He awoke to the sounds of torrential rain on the tent. His body still ached, but the fact that he could move and turn without any significant issues told him he was on the path to recovery. Hungry. He needed to find something to eat. The previous day's events seemed like an odd dream as if he had been observing through the eyes of someone else.

He surveyed his surroundings once more and realized that it was, in fact, not a dream. The pale, cold glow from the tent’s entrance suggested it was early morning. Perhaps just before dawn. Further scrutiny told him he was the only occupant of the tent at the moment. The cheerful Ann was nowhere to be seen. He doubted his physical condition had improved to the extent he had hoped for, so he called for help.

"Hello!? Can anyone hear me!?"

The thrumming of rain on canvas was the only reply.

"Help! Anyone!?" He called in vain.

The young man thought he should try to fend for himself. His empty stomach and the accompanying headache were persuasive enough to, at the very least, warrant an attempt. He rolled off the cot and caught himself on his hands and knees. His muscles cooperated without complaint to his surprise, and he shuffled to his feet. He swayed but managed to find his balance.

Huh. That wasn’t too bad.

Immediately, he noticed a wooden bowl covered with rough fabric on the table that held the strange potions. He lifted the cloth and saw a small slab of unknown dried meat and what could probably pass as a loaf of bread. His hunger didn’t allow for much deliberation. He attacked the innocent bowl without warning, ripping off chunks of bread and meat with his hands and teeth. Only pausing to take the odd swig from the waterskin that Ann had left with him.

He consumed about a third of the bread and even less meat before feeling full. The subtle hint of oncoming nausea suggested he should stop. He sat down on the cot and noticed that the white shirt he had been dressed in did not have accompanying trousers.

Oh no...

Panicked, he felt the call of nature and scoured the tent for a place to do his business. He found what smelled like a chamber pot.

The meager nourishment saw the slow return of his mental faculties. He vaguely understood that, when in medical care, people generally didn’t care about being exposed to doctors or nurses. The problem was, however, that this was neither a hospital nor a doctor’s office. It would be generous to call this a sick bay, and if he recalled correctly, he had had visitors while in his catatonic state.

After wallowing in embarrassment for longer than he would care to admit—it had been quite chilly after all—he felt the amount of self-pity he indulged in was enough. He decided to focus on his current predicament.

The young man immediately realized something was wrong. He knew things such as hospitals, cars, the internet, and more, yet his memories felt more leaden than foggy when he tried to recall specific details. He remembered his conversation with Ann the evening before and froze, as he couldn’t recall his name.

The healer spoke with an accent he couldn’t quite place. She had called him ‘Harbinger’ before leaving in a hurry.

Harbinger of what?

At first, he thought she seemed a bit ditzy or eccentric, but that statement gave the impression of having a few screws loose. The young man was put off by the recollection but decided to shelve the interaction for the time being.

The potions and elixirs on the table, the crude construction of the cots, the tent, and the woman’s clothing... Either he had been rescued and brought to some off-the-grid hermit community in the wilderness, or he had died and been transported to a fantasy world.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Unbelievable…" he mused aloud.

"Unbe-fucking-lievable" is pretty much spot on, boney." said in a mature, husky voice with a cynical tone. "A stray sack of bones was about a hop, skip, and a shit away from being fertilizer a few days ago. Now he’s prancing around, waving his little wand in the fresh air like he owns the place."

The short woman smiled with playful eyes, though her thin lips remained passive after her blunt remark. The young man felt the heat well up inside him again. It was ready for round two of the sparring from earlier, and he knew that he would be fighting the feeling of embarrassment for a while yet. He placed his hands on his lap to cover his defeat. He turned toward the woman, who leaned lazily against a post at the tent's entrance.

The woman, who he assumed to be Ainsle, wore black-grey metallic plate armor over what appeared to be a gray leather gambeson. He had the passing thought that there should be some heraldry or markings on her attire, but there were none that he could see. She was shorter than he had imagined. The top of her head would reach his shoulders if he stood. Her graying blonde hair was tied in a high bun. She had fair skin marred by a single angry scar that waltzed from between her eyes, along her left cheek, and to her jawline. The only wrinkles he saw were laugh lines hugging her eyes.

"You’re Ainsle, right?"

Her lips quirked.

"Maybe I am. Maybe not. Maybe I’m Mistress Ainsle, her dreadful yet stunningly ravishing majesty. It depends on who’s asking, I always say."

"Yeah, I got it. I’m-"

Don’t think too hard. Boney?

"-Ben. Benjamin."

Really? Benjamin?

"Well, Benny, it seems like you’re the hot topic in the camp right now. Folks are curious about some things, you know. Like, where in the fuck did you and your friends come from? And why are their bodies littering the beach like it’s some goddamned holiday festival out here on the Fringe?"

"What?"

"I can’t say I’ve heard of a town called ‘What’ before," she said sarcastically.

As he was then known, Benjamin Bones felt a torrent of questions threaten to burst from the dam that was his mouth. He didn’t want to reveal that he was suffering from amnesia, afraid that he might be taken advantage of. He needed to learn more without giving away too much.

"Why are you asking? Are you part of the group responsible for the murder of my people?"

Ainsle’s expression changed from mocking to apprehensive in a heartbeat. She shifted her weight to the other foot and spoke.

"So. I’m thinking you don’t know what happened. I’m also thinking you woke up this way and don’t know who or what attacked your town, city, or whatever. You’d know that the empire is pretty damn strict about the disposal of corpses after an invasion. We can’t have the poor cunts walking around and eating folks after the fact, can we?"

She paused for a beat. Ben realized he couldn’t match wits with the sharp old woman. While being honest might not be the best course, he decided it was the most expedient one.

"You’re from the old world, aren’t you?"

Ben remained silent. Unsure what to make of the sudden change in her demeanor. Ainsle studied him with an attention that felt palpable as if he could hear the turning of well-oiled gears in her head. A pregnant silence occupied the space between them. She spoke.

"You’re finally losing it, Ain," she said, chuckling as she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

She met his eyes.

"We learned about your kind in the academy. They said all the ruins had been excavated already, but there were rumors."

"My kind? What do you mean, ruins?"

She seemed to have made up her mind at that moment.

"This is way above my pay grade. Honey, I’m here to finish my tour and retire with a handsome former Captain and a shitty pension, somewhere far, far away from the border. So, I’m going to follow protocol on this one... and hand the problem over to my superior." Ainsle turned to leave before mumbling, "I guess shit does flow uphill sometimes."

Ben resigned himself to sitting and waiting on his cot while building up his energy reserves. The minor physical activity earlier had left him deeply fatigued. He decided he would need to rest and recover before he could actively pursue answers. He laid down and drifted off to sleep once more. He had no trouble falling asleep as the rain had slowed down a touch and the soft patter on the canvas was a comforting melody to his tired body.

A while later, Ben awoke and found his hunger had returned with a vengeance. He demolished the rest of the bowl’s contents and began considering his plan of action. It was early morning, and the camp seemed to stir to life. The smell of campfire wafted in with the wind through the tent’s closed flap. The sounds of conversation could be heard, but he struggled to make out the details. He stood and prepared to venture out when he heard another familiar voice outside.

"Is he awake?" came the voice of the Squad Leader.