and Amara finished the afternoon chores and finally went into the house and ate their evening meal. There wasn't much chatter as the young man sank into his normal meditative contemplation about who he was. He tried to remember something, anything but as usual it was like grabbing a hold of air.
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Later that evening, after the sun had set and the cool night air settled over the farm, Alexander found himself sitting by the fire, staring into the flames. The day had been long, and his body was a web of sore muscles and dull aches. Amara had already retired to her room, and Lyra was quietly tidying up the kitchen.
His mind, however, was elsewhere. Each night, the same feeling gnawed at him, a sense of unease that refused to let him rest. He bid good evening to Lyra and Amara and retired to the room that Lyra had given him to live in temporarily while he recovered. When he finally laid down, exhaustion swept over him like a wave, dragging him into the depths of sleep. But sleep brought no peace.
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Like many nights before the young man experienced the same recurring nightmare that was a storm of violence, blood, pain, and fear.
Flashes of red light illuminated the darkness, casting long, jagged shadows. Alexander found himself in the middle of a chaotic battlefield, the air thick with the stench of blood and death. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. Numerous figures were chasing him and rapidly gaining ground but he couldn't see any of their faces. He couldn't remember why, but he knew they were trying to kill him.
When they finally caught up to him, the unknown assailants surrounded him like a pack of wolves. Figures moved around him—shadowy, indistinct forms that slashed and lunged at him with deadly precision. He fought back, his arms heavy with fatigue, swinging a greatsword that felt like an extension of himself. The blade gleamed with each strike, cutting through the darkness, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how many attackers he felled, more took their place. It was like fighting an entire horde of enemies all on his own.
What could I have done to warrant this type of response? Why are all of these people after me?
Pain exploded in his side as a blade found its mark, carving deep into his flesh. He staggered, choking back a scream, his hand instinctively pressing against the wound as blood soaked through his fingers. His strength was sufficient to continue fighting with the massive blade even with one hand. Now though, the momentum of each swing got the better of his body and his technique began to suffer. No longer could he defeat his foes with one swing and keep himself defensively ready.
A flash of lightning struck.
Another attacker lunged at him, and he barely managed to deflect the blow. His body was a mass of pain—sharp, searing agony that tore through him with each movement. He was surrounded, outnumbered, and every breath was a battle for survival.
Another flash of lightning struck illuminating the battlefield.
The group began to part as he saw more of them for a moment. All of them clad in black leather armor. All wear masks that hid their features other than their eyes. He could see the group begin to part and figure emerged from the shadows, larger and more menacing than the others. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and Alexander’s heart seized in terror. The creature—man? Beast?—bore down on him, its weapon raised high. He tried to move, to escape, but his limbs felt like lead. He was trapped, helpless. The creature smiled showing its predatory grin and revealing a pair of large, white canine teeth.
The creature swung.
Pain, blinding and all-consuming, ripped through him. He fell to his knees, his vision blurring as blood poured from the deep gashes across his body. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by a deafening silence. Something hot began moving from the wound through his body.
Is this poison? What was on that blade it feels like fire is going through my body!
He felt his sword slip from his fingers and clatter to the rain soaked ground. Then he fell to his knees and then face down on the ground. The remaining strength he had he used to turn his head to the side so he wouldn't smother himself. And then, through the haze of agony, he heard it.
"Alexander", a voice yelled!
He didn't have the strength to respond. He could feel his life draining from his body. The voice was distant, but it pierced through the darkness like a beacon. It was familiar, a name that carried weight. His name.
He tried to call out but nothing came.
Then he felt hot, putrid breath on his cheek and a voice said to him, "Alexander this is where you die traitor! The Dark Guild's orders are absolute! Rest in hell!"
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He jerked awake, gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as he struggled to regain control of his breath. The sharp pain in his side, and chest from the dream still lingered, though his hand found no wound there. The remnants of the nightmare clung to him, refusing to fade.
I am a traitor?
Before he could make heads or tails of what was going on he heard Amara's voice.
"Are you alright?" Amara’s soft voice cut through the silence. "I heard you screaming so I rushed over to see what was going on."
He turned, seeing her standing in the doorway, her face etched with concern. Lyra was behind her, watching him with the same worried expression.
The young man ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to steady his breathing. "It was just... a dream," he muttered, though even to his ears, the words sounded hollow.
Lyra stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. "You’ve been having these dreams often, haven’t you?"
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He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes. But this one... it was different." He hesitated, the name from the dream still fresh in his mind. "I heard someone calling me. Alexander."
Amara tilted her head, her brow furrowed. "Someone in your dream called you, Alexander?"
"I think... I think it’s my name," he said, the realization settling heavily in his chest.
