5. A Scar without Memories

Year 3046, Zlogas, North of Ferales.

Lightning cleaved the northern sky and marked the silhouette of the Feral Tower against the sky. The thunder came four seconds late, like a distant roar.

Antuan climbed out of the bedroom window, taking advantage of the fact that the girl, a young merchant with brown hair and nice breasts, had fallen asleep. They had met that night in one of Zlogas' many bars and executing his move to perfection, he found no difficulty in getting her to bed. After fucking her, as usual, he stole all her valuable belongings, silver jewelry, gold jewelry and even the coins she had on her.

He did not feel guilty about stealing from these women. If anything, they should consider it payment for his amatory services, in which he had full confidence.

He walked down the alley and turned in the direction of his home on the outskirts of town. Being slender and long-limbed, his gait was swift and stealthy. Liat always told him proudly that he was a natural, that he was born to be a thief.

He shared his opinion, to be a thief yes, to be a fighter, no. He was skilled with daggers and gifted at stealth, but the very idea of being wounded already sent chills all over his body accompanied by a cold sweat.

The crimson scar in the middle of his chest, strangely enough, always burned when he was in danger so he had learned to run away whenever it started, avoiding most confrontations.

Literally for as long as he could remember, that is, from the age of twelve, Antuan had to fend for himself. When he met Liat, he made it very clear to him that he had to be self-sufficient.

The fisherman, or rather, the thief with a passion for fishing, was the one who saved his life. One afternoon, almost six years ago, while Liat was trying to catch some fish at the mouth of the Tinto River, south of Drakari, he came across a boat sailing close to the shore. Made of prime pine wood, the unmanned boat, which was at the mercy of the current, was a dream come true.

He picked up the baited line, hopped out among the rocks and approached it with a chuckle, thinking of all the use it would have for fishing.

When he climbed in, he found an unconscious child on the ground, pale as a ghost, with a huge crimson scar on his chest and practically dead from starvation. To this day, when Liat drinks too much alcohol, he often jokes about how Antuan would not have survived if that boat was not of such good quality.

Considered Zlogas as the city of vice in Ferales, it had a very bad reputation unlike the other cities. The region had five main cities, each with a Feral Tower as a symbol of union and authority.

Since before the Imperial Age, almost a millennium ago, Ferales and its ruling clans kept beast advances and invasions at bay. Located south of Drakari, Insubri, and Dontos were considered the shield and spear of the eastern regions against the beasts.

Besides them, only the giant region of Tracia shared a border with the Beastlands, connected by thousands of kilometers through the Leafy Woods to the southeast and the Sand Deserts to the southwest.

Despite that, the people in Zlogas to the north were more concerned with how to generate or spend their wealth than with fighting the Beast Territories to the south.

Casinos, brothels, bars and all sorts of other enterprises sustained the corruption and nightlife of Zlogas. Criminal organizations were constantly springing up, and someone like Antuan was never short of opportunities to work. With Liat, they had been in the region for two years and the past year had been very lucrative.

Stealing was his profession and women, a hobby. At his young age, he had a very unique perspective on the female sex that if shared with others, would be shocking to say the least.

From the time he learned basic stealth and espionage skills with Liat, he showed an innate capacity for reading social dynamics. One of the first truths he discovered was the best-kept secret of the successful: aesthetics.

In order to succeed, it is not enough to be a winner, you also have to look like one. That is to say, it is not enough to be, you have to look like. Antuan had this engraved on his skin as much as his scar.

What was really complicated was to find the character one wanted to be. Taking advantage of his talent, the young man developed two characters that, by constantly playing them, he ended up transforming into them.

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He was able to change everything that other people perceived about him through their senses: his clothes, his hairstyle, the way he spoke, moved or reacted to others.

The woman still sleeping in her room had never met Antuan. She had met a wealthy and elegant merchant, reserved, with a smooth gait and refined gestures. But who, after meeting her, looked into her eyes with passion and she could guarantee his loving and protective intentions...

Finally, leaving the stone streets, he arrived at the swamps. He crossed the mudflats going through the driest parts and with his hands he cleared the tall grasses and reeds that hindered his way.

Accompanied by the darkness of the night, except for the occasional flash of lightning, he came to an old tree covered with moss. Entering the trunk, he descended a narrow tunnel a few feet down to a wide cave lit by torches.

