My new friends were strange people.

They taught me new things—or rather, re-taught me things I had forgotten. That was kind of them, though they didn’t seem to enjoy spending much time together, especially with me.

One of the first things they re-taught me was how to tell time. "Time"—what a concept. They showed me these little devices called clocks, with two small rods inside that pointed at numbers, and those numbers told you what time it was. What a wonderful invention! It made me wonder how I had ever lived without knowing about such things.

But for all their lessons, they always kept their distance when I came around. It had been several days since I first encountered them, and yet, we only ever talked when I initiated the conversation. Even then, it was short-lived, with them claiming someone else was calling for them before they rushed off. I didn’t mind too much—I was still learning how things worked here.

Still, it felt a little lonely. I called them friends, but in truth, only the old woman really spoke with me or took the time to teach me anything. Everyone referred to her as the "Grand-Elder," though I didn’t quite grasp the meaning. I simply called her "Oldie," and to my relief, she didn’t seem to mind. Oldie was the one who taught me the most, but only after I shared what little I knew about myself.

She was persistent about learning who I was, constantly probing for details about my past. But when I told her I knew almost nothing, I could see the disappointment flicker across her face. It wasn’t that I had amnesia, exactly—I still had memories, still understood a great deal about the world.

But there was something... blocking me, as if my memories were trapped behind a thick fog. What made it even stranger was that it felt like there were two barriers. One that kept my memories from returning, and another that hinted at something far older, something beyond my memories altogether. I didn’t know what it meant, but I didn’t question it either.

I shared with her what little I did know—that the place I had been calling home was, in fact, a prison. A place where people were sent to reflect on the bad things they’d done. I was taken aback when she explained this to me, feeling a pang of guilt. I didn’t want to be a bad person. But Oldie introduced me to the idea of "false accusations," and just like that, I was convinced that I was innocent, wrongfully imprisoned.

The idea settled over me like a comforting blanket. Surely, that must have been what happened.

As we spent more time together, I felt a mix of emotions. Slowly, I began to regain control over my mind and body—things I had lost to what Oldie called "insanity." She explained it happened because I had been alone for so long. I didn’t believe her at first.

I hadn’t been alone, after all. Darkness had always been there, along with Mr. Moon. One kept me company in the void and the other when I got out. But when I shared this with her, Oldie had me sit down and meditate. She said it would help. Though she did say it would help out with the fog that's been clouding my mind, I felt it would help with insanity aswell.

At first, nothing happened. But hours later, as I sat in the quiet room of the small house they'd given me, I noticed a creeping realization. Darkness? Mr. Moon? They weren’t people. They weren’t real. They couldn’t talk, or feel, or comfort me the way I had thought they could. What the hell had been wrong with me? Embarrassment hit me like a tidal wave. I rushed to the large straw house in the center of the village, Oldie’s home, desperate for an explanation.

When I arrived, Oldie was calm, reassuring. After I explained to her what I was feeling, she told me that my sanity was returning, that my ability to see things clearly again was a good sign. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, though I couldn’t shake the lingering shame. Still, her words gave me some peace.

It was on the seventh day after my arrival that Oldie was about to explain something—"Saxe," I think—when we were interrupted. A small boy burst into the house, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Grand-Elder! Grand-Elder! Kentaro is awake!" he shouted, ignoring my presence entirely as he rushed over to Oldie.

I blinked at the boy’s disregard but let it slide. The little ones, children as they called them, weren’t very bright, after all. Oldie didn’t seem to mind him either.

"Are you sure?" Oldie asked as she rose slowly, leaning on her curved wooden staff for support.

"Yes! Alchemist Vidya told me!" the boy replied, tugging at her hand, urging her to hurry.

"Jai, come with us," she said, turning to me. "He’ll probably want to see you too. Perhaps you can make amends."

I frowned in confusion. I didn’t know anyone named Kentaro. But before I could ask, Oldie was already pulling me along, the boy eagerly leading the way.

We moved through the village slowly, much to the boy’s frustration, as Oldie could only walk so fast. At one point, I placed a hand on his shoulder, intending to calm him down, but something strange happened. The ground beneath him rippled and, for a moment, it looked as though he would sink into the earth itself. He pulled away quickly, eyes wide with shock, but said nothing.