The two women exchanged glances, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
"You’re starting to remember," Lyra said quietly.
"I don’t know if I am, or if it’s just fragments." Alexander shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. "But that name... it feels right."
Amara placed a comforting hand on his arm. "We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry, Alexander. I kind of like that name. Yes, from now on you will be old man Alexander."
He managed a small, grateful smile from her silly remark. But deep down, the nightmare left him shaken. The fear, the desperation, the agony—he had felt it all so vividly. And now, even in the safety of the farmhouse, it lingered.
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The next morning, Alexander threw himself into the farm work with renewed determination. His body was exhausted, his mind still clouded from the nightmare, but the physical labor helped drown out the echoes of the dream. He carried sacks of grain, hammered nails into the fence, and chopped wood until his muscles screamed in protest.
As the days wore on, his strength continued to build, his endurance growing with each task. His body, though still healing, was adapting to the constant strain.
Notification: Physical Fitness – 75% to Basic
The progress was slow but steady. His physical fitness was nearing the next level, but each percentage point felt like a battle. The further he pushed, the harder the gains came.
Amara, as always, found time to tease him during the work. "Still haven’t outrun me old man," she said with a smirk, tossing a sack of feed onto the cart with ease.
Alexander shot her a sidelong glance. "I’m conserving my energy. Don’t want to embarrass you when I finally win."
She rolled her eyes, laughing. "Sure, sure."
Even Lyra had begun to soften toward him, though she still kept her distance. She no longer watched him with the same guarded suspicion. The way he treated Amara—with the care of a protective older brother—had slowly won her over.
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That night, as Alexander lay in bed, his body aching but his mind clear, a sense of accomplishment washed over him. The nightmares still haunted his sleep, but he was making progress. His strength was returning, his skills improving, and now, he had a name.
Notification: Physical Fitness – 100% to Basic
Physical Fitness has reached the Basic level! You gain +2 to Strength and +2 to Endurance.
He could feel the change as soon as the notification appeared. His muscles were stronger and more resilient. His stamina had increased noticeably, and he felt a surge of renewed energy, despite the day’s hard work.
But he knew that progress would slow even more from here. Reaching the next tier—Apprentice—would take time and a lot more effort.
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The next few days were marked by a familiar rhythm. Farm work by day, restless sleep by night. But with every sack of grain lifted, every fence reinforced, Alexander felt himself getting closer to something. A clearer understanding of who he was, and what he was capable of.
And through it all, the name echoed in his mind.
"Alexander."
He didn’t know where the path would lead him. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a direction.
And that was enough for now.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, Alexander found himself immersed in the rhythm of the farm’s demands. Each task brought a fresh wave of pain, but also a small sense of satisfaction—of progress. His muscles ached less now, but they still screamed with every motion, the soreness deepening as he took on heavier tasks.
Carrying sacks of grain had become a test of his endurance. The sacks were dense and cumbersome, each one feeling like a small boulder draped over his shoulders. His fingers dug into the rough cloth as he hefted the weight, feeling the strain ripple through his body from his legs to his back.
"Don’t hurt yourself," Amara said, her voice teasing but light. She leaned against a fencepost, watching him with a smile. "We wouldn’t want you to keel over before you hit your 'Apprentice' level."
"Too late," Alexander muttered through clenched teeth, sweat pouring down his face. He took one more step, then dropped the sack onto the pile with a groan. "Think I might already be dead."
Amara laughed, her giggles brightening the air. "Well, if you’re a ghost, you’re doing a great job haunting the farm."
Alexander wiped the sweat from his brow and gave her a sidelong glance. "You think you could carry those yourself, or do you just like standing around watching me suffer?"
"I like watching you suffer," she shot back with a grin, "but I can help if you beg."
He chuckled, shaking his head. Their banter had become part of the daily routine, a constant source of levity amid the grind of labor. Amara, with her bright energy, was a welcome distraction from the heavier thoughts that still lingered in his mind.
Lyra, as usual, stood nearby, observing with a careful eye. She hadn’t yet joined in the teasing, but her expression had softened. Alexander could sense that she was beginning to trust him more, especially after seeing how he interacted with her daughter. She still held back a bit, as though waiting for something to prove he was more than a passing presence.
"Why do you let her push you around like that?" Lyra asked, raising an eyebrow as Amara sauntered off to check on the pigs.
"She’s got a mean streak," Alexander joked, rubbing his sore shoulders. "I don’t want to risk her turning it against me."
Lyra smirked, shaking her head. "You handle her well."
There was a brief silence as Alexander moved to reinforce one of the fences, hammering new nails into the worn wood. The thud of the hammer against the post was rhythmic, each strike a steady beat in the quiet of the morning. He didn’t need to look up to feel Lyra’s gaze on him.