"Liat I'm here, guess what I got today?" he boasted with laughter.

There was no answer, only the swaying of the flames that illuminated the paintings and ornamentation on the walls, some too sophisticated to be there.

«He must be in a bar having a drink with those Tower guards» thought Antuan. Those three had been up to something for a couple of months but Liat wouldn't tell him anything. They were so busy with it that they hardly visited him anymore.

He went to an alcove in the wall of the cave where his room was. Modest and simple, it had only a bed, a table with a chair and a chest where he put things to protect them from the damp.

He leaned back and pulled out the set of rings, necklaces, earrings and newly stolen coins from inside his cloak. Liat was better at assessing the quality of the objects but he could estimate that they were of considerable value anyway.

They were getting closer and closer to having enough gold to fulfill their dream, an amount that years ago had seemed unattainable.

Tired, he went to put the jewels in the rectangular chest made of oak and iron. When he did so, he was disconcerted to discover marks on the metal and, examining it, he found that the lock had been forced.

Alarmed, he opened the chest that except for some worthless clothing, it was completely empty. Holding his hands to the head, he paced up and down the room without understanding what was happening when he caught a glimpse of a yellowish paper letter on the table and hurriedly opened it.

Reading the letter color drained from his face and he ran as fast as he could to a second tunnel at the end of the cave that led to an emergency exit.

The young thief who entered that tunnel was never the same. The first thing that seized his senses was an intense smell of putrefaction that turned his stomach. A torch, near the entrance, illuminated blood-stained walls with stakes that held in place a whitish, decapitated body.

His legs trembled, tears welled up like waterfalls in his eyes. He stood motionless for a couple of minutes until he finally approached to check the body. With a lump caught in his throat, he saw the corpse wearing gray yarn clothing and a black wool cloak identical to his own. It was the daily garment worn by Liat and even the right hand was missing the little finger that the thief had lost in his youth.

He stumbled back to the ground, pale as paper, struck down by the impression that it really was Liat's body. And then, bringing his attention to the danger, the scar on his chest began to burn with intensity.

"Pathetic! You petty thieves, how could you think of robbing the Feral Tower?" cursed a voice behind him.

Hearing that, Antuan turned to find a tall man with his face hidden in the shadows. He had a golden brooch with a symbol of crossed swords...

Before he could see anything else, the assassin plunged a dagger into the side of his torso without hesitation. A cold sting pierced his body and mingled with the hot burning of the scar.

In agony he tried to scream, but only moans came out. Feeling his eyes heavy, he entered a state of lethargy in which the darkness grew larger. In a weak state, unable to do anything about it, faded into it.

He had already surrendered when he felt the warmth of the scar like an anchor that would not let him go.

He remembered the first time he opened his eyes in that small boat, disoriented and numb. With no memory of what had happened, he just whimpered and slept as he was swept away by the current.

In the sky, some kind of black birds flew menacingly overhead and he thought they were going to eat him. How much time passed he did not know.

Then, out of nowhere, a face appeared, staring at him with an open mouth and a frown.

A younger Liat, perplexed, almost fell backwards when he encountered it while fishing. He was a whimpering boy, alone and hungry, wearing a silver necklace that read Antuan. On his chest was, the size of a fist, a red scar.

"It's okay kid, I'm not going to hurt you, you're safe" he mumbled and began humming, with very little skill, a fisherman's song.

The scene faded and again he found himself in darkness. He was already tired, he wanted to go to sleep. If only that burning in his chest would go away.....

"Antuan" muttered a voice. He turned a deaf ear. He wanted to rest.

"Antuan!" the voice insisted. Far, far away, he could hear the call of that woman.

"Antuan, Antuan, Antuan!!!" she shouted in his face. Green eyes like his own appeared looking at him urgently and then the burning in his chest exploded, as a hot liquid spread through his body with so much pain that it woke him up.

He sat up again dizzy and suffocated, with blurred vision he managed to distinguish the torch about to go out, then he saw the walls, the blood. The body was still decomposing.

He had no idea how much time had passed but there was no sign of the killer. Antuan took his hand by inertia to the place where he had received the attack and the wound was not there, only a warm tingling...