A silhouette trembled softly in the faint morning light seeping through the paper windows.
Deep hazel eyes, glassy with tears met his vacant, half-lidded stare.
Her black hair was tousled, unkempt from long nights spent beside his still form.
And though her cheeks were streaked with sorrow, her expression bloomed with overwhelming joy.
Karma…!
she gasped, voice catching between a sob and a breathless laugh.
Without another word, she collapsed into him.
Arms around his chest, holding on like if she let go, he might vanish all over again.
His limbs were heavy, his thoughts slower still.
He didn't know this girl, and yet... the warmth of her embrace stirred something faint in him, not memory, but emotion.
Like the echo of a dream he couldn't remember.
He stayed still.
Letting it settle.
Letting her cry.
Before he could gather the words to speak, the soft floor creaked.
A new figure stepped into the room followed by another.
First a man — tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in dark robes adorned with silver clasps.
His short, grayed beard did little to age him, but the jagged scars trailing down his forearms and across his temple spoke louder than years ever could.
Beside him walked a younger man, lean and composed, with short-cropped dark olive green hairs and intelligent grey eyes that missed nothing.
A few years older than Karma.
His sharp eyes studied the room in a single sweep before settling on Karma.
There was something measured in his demeanor, almost too measured.
As though every word and movement was weighed before release.
He remained quiet, yet his expression lit up the moment he saw Karma sitting up.
The older of the two slowed, stopping just a few steps away, watching the two silently.
Then, his voice — low, worn, but gently warm cut through the stillness.
Restless as ever, even in sleep.
But it's good to see those eyes open again.
Karma blinked slowly.
The man stepped closer, arms behind his back, posture proud yet unthreatening.
You had us all worried, Karma. But we are more than grateful seeing you safe.
Welcome home again!
There was a soft smile behind the dry tone, the kind only someone who has seen decades of war and peace can wear.
Karma stared at him, unsure how to respond.
He tried to speak, but the words stalled.
His brows furrowed.
The man's expression shifted.
His voice quieted.
You seem puzzled. Is something wrong?
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then Karma's lips parted, and his voice came out unsteady, broken — as if learning the shape of words for the first time.
I... I don't know. I don't remember any of this. Not this place. Not you.
His eyes flicked toward the girl still clinging to his side.
Not her... Not even... me.
The girl froze.
Her fingers tightened on his tunic.
The man exhaled — not with surprise, but a quiet weight.
He walked closer and knelt beside the bed, resting a firm hand on Karma's shoulder.
Then let us start from the beginning,
he said simply.
This is the House of Greylock and my name is Adam Greylock.
Karma looked at him, searching the older man's weathered face for a spark of recognition, but found only a reflection of his own confusion.
He looked past Adam to the shadow standing by the hearth
And there stands Oliver,
Adam continued, gesturing toward the silent sentinel.
Your brother.
The girl finally pulled back, her hands trembling as she wiped her eyes.
She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes, a fragile thing that looked ready to shatter.
I'm Leena...
Leena Greylock, the woman meant to be your better half.
Her voice low but gaining a desperate strength.
Adam glanced at her and then looked back at Karma, placing a hand gently over his shoulder.
And your name... is Karma,
you are my blood.
You are...
My son.
Karma sat in a hollow, heavy silence.
He lowered his head, the weight of their expectations pressing against his shoulders like unseen armour.
I see...
A beat passed, the only sound the crackle of the hearth fire.
I never intended to harm the feelings of any one of you.
His voice was careful, thoughtful, laced with sincerity.
But... I still need time. To understand all of this. Myself, too.
He looked up at them, finally — not with fear, but clarity.
I hope you'll understand.
Adam offered a small yet proud smile.
Take all the time you need.
Leena nodded with a teary smile of her own.
---
As the door closed behind them, Leena remained at Karma's side, her hand resting gently on his arm.
Adam and Oliver walked silently down the dim corridor, the wooden floor muffling their steps.
The silence lingered for a while, until Adam broke it.
…What do you think, seeing him like that?
Oliver kept his eyes forward.
It seems he's lost most of his memories.
Adam's gaze shifted toward him.
There was nothing,
Oliver continued, voice low.
