The world was still when I woke.
The wooden ceiling was low above me, and the pale morning light coming through the shutters painted slow-moving lines across the floor. Dust floated through the air, drifting in and out of sight. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped once—then went quiet.
I lay still on the cot. The blanket Alice had given me—rough, patched, but warm—had slipped halfway off during the night. The room was quiet, bare except for what it needed. A wooden table, two chairs, a shelf with a few folded cloths. Modest. Unremarkable. Real.
And somehow, that made it worse.
I sat up slowly, elbows resting on my knees, eyes on the floorboards. This wasn't a dream. Not an illusion spun by magic or gods. The dull ache in my chest, the soreness in my muscles—this was real.
I had awakened in this body just days ago, young again, alive again. And yet, already the weight of something missing pressed down. Not just the house I once lived in or the title I once bore—something deeper. Recognition. Memory. Meaning.
I had been Dareth Dreadmoor. A name that echoed in courts and carved its way through battlefields. Feared. Admired. Hated.
Now?
I clenched my fists.
Now I was Valen Stormveil. A name without lineage. Without history. A ghost with no grave.
I stood and dressed in the plain clothes Alice had bought me. My movements were slow, deliberate. My bokken sword leaned against the wall beside her old blade—dull, untouched. The two stood side by side, relics of lives that had burned out once before.
Then came the sound of boots on steps. The soft creak of the door opening.
Alice stepped inside, her hair tied back, a scarf loose around her neck. She blinked in mild surprise.
"You're up early," she said, closing the door behind her.
"I couldn't sleep."
She walked to the kitchen and set down a cloth bundle—likely bread and fruit from the market. "Something on your mind?"
"I have to go somewhere," I said. "Upper Valement. There's a place I need to see."
Alice paused mid-unwrapping. "Family?"
I didn't meet her eyes. "Something like that."
She didn't pry. Just nodded. She set the bread on the table, sliced it carefully, and passed me a piece along with a wooden cup of warm milk. There were red apples too—fresh, crisp.
We ate in silence. It wasn't a feast. It wasn't even particularly good. But I hadn't had a real breakfast in… years, technically.
"You don't talk much about where you came from," she said eventually.
"There's not much to say," I murmured, eyes on the crust in my hands. "It's gone now."
"Gone?" she echoed softly.
"Erased."
She said nothing more. Just nodded and continued eating.
Eventually, she stood and brushed the crumbs from her hands. "If you're heading to the upper district, take the east road. It curves uphill past the fountain square. Just follow the spires."
"Thanks."
"Be careful," she added. "Not everyone up there is kind to strangers."
"I'm not a stranger to that place," I said. "But I suppose I am now."
Valement was waking as I walked alone through its streets. In the mid-district, merchants opened their stalls, bakers laid out loaves, and children chased cats through the alleys. Life went on—indifferent to what had been forgotten.
I passed familiar turns, now changed. Shortcuts blocked. Buildings repainted. The city had shifted just enough to remind me that I didn't belong anymore.
As I ascended toward the upper district, the stone turned smooth, the air cleaner. I slowed when I reached the wide road with its wrought-iron fences and manicured gardens.
"This should be it," I whispered.
But there was no gate. No estate. No crest.
Just a park.
A circle of trees. A stone bench.
I stepped forward. My heart thudded—not with fear, but with disbelief.
This hill should have held the Dreadmoor Manor. I had bled on these stones. Stood on the balcony. Watched the sun rise over Valement's rooftops.
Now? Nothing.
Only grass and silence.
I walked further, past a rusted plaque buried in weeds:
"Donated to the city of Valement – Land Unclaimed, Year 730."
Unclaimed.
I swallowed hard. My name. My house. My legacy.
Not forgotten—erased.
I stood still for a long time. This wasn't a ruin, a memorial, or even a scar. It was as if we'd never been.
Finally, I exhaled. "I guess it's true, then. I'm not who I was anymore. Not even to the world."
The wind whispered through the trees.
In the distance, the spires of Sevren Academy pierced the sky like judgment.
"Depends," I muttered, turning away. "On what I become next."
The walk back was quiet. I was still lost in thought when I realized I'd returned. Alice's home stood waiting—smoke curling from the chimney.
I opened the door.
