The silence that fell after the children left felt almost tangible, broken only by the distant creaking of the massive blades of the massive mills, called "Wind Raiders" here. Elara continued to look toward the door for some time, while remaining close enough for me to feel the light scent of field herbs and flour coming from her clothes, which was unknown to me at that moment. Her presence was calm and warm, which only strengthened my sense of safety.
"I'm sorry... the children, especially in our village, are very energetic and curious."
She slowly turned to face me, looking directly into my black eyes.
"Are you able to remember anything yet?... I'm sorry for asking so many questions, but you know, often even the bravest warriors returning from a real hell... are so broken that they cannot remember anything except their name and the nightmares that they have every night... and..."
Elara took the mug of decoction and lightly traced the wall of the glass with her thumb, continuing her speech while looking at the liquid inside the vessel.
"This decoction often helps them calm their mind a little, reminding them that everything is already behind them... but it is by asking more leading questions that there is a chance to speed up this process and help a person remember what they forgot not long ago..."
She looked up at me and clarified with slight concern:
"You must have forgotten your past not so long ago? Maybe you are a sailor who has a family, but the sea did not spare you and your crew, and in the end, the tragedy and proximity to death caused a strong shock from which you temporarily lost your memory?"
I listened to Elara attentively and warily, and her last words made me think deeply, which caused me to lower my gaze, lost in thought, while still feeling an unpleasant discomfort in my head from the fact that knowledge was still being formed or restored in my consciousness.
Elara, in turn, quietly watched my reaction to her words.
"I'm sorry... I see that every effort is difficult for you. Your eyes... there is so much in them that I cannot understand. You do not look like those who live here."
Meanwhile, my consciousness continued its agonizing work. The words "sailor," "family," and "tragedy" evoked in my memory not pictures of the past, but only dry definitions from the linguistic archive that was being restored in my head. An attempt to reach for images of family or home caused only a sharp flash of pain behind the eyes.
Noticing how I squinted from the pain, she touched my palm for a moment but immediately withdrew her hand.
"Do not torture yourself. If you are not a sailor... it does not matter. Right now, what matters is that you are here, and you are alive."
She stood up, her gaze lingering for a moment on my tattoos, which seemed even deeper and more complex in the morning light. The girl smiled warmly again, slowly heading toward the exit.
"I'm going to help in the kitchen. If you need anything, just call... oh yes, my name is Elara. Elara Greenfield."
---
After she left the room, I stared at the open door for a few more seconds, repeating her name in my head, then slowly turned my gaze toward the window, focusing on the sounds coming from outside. I slowly lowered my legs from the bed, sitting on the edge, and stood up, feeling a strange sensation from standing upright for the first time, rising above the level of the bed.
Starting with hesitant steps, I immediately began to walk more confidently, adapting as quickly as if my body instinctively knew how to walk and maintain balance.
Approaching the window, the bright sun at first blinded my eyes, causing me to instinctively cover my eyes with my hand, but then, gradually, my eyes finally got used to the light and I was able to see the amazing landscape of the fields, plains and groves of Waldruhm. In addition, the massive windmills sparked both wonder and an internal interest in what they were, how they worked, and what they were for.
Below, under the window, I heard a muffled conversation and the clank of metal. Noticing that the window was slightly ajar, I cautiously reached out and pushed the window sash. The Waldruhm wind enveloped my face with a slight chill, fluttering the black strands of my hair.
This new, unusual feeling was so pleasant that I unconsciously closed my eyes, lifting my head and taking a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the recently risen sun. In that moment, I felt not only physical relief but also a strange response deep within my being. My lungs, which had recently been clogged with seawater, were now greedily absorbing oxygen, and my heart began to beat more steadily and confidently.
My body felt as if it were still waking up from a long hibernation, responding to the warmth of the outside world. Below, under the window, muffled voices were heard. Elara came out onto the porch, and her voice reached me, mingling with the rustle of foliage.
"He woke up... But he doesn't remember anything, Bernard. Absolutely nothing... Not even his own name."
In response to Elara's words, I heard a deep and rumbling male voice.
"Be careful anyway. We still don't know why he is here and what trouble he might bring to us... And I think the idea of bringing him into your house was wrong."
I froze by the window, absorbing these new words: Trouble, House, Idea. They were still just sound shells, but an instinctive sense of something bad, embedded somewhere in my consciousness, made me tense up.
Turning toward the exit from the room, I slowly approached the doorway and peeked out slightly, seeing a large living room. I looked around, making sure no one was there, slowly stepped forward, and began to wander through the living room, looking at every piece of furniture, studying it.
