Dominic was woken up by pain. He felt cuts and scrapes all across his skin, and something was seeping in and making them sting. Seawater, by the smell of rotting seaweed that covered everything. And the salt.

He cracked his eyes open, lashes encrusted with grit, his vision hazy and unfocused. He tried to take in his surroundings, but a thick, white fog obscured everything past an arm’s length. All he could tell was that he had ended up on some chilly, unfamiliar beach, and that he was somehow, inexplicably alive.

He opened his mouth but only managed to cough violently. The inside was so dry it felt like sandpaper. His chest ached as he breathed, ribs stinging, definitely broken. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath, disregarding the sharp pain that went through his bones, and tried to press himself up from the shore.

His left arm gave out beneath him, a burning agony filling his senses. His right though, was only stiff and sore, and he finally managed to sit up.

The exertion from such a simple movement made his head spin. Pain was filling his hearing, pounding through his skull. He eventually gathered the strength to tentatively test his legs. They seemed in better shape.

Dominic tried standing, but immediately collapsed to his knees, sending an excruciating shock through his ribs. He had no strength. He was hardly awake to begin with, a ring of black clouding the edges of his vision, the sound of pulsing pain filling his ears. The world seemed to only exist halfway. He forced himself up again with his good hand, and staggered to his feet.

His head spun. One step forward.

The pain got worse. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. Every movement made it sting anew. The pounding of his pulse from the exertion made his vision turn black in patches. The noise in his ears rose to a din, surging with every step, muting the rest of the world. In the haze of the fog that obscured everything and the haze of his own consciousness, it started to sound like wood groaning, bending, and breaking.

The ship was gone in a moment and the world went black. There were sailors and priests shouting and screaming, trying to cling to the shredded debris, but Dominic was already in the water.

He was losing himself again. Hr reached his good hand over to his left arm and pinched the bruised, bloodied skin. It sent a burning shock through his body, but the pain didn’t do anything to clear his senses as he’d hoped. He needed to wake up. Or maybe he had never woken up to begin with. Perhaps this was just a dream, and his body was still on the rocky shore he had barely left behind, deep in oblivious slumber.

Dominic slogged forward, forcing his legs to move. The gravel and sand of the beach turned to wilted, yellow grass. The grass grew taller, turning into faded green weeds, and through the haze of his consciousness, he noticed that the ground beneath him was now paved with stone. The remnants of a path, cracked and crumbling. That was right. He remembered people usually lived by coasts.

The fog began to clear. Walls of abandoned houses emerged around him—old and caving in, almost like ruins, rising higher the further he went. He could sense cloth, rotting wood, the stench of unwashed bodies ahead. He could feel the pinprick-like mana of people’s gazes glancing across his skin. They were cautious, watching him from afar. He didn't have the energy to raise his head and find them.

Dominic stumbled over the uneven road, bracing himself with his good arm against the wall beside him. Pain was pounding through his head so loudly that he couldn't think. When a shadow fell over him, he didn't even realize somebody had showed up until a gruff voice made his ears ring even louder.

“Oi, give me everything you have.”

He glanced up, squinting as he tried to focus. What a strange dream. Some unkempt man that stank of sewage was standing there with an ugly expression. And for some reason, he had horns on his head.

“Oi, didn’t you hear me—”

Dominic reached up and grabbed him by the neck, trying to make the sound go away. Truly, what an unusual dream. The stranger was talking all weird. He’d never heard words like that before. The man gargled as his neck was squeezed, then went quiet. The pain in his head didn't stop ringing.

“Ugh…”

Dominic groaned and dropped the unconscious body, the strength he’d barely managed to gather disappearing instantly, replaced once more by pain. It was roaring through his ears until everything finally began to fade into uncontrollable patches of black. He couldn't stop it.

He closed his eyes, let his head slump down, and passed out.

∞

Cracking and breaking and groaning and snapping. There was no sound in the dream, but Dominic knew what was happening. The bow of the boat tipped, and he was falling again. In the millisecond of time he had, he glimpsed a ship that had been cut cleanly in two, right down the middle. There was a white fog around everything.

Dominic watched as the world around him collapsed.

The water was cold when he met it.

∞

The second time he awoke, it was quiet. His eyes cracked open as harsh light fell over them.