Alice looked up in alarm, quickly rising from her seat. "Did anything happen, Valen? You were gone so long—I was getting worried!"
"Nothing happened," I said. "Don't worry."
She folded her arms, still tense. "You shouldn't go off alone like that. A kid like you could get kidnapped—or worse."
"I feel like I'm being scolded by my mother, hehe," I chuckled, trying to ease the weight in the room.
Her expression softened, a faint blush rising. "A-Are you hungry?"
"No thanks," I said, brushing past her. "I'll get ready to train instead."
An hour later, we stood in the backyard, sparring. I was parrying Alice's onslaught, sweat trailing down my temple. Each swing tested my footing. We clashed again—then broke apart, breathing hard.
She lowered her stance first. "You're quick for someone just getting back into form."
"I remember more than my muscles do," I said.
We sat down under the shade to rest.
"So, Miss Alice," I asked, "since you're skilled with a sword, I assume you were an adventurer?"
She nodded, brushing hair from her face. "I was. Not a great one. D-rank, mostly. Escort jobs. Goblin dens. That sort of thing."
"That's still impressive. What were your teammates like?"
The air shifted.
Her gaze dropped. Her lips thinned.
"You don't have to tell me if it—"
"No," she said quietly. "It's just that... one of them was my brother. We started together."
She paused.
"He died. On a mission we thought was simple. It wasn't."
I lowered my head. "I'm sorry."
She gave a small, sad smile. "So am I."
We sat in silence for a while. Not the silence of strangers, but of people who understood that grief didn't always need to be spoken.
Eventually, I stood.
"Thanks for sparring with me."
Alice nodded. "Anytime."
I looked once more at the sky—at the towers of Sevren rising in the distance.
Tomorrow would come.
And I would be ready.
After training, I washed the sweat off with a cold bucket of water, slipped into the cleanest shirt I could find, and tied my coat over one shoulder like some noble vagabond. I even combed my hair for the first time since waking up in this world. Alice gave me a once-over before I left.
"Going somewhere important?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Just exploring the city. Getting a feel for it."
She looked unconvinced. "You're not going to do something reckless, are you?"
"No," I lied smoothly.
Five minutes later, I was completely lost.
It had started so simply. I followed the road out of the mid-district toward where I thought the upper ring began. Somewhere between the bakery with the suspiciously angry cat and a tavern named The Limping Wyrm, I must've taken a wrong turn. Or three.
Now, I stood in an alley surrounded by laundry lines, a goat, and a very angry old woman yelling something about "socks not being public property."
"Apologies, madam," I said with the politeness of someone who'd once debated with kings. "I assure you, I have no designs on your socks."
She hurled a cabbage at me.
I fled.
After that, I attempted to orient myself by following the sun. A wise technique for travelers and adventurers. Unfortunately, it turns out the sun is terrible at giving street directions.
I passed the same fountain square twice, the same roasted nut vendor three times, and at one point accidentally joined a children's scavenger hunt, where I ended up winning a wooden duck.
(Still got the duck. It's a good duck.)
Eventually, I found myself staring at a wall. Just a wall. Not a mystical barrier or anything impressive. Just a blank, gray brick wall that marked the very end of a very long, very pointless alley.
"I see," I said to it solemnly. "My enemy today... is geometry."
A boy walked past with a basket of apples and gave me the kind of look one reserves for lunatics and out-of-work bards.
I sighed.
This was not how heroes were supposed to return. Not lost in an alley, clutching a wooden duck, covered in sweat, and possibly cabbage juice.
After another wrong turn and a brief run-in with a mime (don't ask), I finally stumbled back into the mid-district. My legs ached, my pride was in critical condition, and I had just enough energy to get back home before the city found another creative way to humiliate me.
When I opened the door, Alice looked up from the table.
"You're back."
I nodded stiffly.
She squinted at me. "Are you... holding a duck?"
"I got lost."
She blinked.
I set the wooden duck on the table with great ceremony and declared, "His name is Reginald. He guided me through peril."
There was a long pause.
Then Alice burst out laughing so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.
I didn't stop her. Honestly, I deserved it.
But for now, Reginald and I would rest.
Tomorrow, we'd try again.
And this time… maybe I'd bring a map.