"You’ve been good to her," Lyra said after a moment. "I see how you treat her, like a little sister. It’s... it’s good for her to have that."
Alexander paused, letting the hammer rest in his hand. He wasn’t used to hearing compliments from Lyra, and there was a weight to her words that made him uncomfortable, though not in a bad way.
"I care about her," he said simply. "She’s got a fire in her, but... she’s still just a kid."
Lyra nodded, her expression softening further. "She hasn’t had many people to rely on, especially after her father..." She trailed off, the sadness in her eyes clear, though she quickly blinked it away. "Thank you."
The words hung in the air, and Alexander felt the shift in their relationship—an unspoken acknowledgment that Lyra was letting him in, slowly, but surely. He offered her a small nod, not needing to say more.
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That night, after the usual hard work had come to an end, Alexander collapsed into his bed, every muscle screaming for rest. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to come quickly, but as soon as he drifted off, the nightmare returned.
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The darkness consumed him again, dragging him into a violent storm of chaos. The battlefield surged around him, the stench of blood filling his lungs as screams echoed in his ears. His hands gripped a blade, though his movements were sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion.
He was surrounded. Shadowy figures loomed in every direction, faceless enemies with blades and axes gleaming in the dim light. They came at him without hesitation, their attacks swift and brutal.
A sword sliced across his arm, burning pain searing through his skin. He spun, retaliating with a desperate swing of his own, but the attackers were relentless. Another strike tore into his leg, and he collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath.
His chest heaved as panic flooded his senses. He could feel the blood pouring from his wounds, staining the ground beneath him. The air was thick with smoke, and the heat of the battle was suffocating. He tried to stand, to fight, but his body was failing him.
A deep, guttural roar echoed across the battlefield, and Alexander’s heart seized in terror. A massive figure appeared before him, towering over the other enemies. Its eyes burned with a savage light, and its blade glowed with an eerie crimson hue.
The figure lunged, and Alexander barely had time to raise his weapon before the blow came crashing down. The force of the strike knocked him backward, pain exploding through his chest as the blade carved into him. He gasped, choking on blood, his vision blurring as he hit the ground.
He was going to die.
Desperation clawed at his throat as he struggled to breathe, his body wracked with agony. He could feel his life slipping away, the darkness closing in around him. And then, through the haze of pain, he heard it again.
"Alexander!
The voice was distant, yet clear. It cut through the chaos, anchoring him in the nightmare. The name echoed in his mind, pulling him from the brink of oblivion.
"Alexander!"
He reached for the voice, his hand trembling as he tried to grasp at the sound. But the pain was too much. Once again the fetid breath was on his neck.
"Alexander. You should have done your job! Leaving a job incomplete means death in the Dark Guild! Now, rot in hell and tell the Ogre sent you, you bastard!"
His vision went dark, and the last thing he heard was the name—his name—ringing in his ears.
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He woke with a jolt, gasping for air, his heart pounding in his chest. Sweat drenched his skin, and his muscles were stiff from the violent tension of the dream. He sat up, trying to shake off the lingering terror, but the nightmare clung to him like a shadow.
"Alexander?"
The voice startled him, and he turned to see Amara standing at the door, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?"
Lyra appeared behind her, her brow furrowed. "We heard you... thrashing in your sleep again. This time it was much louder. Are you alright"
Alexander ran a hand through his damp hair, struggling to calm his racing heart. "I... I had the dream again."
"Is it getting worse?" Lyra asked, stepping closer.
He nodded, swallowing hard. "It feels real. I was on a battlefield, surrounded. I was fighting, but... I was losing. I could feel the pain, the desperation." His voice cracked slightly as he recalled the nightmare. "And then... I heard someone calling my name."
"That was the same as yesterday. Is there anything else you remember from the dream?"
Alexander let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. "Maybe. Everything is just flashes. The experience is horrible when I'm going through it but the only thing I can remember when I wake up is that voice calling my name.
Amara placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle. "You’re not alone. We’re here for you, okay?"
Her words, simple as they were, brought a small measure of comfort. He managed a faint smile, though the weight of the nightmare still lingered.
"Thanks," he said softly, his voice hoarse.
Lyra nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Get some rest. You’ve been through enough today."
As they left the room, Alexander lay back down, staring at the ceiling. The name echoed in his mind, along with the flashes of the nightmare. He didn’t know who he was yet, but at least now he had a piece of the puzzle. He pondered whether to tell Lyra and Amara about him being called a traitor but he decided better of it. He would tell them when he figured it out.
"Alexander," he whispered to himself, letting the word settle.
He closed his eyes, trying to push away the fear and pain, and slowly drifted back into a restless sleep.