The dust motes were no longer mesmerizing. They mocked her instead.

Where am I? How did I get here?

At the far wall, a heavy double door stood sentry against the world beyond it. Yet, light still drifted through the cracks, untroubled by the dusty dirt floor it fell upon. Beyond the door, she could hear voices, wagon wheels creaking, and children hollering and laughing. It made the barn feel like a section of frozen time, caught in its own mundane serenity.The only sounds came from the horses or the girl's own soft breaths.

I need some sunlight.

I feel sleepy, as though I'm yet dreaming, even though I’m awake.... Maybe I'll wake up and remember properly if I go outside. Sunshine wakes you up, right?

On silent, bare feet, the girl padded towards the door. Thankfully, the center aisle appeared relatively clean, though the girl made a note to wash her feet and find her shoes as soon as possible. Barns and other places that held animals were never truly clean.

The door was heavy when the girl reached it. Pushing open just one side of it took both of her thin-fingered hands. A satisfying creak greeted her ears as it shuddered open, yielding to allow golden light to fall directly onto her.

As her eyes adjusted to the new light, she found herself standing in the corner of a town square. There, a cart full of unthreshed barley meandered by, here a woman and her young son manned a storefront boasting fresh baked goods, and over there, a trio of men on horseback were departing to parts unknown. Against this bustling backdrop, the girl went unnoticed, a nondescript form amongst a heavily trafficked intersection.

She isn't sure how long she stood transfixed by the peaceful bustle of the square, but the high-pitched squeal of rusty iron hinges catches her attention to the right. The barn she exited seemed to have been attached to another, larger building. As the door opened, a young blond man, perhaps fifteen years at most, trotted out with a basket of what appeared to be kitchen scraps in his arms. From the open doorway, the sound of pots being smacked around echoed out, accompanied with a savory scent.

Potatoes.... yumm...

For a moment the girl's mouth watered and she found herself suddenly possessed by a hunger that she hadn't previously felt before. She was distracted when the boy, likely a member of kitchen staff, locked eyes with her.

He seemed surprised to see her, glancing from her to the dim stable from whence she came.

"Oi," he said, a thick accent making his words sound alien, "What 'ave you been doin' in there? That's Master Donovan's stable. 'E doesn't run a petting zoo, ye know?"

The girl looked back into the barn, as though hoping to find answers there. The cross mare was still glaring at her. Lacking answers, she turned back to the boy, at a loss for words. Glancing down at her bare feet- pale pink toes wiggled in clueless response- the girl shook her head at the boy. As she did so, strands of coppery hair fell into her vision.

Startled, the girl reached up and grabbed a handful of the red hair, attached to her own head, and held it close to her face to examine it. The red hair caught the sun like a spark to tinder, lighting up in a bright coppery tone. Somehow, despite knowing that the hair was hers- and that it was her natural coloring- it seems wildly unfamiliar.

Did I have different hair before?

Whilst she was staring at her hair, the boy in front of her frowned, his grip tightening on the basket of scraps- mostly potato peels. He looked down at her feet, bare, then across her form in general. There seemed to be something wrong with how she looked, because his eyebrows came together in the middle of his brow. His expression cascaded from suspicion to concern in the space of a few heartbeats.

"Err.. Are you okay? Yer dressed a li'l odd, miss."

Now, the girl glanced down at herself, surprised to see pale skin covered by a plain woolen garment. The clothing piece was an exceptionally long tunic, cinched at the waste with a string of plain leather, tied to one side. It had no pockets and no sleeves. There were no pants or shoes to accompany the outfit either. Suddenly, the girl felt underdressed, a little panicked as she looked back up at the kitchen boy.

Finally, she found her voice. "I.. don't know."

oh... my voice doesn't sound familiar either....

Now the boy seemed more concerned. He glanced at the scrap basket in his arms and then back at the girl. "Aight," he said, now with a gentle tone of voice. "That's okay. Can you tell me your name?"

... it's a blank.... I don't ... seem to have one....