As we walked, I took a look around the place. It wasn't anything great, but it was a simple place. Actually I take that back.

The village was small and kind of boring. The houses were made out of mud, straw, bricks and sticks, with roofs that looked like messy piles of straw. Smoke came out of some of them, making the whole place smell weird, like burnt wood and animals. There were a few animals around behind old, crooked fences, and the people were just sitting around, doing stuff like weaving or cooking. The kids didn’t have shoes, and the paths were just dirt, nothing special. It all looked rough and plain, like nobody cared to make it nicer.

We eventually arrived at the second largest building in the village—the place they called a "healing house," though I couldn’t remember its proper name. It was where people who needed help were taken.

Inside, a woman greeted us with a small bow before leading us down a hallway lined with rooms, each holding a bed and a few basic furnishings. We walked past seven doors before entering the eighth.

There, sitting upright in bed, was a man. His face was swollen, bruised, and contorted in an ugly frown. The moment he saw us, his eyes widened with fury.

"It’s you! You bastard! How dare you enter the village!" he spat, attempting to get out of bed. His legs wobbled and gave out beneath him, sending him crashing face-first to the floor.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

For a moment, I was too stunned to respond. Then, recognition hit me. His voice... it was the man who had fallen asleep by the tree the day I arrived! But why was he so angry? And what had happened to his face?

"Uh, well, after you fell asleep, I picked you up and brought you back to the village," I explained, my voice awkward in the tense silence. "I’ve been here for the past week."

"Shut up!" he screamed, his voice muffled by the floor.

The woman who had greeted us rushed over, helping him back onto the bed while scolding him for trying to stand. They spoke in a language I didn’t understand, their conversation ending abruptly as they shared a brief, uncomfortable kiss. I looked away, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks.

"Grand-Elder, what are you thinking, bringing this—this guy into the village?" Kentaro growled, his tone suddenly more respectful. "For all we know, he could be a Ukorin spy!"

Oldie’s face hardened, her eyes narrowing. "Are you questioning my judgment, Kentaro?"

His mouth fell open in shock. "N-no, Grand-Elder. I apologize."

"Good. Forget all those pointless thoughts. Recover soon," she continued. "When you set off for the capital, I want you to bring him with you. I believe he has a chance of getting in."

"What?" Kentaro nearly shouted, but stopped himself, lowering his voice. "With all due respect, Grand-Elder, he didn’t even go through the preliminary examinations. How do we know he’s strong enough?"

"Do you consider yourself strong enough?" Oldie asked, her tone firm.

"Yes," Kentaro replied, though there was hesitation in his voice.

"Yet he knocked you out by simply touching you. And he doesn’t even realize it," Oldie said, turning to me. Her words were casual, but the weight of them hit me hard. Knocked him out? What did she mean? I thought he had just... fallen asleep.

Now they were talking as though I wasn’t in the room, and I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Still, I pieced together that this "academy" they were talking about was important—and if Oldie believed in me, who was I to refuse? I puffed out my chest a bit, ready to agree.

"Yes, Grand-Elder, I’ll—"

"I object!" a booming voice interrupted. A tall, muscular man shoved past us and rushed to Kentaro’s side.

"Father!" Kentaro cried.

"Son!" The two embraced in a tight hug, holding on far longer than necessary.

Oldie cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. "Isayama, what do you mean by objecting?"

"Grand-Elder, after this boy attacked my son and forced his way into our village, how can you let him follow Kentaro to the capital? I kept quiet when you allowed him to stay, even ignoring the complaints from the villagers. But now you’ve gone too far. I object to allowing him to leave." Isayama’s voice was firm, his posture resolute.

Panic shot through me. I had just agreed to go, and now this man was standing in the way. I had to do something. I had to prove I was worthy. But how?

"Then let’s fight," I mumbled, much louder than I had intended.

“What did you say, boy?” His voice rumbled with barely contained fury. His eyes locked on mine, sharp as knives.

I met his gaze, unflinching. “I said let’s fight. If you win, I’ll listen to you. If I win, you let me go.” My words felt steady, but beneath the surface, my heart raced in a strange mix of excitement and fear. Still, his rage didn’t scare me. He didn’t seem strong enough to justify it.

