He woke up slowly.
His head was heavy, as if sleep hadn't fully left him. There was no sharp pain, but that strange numbness lingered, the kind that comes before one realizes where they are.
A light pressure behind his eyes, as if they had stayed closed for too long.
He opened them. A dim light filled the room, with no clear source. It wasn't sunlight, and didn't seem to come from a lamp. Just a still glow, enough to show him that he wasn't in any place he knew.
He moved his head slightly. The walls were smooth, a pale gray. The floor was covered with a clean carpet, stretching uninterrupted. The room was tidy, eerily quiet. No sounds. Nothing tying him to a place, or a time.
He tried to sit up. His muscles responded, but they were heavy. He sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at his hands, no wounds, no trace of anything. Just clean skin, too calm.
He looked around: a wardrobe, a mirror, a small table, and a half-full glass of water.
Everything was still.
He reached his forehead. As if touch could wake a sleeping memory. No use. No names. No moments. No final memory. Just a silent void, neither dark nor bright.
He looked at his feet. Bare. Clean. As if he had just woken from a quiet sleep in a place he didn't know.
But he didn't feel safe.
He took a deep breath.
Then said, in a voice barely audible:
"Who am I?"
No one answered. No sound came from outside. But inside him, something began to realize one thing:
His memory was empty.
And he didn't yet know if it was temporary, or if he had lost everything forever.
...
He stood up slowly. His first steps were wobbly, as if the ground hadn't grown used to his weight yet, or as if his body had never been meant to walk in the first place. The air felt thick around him, and the silence still pressed against his ears.
He approached the opposite wall, where a round mirror stood with a dark metallic frame. He stood before it, and time stopped for a moment.
He saw him.
A slightly thin body, balanced despite the subtle weariness in his posture. His skin was pale, lifeless, but not sickly. His white hair looked like snow, short, neatly trimmed around the head, without mess or randomness. That head had been arranged to look exactly like this.
But what disturbed him were his eyes.
No black. No white. No color. Just dense fog filling the sockets, like windows into something that shouldn't be seen. No reflection in them, no light passed through, as if all light was being absorbed from within.
He slowly raised his hand, and touched his face.
His skin was cold.
His mouth still.
"Why... don't I remember this face?" His voice came out like a whisper, unsure if it even deserved to be heard.
He turned. Something inside him began to regain balance, his sense of the place growing clearer.
At the center of the room, there was a small square table, polished from brown wood. He walked toward it, each step pulling him deeper into a reality he hadn't chosen.
On its surface lay four objects.
A sealed letter with red wax, its edges decorated with fine golden threads, as if someone had designed it to compel him to read.
A black glossy watch, strange in design, no numbers, no hands, but a faint glow circling within.
An id card, and next to it, a black bandage.
He picked up the card and raised it to read its contents.
It held a picture of his face and beneath it a name written in a language he somehow understood, though he didn't know how.
Alth Elonreth.
He whispered the name, once, then again, as if trying to be sure of it, then stayed silent for a moment, repeating it inwardly.
"A good start... at least, I know my name."
He set the card down and reached for the letter, opening it calmly. The paper was thick, the kind used only for official or important messages. The letters were printed in dark ink, and the language was clear.
[ To Alth Elonreth.]
You are hereby notified that you are a newly registered Awakened in the official records of the Neutral Continent of Narythia.
You have been granted a period of one month for exploration and adaptation.
On December 27th, 2421, the Narythia Academy for the Awakened will begin its new season.
Location: The heart of the continent, the city of Nordial.
A delay or refusal of your enrollment will be officially recorded, and will revoke your legal rights within the continent.
Best of luck.
[ The Supreme Administrative Council of the Continent of Narythia ]
He finished reading and quietly returned the letter to the table. No clear emotions on his face. Only questions beginning to gather, without order.
He looked at the black bandage. It wasn't ordinary. Its fabric was thick, tightly wrapped, as if it had been made to cover something specific.
"Was I wearing this on my eyes?"
He asked himself softly. He couldn't remember. But the question remained.
His gaze shifted toward the black watch. He picked it up. Its design was elegant, simple, without hands.
On the side edge, there was a small button, barely visible. He pressed it.
The time appeared.
18:45
He thought for a moment… then moved to the current date.
December 21st, 2421
He looked again at the date. The letter had said 27. A week left.
He stepped back from the table, then stood at the center of the room.
No sound.
No instructions.
No one to explain anything.
"A week?"
He said it as if weighing it with his voice, a word that felt heavier than seven normal days.
He raised his foggy eyes toward the ceiling, as if something would fall from above to give him an answer.
But nothing happened.
"What the hell is this...?"
He said it at last, slowly, looking again at the letter.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't afraid.
But he... didn't know.
And that, to him, wasn't enough.