The girl's eyes widened as she realized that her name just wasn’t coming to her. It's as though there was a ledger or book in the depths of her mind. It should have been full of information accumulated from her life experiences, her own individual novel of the past. However, where there should be text the page remained blank to her mind’s eye, as though the ink of memories had never once dyed its pages.

Her breathing quickened as she realized that the pages were blank of not only her name, but her entire identity. She was an unwritten book or an erased novel- the contents never to be read again.

I don't remember anything. I'm not dreaming, but I still don't know anything.

Tears were beginning to prick the girls eyes, like sorrowful dewdrops in the last spring shower, when the boy seemed to panic as well- if for different reasons.

"Ey! It's alright, it's totally dandy! We'll get it sorted, I promise!" The boy seemed to be trying to console her, but there was no stopping the flood once the dam burst. Through the torrent of tears, she could hear herself hiccup miserably, caught up in a whirlwind of panic, fear, and ... grief, for a reason she couldn't yet name. Perhaps for the life she no longer knew.

Perhaps realizing that his efforts of assuaging her tears were in vain, the boy dropped the basket to the side and hurried back to the door he had originally come from. He jerked it open and stuck his head through, calling out, "Margo! Come 'ere! There's this lass, err, I need yer help!"

From somewhere within the building, a different voice answered, but the girl couldn't make out the specifics through her tears.

"But- but, I'm no good with crying lassies! Margo, please!" The boy pleaded with the person inside. Then, in a lower voice, he added, "I think she came outta the Veil, Marg."

There were more muffled sounds from within the building before the door swung fully open to reveal a large, portly woman with a bright head of forest green hair. Despite her tears, the girl found herself surprised at the woman's hair color, although it appeared to be entirely natural. Something about the color seemed off. Did people normally have green hair?

Upon catching sight of the girl, the tall woman, Margo, softened her countenance. The pinched eyes and drawn lips relaxed into a more soothing grimace. Turning to the straw headed boy, she addressed him, "Go inside and get a pitcher of fresh water, a glass, and some of this mornin's leftover biscuits, Leon. Put 'em on the back table near the pantry, where the girls skinned the potatoes this morn."

Leon eyed the girl for a moment. "But what about-"

Margo interrupted Leon, "I've got the lassie and you've got work to do. Get to it."

Leon stepped through the door into what appeared to be some kind of kitchen, shutting the door behind him. Now faced with Margo's imposing stature, the girl wilted into herself, trying to make herself as minute as possible.

Kneeling down, as though to seem less intimidating, Margo spoke in a soft, motherly voice, "No,no. None of that now. You're safe. There's nothing here that can hurt you and we're gonna get you sorted just fine. Believe it or not, you're not the first Veilwalker I've found and you probably won't be the last."

Fears slightly assuaged by Margo's reassurance and tone, the girl asked, "What's a... a Veilwalker?"

Margo's eyes crinkled a little at the corners, highlighting the beginning of crow's feet and smile wrinkles on the middle aged woman's face. "A Veilwalker is someone like you. But, why don't we save the big explanations for a better setting. I bet you're hungry and thirsty. And we'll need to find you some shoes, too. You can't be wanderin' about without 'em around here. The ground's too rough."

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As though to demonstrate, Margo shifted her own sandal clad feet, wrapped in leather and fabric with visible seams to show the craftsmanship of the shoemaker. Carefully, Margo extended her hand towards the girl. "Come on, now. It's not a feast, but I've got some biscuits and water inside for you. We can sort you out once you're fed."

The girl tilted her head. Margo seemed like a trustworthy person. At least, there wasn't anything about her that set off alarm bells.

Not that I have any memories to back this intuition up, she thought. I hope this isn't a bad idea.

Not seeing a better option, the girl extended her own hand and clasped Margo's.

"There we go," said Margo as she led the girl to the kitchen door. "Now let's get you settled and fed."

Margo opened the door to the kitchen and led the girl through. Upon entering the kitchen, the girl was once again met with a drastic change of scenery. The barn had been dusty, but peaceful. The village square was bustling, but cheerful.

The kitchen was hot, loud, and intense. Several young women bustled about, carrying pots and pans or ingredients. The girl thought she caught a glimpse of Leon rounding a corner out of sight, carrying a platter of some kind.