He stood towering over me, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes, a figure hardened by years of battle. But what I’d come to understand over the past few days was simple—here, strength ruled all. If you were strong, you held power, respect, and control. And I needed control at this moment. If I could win this fight, I'd prove myself, and he would have to let me leave for the academy. That was the plan, at least.

He scoffed, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Brat, I am this village’s main guardian. For thirty years, I’ve defended it and reached heights you can’t even dream of. You—”

“Enough.” Oldie’s voice sliced through his words, silencing him. She leaned forward, her cane digging into the earth, eyes sharp. “I agree with Jai. You two shall fight, and the winner will make the final decision. I will not interfere.”

The man stared at her in disbelief, his face flushed with anger. “But—”

“No buts,” she cut him off, her gaze unyielding. “Prove yourself worthy of objecting to my decision, Isayama.”

A moment of silence passed between them, thick with tension. His mouth hung open, his rage momentarily replaced with shock.

Finally, he gritted his teeth and bowed his head. “Yes, Grand-Elder.”

The moment felt like a victory already, but I knew better than to relax.

“Fine. Let’s do this,” Isayama growled, pushing past me, his shoulder brushing mine with deliberate force. “Follow me outside, brat. We’ll avoid any theatrics and end this quickly. I needed to blow off some steam anyway.”

He stomped towards the door, but just as he reached the threshold, his foot seemed to slip. He went crashing to the ground face-first, just like his son had done earlier.

I raised an eyebrow, watching the scene with a mix of amusement and bewilderment. Must run in the family, I thought.

He leapt back to his feet, brushing himself off and motioning for me to follow with a snarl. As I moved toward the door, I glanced back at the others in the room. Kentaro, the injured man, glared at me with pure hatred, while the woman by his side studied me with curiosity, her eyes lingering a moment too long. Oldie gave me a small nod of encouragement, her smile warm but tight with unspoken worry. I offered a nod in return before stepping outside.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting the sky in hues of orange and gold. In front of me stood Isayama, stripped down now, his body fully revealed.

I took him in—the red hair, the tanned skin crisscrossed with scars, the contrasting green eyes. His muscles bulged under the fading light, but something felt off. There was no harmony in his appearance, as if his very being was made of mismatched pieces forced together.

I looked down at the heavy metal shackles still clamped around my limbs and neck, a constant reminder of my strange past. They were as much a part of me as my own hands now, but they felt foreign, weighing me down. I’d tried many times to remove them, but nothing worked. I hoped they wouldn’t be the reason I lost this fight.

Isayama sneered, noticing my glance. “I’ll admit you’re strong. Defeating my son wasn’t a small feat, but don’t think for a second you’re ready to challenge me. I’ll crush you,” he declared, his voice laced with overconfidence. A strange red mist began to swirl around him, his eyes glowing with raw power.

I stared at him, unbothered. “Let’s do this,” I said calmly. I hadn’t expected those words to fuel his anger, but they did.

With a roar that echoed through the village, Isayama lunged at me, his body a blur of motion. His fists were clenched, ready to deliver what he probably thought would be a devastating blow. I had no real idea how to fight, not really. But instinct kicked in. I lowered my stance, palm outstretched.

He closed the distance in an instant, his arms swinging like hammers. His fists smashed into my sides, pain exploding along my ribs, but I barely registered it. At the same moment, my palm connected with his face, a soft thud echoing in the still evening air.

And then... he was gone.

I blinked, looking around in confusion. Where had he gone? My ribs tingled, a faint ache reminding me of the strike, but nothing too severe. My eyes scanned the area until they finally found him—Isayama, lying far across the village square, completely unconscious.

I stood there, stunned. Did I really just knock him out? Or did he run away?

The villagers who had gathered to watch the fight murmured amongst themselves, eyes wide with disbelief. Isayama, the guardian of the village, defeated in a single blow.

I stared at the scene, my heart pounding in my chest.

Like father, like son, I thought.

But as the shock wore off, realization settled in.

I had won. I was going to the academy. That was all that mattered.