His mind was blank — not just empty… but alone. Similar to being trapped in some kind of dark void.
He paused, then added quietly,
He's restless. Like he doesn't belong in his own skin.
Adam didn't respond.
His face remained still, yet his eyes seemed distant — lost in thought, or maybe something deeper.
Father…?
Oliver called gently.
Father.
Adam blinked, then looked toward him.
Ah. Yes, Oliver?
What do you say? Should I try helping him recover his memories?
Adam shook his head slowly.
No. Let him remember on his own. Forcing it… might do more harm than good.
Oliver nodded, though his concern lingered.
Speaking of which, have you learned anything about the incident that left him in this state?
Adam asked after a moment.
Oliver exhaled.
No survivors aside from him. Whoever did this left no witnesses.
Adam's jaw clenched slightly.
And the rune?
I've been researching,
Oliver replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
Old scriptures, even ancient ones… but nothing matches. I'm convinced it is some kind of ritual, but the nature of it — I can't say for sure.
I see... Not until she returns, huh!
Adam said, almost under his breath.
Oliver smirked faintly.
Yeah… if anyone can make sense of this mess, it's her.
They both chuckled quietly, though the unease lingered between them like a shadow.
---
And far from the quiet halls of Greylock…
The room was dim, lit only by the flickering light of a single candle placed at the center of the long table.
Shadows stretched across the walls, casting distorted silhouettes of hooded figures in the corners.
At the head of the table stood a man, his posture stiff with irritation.
A tall, broad figure, draped in dark noble robes, though his face remained concealed by the thick shadows of his cloak's hood.
Only a faint gleam from the candlelight revealed the sharpness of his profile and the tension in his clenched jaw.
He tapped the surface of the table impatiently, his tone cutting through the silence like a blade.
How can you make such a blunder? How could you let this slip as if it were nothing?
The voice was cold, sharp, and had the force of authority behind it — a voice that commanded respect, but it was strained.
Frustration was beginning to leak through.
A figure clad in dark, hooded robes stepped forward — one of the squad leaders, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke.
We knew the man was strong, sir, but we never anticipated he could single-handedly take on the entire squad... And when we tried to send reinforcements, that man's allies arrived in force. We were left with no choice but to retreat.
The noble's fingers curled tightly into fists, his gaze turning inward as his mind processed the failure.
His breath quickened ever so slightly, but his control was evident, as if he was struggling to suppress the anxiety welling up inside him.
What a mess…
He muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
Then, with a barely contained sigh, he turned toward his men, his expression hidden once again.
Stay on standby. No further movements unless I say so.
Dismissed.
The squad filed out silently, leaving him alone in the chamber.
The man remained standing for a moment longer, the light flickering weakly, casting his shadow longer and more distorted across the room.
His eyes narrowed as his thoughts churned.
His lips curled into a tense, nervous smile.
They too failed, huh…
he said to no one in particular, his voice laced with unease.
He began to laugh, a nervous, hollow sound that echoed slightly in the empty space.
Even though those people weren't ordinary, huh?
His words almost trembled, but his composure was slipping.
He paced in a tight circle, his laughter cutting off abruptly as he grew more anxious, more aware of the weight of his predicament.
The smile faded, replaced by something darker.
This is the difference in strength, isn't it…?
His voice cracked, the bitter edge barely masking the dread beneath.
The kind of strength that only a man of his rank could ever wield…
His fists trembled.
The failures were stacking up—too many now to be buried beneath excuses or misdirection.
Too many to be ignored by him.
If he could defeat all of them, if he could kill each one… What does that mean for me?
The man's chest tightened, and he glanced around, feeling the weight of the shadows closing in on him.
He's different,
he whispered, as if speaking it aloud made the truth easier to swallow.
More than we expected.
He turned, pacing.
The echo of his boots only reminded him how alone he was now.
The laughter came again—his own—frantic and hollow, the laughter of a man teetering on the edge of collapse.
This is only going to get worse, isn't it?
His breath hitched as the thought returned, the one that had been gnawing at him since the first failure.
What will I tell him?
That silent question rang louder than anything else.
He's watching and this time, there would be no room for failure.
No forgiveness.
To be continued...