Dominic stared at the cracked ceiling above him, trying to piece together his memories. The ship…he vaguely remembered being on a beach. And then there was nothing. He had no idea how he’d gotten here.

He moved just slightly, thinking about sitting up, but pain immediately surged through his chest. It was far more pronounced than it had been before, when he had barely even been awake. As he waited for the burning to subside, Dominic managed to clear his senses enough to glance around at his surroundings.

He was lying on a thin cloth that had been spread across a stone floor. Beside his head was a bucket of water stained in blood—probably his. The room he had been placed in was hardly a proper shelter—only three walls were intact, and a section of the roof was missing as well, all the holes patched with old canvas cloth.

Dominic glanced down at himself. His shirt had been removed—not that there had been much of it left anyway—and the gash across his chest had been cleaned. His broken arm had been crudely splinted, though he knew it would be of no help considering the state it was in. Aside from that, none of his injuries had been bandaged, and he could tell why. The odor that penetrated the makeshift house was obvious. He was in the slums. They didn't have access to those kinds of necessities here.

He turned his head slightly as footsteps neared his room. From behind a torn curtain, a boy with grey hair emerged, holding a basin. He caught Dominic staring, then nearly jumped out of his skin.

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Water sloshed over the sides as he started.

“Woah, you're alive!” he exclaimed.

Dominic opened his mouth to respond, then realized his throat was still sandpaper dry. The boy seemed to understand and moved closer.

“You're in luck,” he said, setting down the basin. “I was just bringing clean water.”

He grabbed a cup that had already been set out among other things he had been using for treatment and filled it. Carefully, he propped his head up, and Dominic finally wet his throat.

It tasted bad, but it was refreshing nonetheless. He swallowed the last bit of it, took a slow breath, then parted his lips to speak.

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

“Only a day,” the boy replied. “You collapsed outside yesterday afternoon.”

“Where are we?”

From the beginning, the boy had been speaking an unfamiliar language to him. They could understand each other because mana conveyed intention, and mana was exuded with every living breath, but the sound of the words alone was clearly foreign. And since the ship had sunk in the middle of the ocean, he could've washed up anywhere along a huge stretch of coast.

“This is the Helwin Viscounty,” the boy answered. “By the coast.”

“…What country is that in?”

The boy frowned and gave him a confused look.

“…Hesia?” he responded. “Did you lose your memories? There's only one country.”

“Wha—”

His voice caught, and he started coughing unexpectedly. Surging pain was sent through his broken ribs again as his chest tightened.

The boy held up another cup to drink for him. He gingerly swallowed it down.

“Where is Hesia?” he tried again.

He was met with another confused look.

“…Did you really lose your memories?” the kid asked.

“Am I supposed to know…?”

“It’s right here. There’s only one country. Where else would Hesia be?”

Dominic’s brow furrowed as his questions seemed to go nowhere. He had never heard of a country called Hesia existing anywhere on the continent of Vaine. Had he ended up on some remote island with self-declared sovereignty? He couldn't fathom it.

“…I think I need to rest a little longer,” Dominic said.

The boy nodded, picking up the bucket of dirty water as he stood.

“You must be tired,” he said, “maybe your memories will come back with some sleep.”

He turned and headed for the door again.

“I’m going to be out until nightfall, so rest well.”

“What’s your name?”

“Aster.”

Dominic nodded slowly, his head still aching.

“Thank you for helping me, Aster.”

“No problem, uh…”

“Dominic.”

The boy smiled.

“No problem, Dominic. If you suddenly start dying again, just scream or something.”

“Okay.”

He turned and ducked through the curtain again. Dominic listened to his footsteps recede. He waiting until they disappeared altogether, then glanced down at his mangled arm.

Carefully, he tried to move his fingertips. He flinched and bit his lip. They had barely managed to twitch, yet each minute action had sent a jolt of burning hot pain through his entire body.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the soreness in his ribs, then made himself relax.

“Heal,” he commanded.

A warmth, different from the fiery pain, rose on his skin and mixed into his blood. The bones, crushed and cracked, began to shift and re-form.