The kitchen was warmed by several open fire pits with various foods cooking on them, the smoke mostly filtered out of the building through various chimneys above the flames. The result was that the room was stiflingly hot and the air was tinged with both smoke and delicious scents from the food.

For a moment, the hash of noise, movement, and scents startled the girl into freezing. Margo was insistent,however, as she patiently pulled the girl towards the back of the kitchen by the hand. They turned a corner into a wide hallway lined with shelves and a table at the end. It was set with a ceramic pitcher and a small plate of hand-made biscuits. Beyond the table, a doorway opened into a robust larder, boasting packed shelves with various foodstuffs. A smaller door to the side revealed stairs going down to the cellar.

Margo led the girl to the table and sat down at one of the chairs. The girl sat across from her in the other chair.

"Just help yourself now. It's only this mornin's leftovers from breakfast, but it should be plenty," encouraged Margo.

At the matronly woman's behest, the girl found herself eating and drinking with increasing fervor. Upon the first morsel ingested, a deep hunger awoke in the pit of the girl's stomach. Suddenly famished, the girl devoured the water and biscuits in record time. Margo, still sitting across from her, didn't look surprised.

"Alright," began Margo, "Now, to make sure we're on the same page. You woke up in a strange place. You don't know where you are or how you got there. You don't know where you're from or who you are. Is that all true?"

The girl gaped.

How did she know?

"Hate to tell you this, but your story isn't that uncommon in these parts," Margo continued on. "There's a lot of you Veilwalkers that show up around here. None of you know where you're from or who you are- much less how you ended up here. It's pretty common. Our town gets a few of ye each week." Here Margo's lips twisted upwards in a smile. "Typically, we find you lot out in the mountains, though. Not wandering through Master Donovan's stable."

"Master Donovan's stable?" Echoed the girl, still confused.

"Yes, lassie. That's where you were before Leon found ye. It's an odd place for a Veilwalker to end up. Probably why he was so clueless with ye. Well, besides the obvious."

"The obvious?"

"Aye. Boys never know what to do when a girl cries. Though, between you and me, Leon has three li'l sisters. He hasn't got that much of an excuse for being clueless."

"Ah." Murmured the girl, still a little perplexed. Perking up a little, she asked, "What's a... Veilwalker?"

Margo sighed. "To be honest, there's not a soul in this world who really knows. As far as we can tell, you people wander out of the Veil. None of you have a lick of memory or sense between you when you wake and somehow we find you in the strangest of places. You come in all colors, shapes, sizes, and races. The only thing you have in common with one another is your lost memory and your mana."

"Mana?"

"Mana is the life force of this world and how adventurers use skills and magic," Margo explained, as though her answer was completely common sense.

Perhaps to her, it is.....

"Err, what's the veil?" Asked the girl, hoping to get some more concise information.

"The veil is a wall of fog that borders the known world. It cannot be crossed and even mages cannot magic their way through. It is an impenetrable border to all but the Veilwalkers that stumble out. Some say that beyond the Veil is the land of the dead and that Veilwalkers are heroes of a bygone age, returned to this world to thwart some great catastrophe. Others say that beyond the Veil is a land of great magic, that the Veil is their defensive wall, and that the Veilwalkers are their criminals deemed irredeemable and cast out in exile. There are many theories about the Veil, and thus the Veilwalkers. No-one knows for sure, however."

"Then how do you know that Veilwalkers are from the Veil?"

"Cause we've seen them walk out. Gives you a fright the first time you see it happen. Some random person, wearing plain clothes, just walks out of a solid wall of fog. You can't get their attention, can't talk to 'em. They walk until they find a place to sleep- supposedly random- and then they sleep like the dead until exactly sunrise the next mornin'. It's bizarre to see, let me tell ye."

"So, then, I walked into the barn and just.. went to sleep?"

"That's what i'm thinkin' lassie. Real convenient, though, you walking yourself into civilization. I've heard some Veilwalkers get picked up by the county rangers far out in the wilderness and have to walk the rest of the ranger's patrol until they make it back to a town. You got right lucky, coming into town like ye did."