My steps on the wooden floor of the living room were quiet but confident. In the center stood a heavy table made of rough wood. My fingers touched its surface; I knew it was wood, I knew it was old.
On one of the walls, I saw a shelf. On it was dry yellow grass woven into a circle, and a clay bowl. My gaze moved to white sheets with black lines, on which I saw images of gear wheels and long blades, similar to those I had seen in the window. In the corner of one of the sheets was a strange intertwining of lines that evoked no associations.
Suddenly, the heavy sound of metal outside was replaced by a creak, and turning sharply, I saw a figure in the doorway. A tall, blond man with a beard, clutching a leather bag and frozen on the threshold. That was when I first met Bernard, the local blacksmith who had helped Elara drag me into this house.
"Elara... You didn't say he was already wandering around the house."
The man was huge. His shoulders almost touched the doorframes, and his hands, stained with black soot, were covered in scars. He looked at me not with the kindness I had seen in Elara, but with a wariness that created a heavy atmosphere filling the living room.
Elara immediately ran over, stopping behind Bernard and looking at me with slight agitation; she decided to introduce the man unknown to me right away.
"A... this is Bernard! Our blacksmith! Please don't be frightened by his menacing lo-..." — before she could finish, she was interrupted by a grumpy snort from Bernard, who began to walk deeper into the living room, not taking his eyes off me.
Throwing a leather bag onto the table on his way, he approached me so closely that I involuntarily took a few steps back. Without moving his head, he inspected my tattoos from bottom to top, stopping again at my eyes, as if looking into my soul.
"Do you have a name?" — Bernard asked demandingly.
Feeling the tension in the air and clear discomfort from what was happening, I nervously turned my gaze to Elara, who was still standing in her place, clutching both hands together at her chest from worry. A moment later, I felt a heavy and firm grip on my head as Bernard forcibly turned my head back to himself.
"You are having a dialogue with me right now, not her. And when I say dialogue, it means you also open your mouth and answer the questions I ask you" — Bernard stated with clear sternness.
Feeling very nervous from the obvious stress, a chain of thoughts suddenly structured itself in my head, so clear that I unconsciously began to say the words aloud.
"Question... question... answer... name... answer - name..."
I thought so deeply that this chain of thoughts turned out to be more important in my consciousness than the tense situation in which I was stuck, causing me to gradually lower my gaze, still muttering the same words under my breath. Bernard raised his eyebrows in slight surprise and confusion, watching this scene.
"Name... my name... my... name... Aren..." — I look up and, with wide-open eyes from slight joy, say my answer again:
"Aren! My name is Aren".
Bernard slowly unclenched his fingers, and the weight of his palm disappeared, leaving the smell of scale on my hair. He stepped back half a step, continuing to bore into me with a gaze in which suspiciousness was now mixed with somber curiosity. My insight , clear and conscious , momentarily diffused the heavy air in the room. The blacksmith thoughtfully crossed his arms over his chest, sighing slightly.
"Aren, then. Well, at least you aren't lowing like cattle at a slaughterhouse."
He turned to Elara, who noticeably relaxed her shoulders upon hearing my voice. Then she stepped closer, with clear hope in her eyes.
"Aren... A beautiful name. Did you remember it yourself? This is a good sign, Bernard! You see, he understands us. He isn't such a threat after all".
Bernard grumpily pointed a finger at my tattoos.
"Not a threat? Elara, if this guy remembered his name and understands speech, it doesn't mean he doesn't pose a threat. And these patterns on his body are not drawn just for the sake of it. It's either a brand or... something worse".
He walked to the table and slapped his palm on the leather bag he had brought.
"But perhaps now, we will find out the truth" — Bernard stated, turning his head toward me.
He reached into the bag and pulled out an old and worn book.
"An old collection that contains some notes from seekers who managed to visit the Mizu Shogunate even before the Isengard incident. There are descriptions of only a few out of hundreds of runes here, but I hope this will be enough to find out at least something."
Bernard opened the book and began flipping through the pages, trying to find the section with the necessary information. At Bernard's words, I looked at my hands again, peering at the runes. Then, slowly approaching the table, I froze under Bernard's sharp gaze as he carefully examined my runic tattoos, constantly checking against the records in the book. The feeling was awkward, but I still continued to stand in place. Elara also joined the blacksmith, staring at the images of the runes in the book.
Bernard frowned more and more, his thick finger tracing the yellowed pages, which depicted the angular, sharp symbols of the Mizu Shogunate. But the more he compared them with the living lines and symbols on my skin, the more obvious the failure became.