Dominic grimaced as it quickly turned excruciating again. He quickly added a second, crude anesthetic spell, feeling the numbness spread throughout his body. His bones snapped back into place, his flesh stretched unnaturally and reattached, the cuts on his skin wriggled and stitched themselves together. His skin finally latched onto itself and sealed shut, leaving a smooth surface where only torn flesh had been before.

He stretched his arm out, twisting it and testing the muscles. The pain was gone. The bruises and cuts that had littered his body had disappeared as well. Dominic pushed himself warily up from the floor, then stood.

His ragged shirt had been set by the foot of his makeshift cot, and he leaned down and picked it up. There were tears all throughout, but it was all he had. The seawater had made the cloth feel grainy, and it scraped against his skin as he put it on.

He patted his pockets, but as expected—empty. He had wanted to leave something for Aster as a thanks for taking care of him, but he had no money right now. He didn't even know if this place accepted the same currency, anyway.

“…I’ll pay you back properly later,” he murmured to the empty room.

Dominic walked to the door, drew back the curtain, and ducked outside.

It was afternoon already, judging by the sunlight that filtered through the weave of clouds above. He glanced around. It all looked the same—crude shelters among crumbling ruins, the scent of unwashed bodies and rats all around. In the distance he could see proper buildings rising, and even further there was a hill capped with a large estate that was built in an unfamiliar style. He turned back towards the shore—where the fog bank was still hovering ominously, seemingly unmoving—and started to walk.

He ducked through the thin, crumbling alleys and unmaintained streets. He could feel the minute mana of gazes on him, leaving cold pricks on his skin, but the slum residents didn't seem keen to show themselves. Slowly, their presences began to drop away, fewer and fewer people around as he got closer to the fog. Finally, they disappeared altogether, leaving Dominic walking alone down that crumbling path that led to the shore.

He reached the edge of the fog bank, the land beyond completely obscured by that solid wall of white. It loomed overhead like a thundercloud, the odor of the slums giving way to a strange scent that resembled salt—not quite saltwater, but dry salt, desert salt, embalming salt. Something that didn't belong by an ocean. Something that wasn't quite welcoming.

He had little choice, though. He had to go see if anything else had washed up on the shore from the shipwreck, and if it could be scavenged. He had no money right now, and only the clothes on his back.

Just as Dominic was about to take a step forward onto the sand, a low, steady voice rang out behind him.

“Pardon me.”

He froze. Slowly, he turned around. Standing some distance away was a man, roughly the same height as him, with long, light green hair that swayed in the wind. He wore long robes in a style foreign to Dominic, and a bamboo hat obscured his face. The hat was adorned with a set of horns that resembled a bull’s, curving slightly upwards.

Although surrounded by the scent of salt, Dominic could still sense the man’s mana on the breeze. Dried flowers and old paper. A light scent of strong tea. And an aura that felt a little bit like metal, like the edge of a chipped blade.

His steely black eyes finally appeared as he tilted his head up to look at Dominic.

“Are you the one who arrived here yesterday afternoon?” he asked.

“…Arrived?” Dominic repeated. He wasn't sure what the man meant. He certainly hadn't come here on purpose.

“I am looking for the person who stumbled here, severely injured, yesterday,” he explained. “I believe that’s you.”

“…I believe that’s right.”

The man nodded with a slight smile.

“Perfect.”

He took a step forward, but froze as he was met with a raised up hand, telling him to stop.

“Don't move from there,” Dominic said, glaring at him now, scrutinizing him closely.

“…Is there a problem?” the man asked, feigning innocence.

“You’re covered in poison.”

As soon as the breeze had picked up, Dominic had smelled it. An unmistakable, bitter tang. It was herbal, powdered, crumbling—hovering all around the man’s mana like it had grown there.

Slowly, surprisingly, the man began to smile.

“Don't worry,” he said. “I don't actually have any on me. I just work around it from time to time, you see.”

Dominic wasn't reassured in the slightest. He had no idea why anybody would be looking for him, let alone someone who smelled like that.

The man noticed his reluctance and let out a short sigh.

“I swear on my honor that I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, putting his palm on his chest. “My name is Thelo Helwin, heir to the Helwin Viscounty.”

He smiled and stretched out his hand as if offering it.

“I’ll provide you with a change of clothes, so would you happen to have time to chat over some tea?”