"Oh. Um, Okay," replied the girl, who didn't want to agree, but didn't know what else to say.

Suddenly, Margo snapped her fingers. "That's right," she said, as though just realizing something. "We've got to get you kitted out with your name tag."

"Name tag?"

"Yes, everyone has one. See?" Here Margo slipped a hand into an apron pocket. She pulled out a silver bit of metal, similar in shape to dog tags worn by the military, except there was nothing on it and it shimmered with a light of its own. When the girl leaned forward to look at it, glowing writing popped into existence above the tag.

In blue, neat script it read,

'Margo of Briarwood

Occupation: Inn Cook

Origin: Briarwood

Level: 0'

In awe, the girl asked, "How does it do that?"

"Magic and mana, of course," replied Margo matter of factly.

"How did you make it?'

"Oh, I didn't. When babies are born, their parents take them to the village leader and he or she makes their tag. You have to have at least a little mana to make them. Most people don't have a lick of it, but it's a requirement for leadership, so every village has at least their leader with mana. They use it for other stuff, too, like coordinating with the duchy capital and such. You can tell if a person has mana or not by their name tag. See the 'Level: 0'? That means they're a civilian, without mana. If they have mana, they at least have a level 1. Then, as they become stronger, gain experience, and learn more magic or skills, their level goes up."

"Then, do we need to go see the... mayor, then? For mine?"

"Nope! You're going to make your own, since you have your own mana. You need to learn to use it anyway."

The girl squinted up at Margo's face. "Are you sure I have mana?"

"Absolutely. There's never been a Veilwalker without mana."

"Never?" Echoed the girl, looking down at her hands in disbelief.

I don't feel like I have mana.

"Nope, you have your own mana. You just need to find it."

Despite Margo's confidence, the girl continued to stare down at her hands dubiously. "How do I do that?"

"Well, to be honest, I have no idea. I don't have mana. But, it's not supposed to be hard. Every Veilwalker does it, so it should come naturally. Just think about what you want to do." Margo grinned across the table at the girl.

"What I want to do?"

"Yep. Hehe. You're like an echo, ye know? You keep repeating everything I say. Just think really hard about what you want. In this case, think about your name and your mana should do the rest."

After staring at Margo with a disbelieving look on her face, the girl frowned and returned her gaze down to the wooden grain of the table beneath her hands. The wood’s sanded texture felt smooth under her fingertips, but gave her no answers.

Just think about my name.. What is my name? My name is..!

"Eeep!" The girl jerked in response as a glowing blue box popped up in front of her, seemingly out of nowhere.

"There ye go," encouraged Margo, "Now just tell it what your name is and it'll make the name tag for you."

For a moment, the girl was transfixed by the glowing, blue box. Then, she took the time to read it.

'Input Character Name Here: _____________________'

"Err, my name? It's umm..." The girl muttered softly as she squinted at the box.

But I don't remember my name at all.

Helplessly, the girl looked over at Margo again.

Margo sighed. "Your name doesn't have to be big or fancy. It just has to be something you want to be called. If you decide you don't like it later, you can save up the gold and pay an archmage to change your name tag. But, going forward, you at least need something for people to call you."

"For people to call me.." Muttered the girl as she stared into the blue pop up again.

"There you go again, making echoes. That's a bad habit, lassie." Margo said, frowning. "I mean, I think it’s cute, but you need to curb that tic out in public. People are going to think you're stupid."

"Wait! What did you call me?" The girl jerked her head up, her mind catching on a word she liked.

"Stupid? I don't mean it like that, buttercup. Honest. I just mea-" Margo seemed worried that she'd hurt the girl's feelings, but the girl interrupted her explanation.

"No, no the other word. You said it before, too. When I copy you." Clarified the girl.

"Oh, you mean 'echoes'"' Asked Margo.

"Yeah. That one," replied the girl as she reached forward to type her answer into the floating, blue box.

As the box flashed and disappeared, the girl looked up at Margo with a bright smile, clutching her own glowing, silver tag.

Margo laughed, a big, mirthful sound from her belly. "Well, then. Hello there and welcome to the world of Fantarox, Echo. It's nice to meet you."