There was silence.
The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the wind whispering through the trees—soft, steady, cold.
Ethan stared into the flames, unmoving. Elric sat nearby, taking slow sips from his metal bottle every now and then. Neither of them spoke.
And then—
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate.
Clyde stepped into the firelight, looking relaxed as ever, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword.
"Why are you scaring the kid like that, Captain?" he said with a smirk, walking closer to the fire. "That speech of yours reminded me of when I was just a runt. Man… I miss those days."
He stretched his arms lazily, then turned toward a bag lying off to the side. With a quick motion, he pulled something out—a small pouch—and tossed it across the fire.
It landed next to Ethan with a soft thud.
"Here, kid," Clyde said, still smirking. "You've gotta be starving. Eat this. Refill your energy or whatever. Then maybe you can show us that pit of yours."
Ethan stared at the pouch. It smelled faintly of dried meat and spices. His stomach twisted at the reminder he hadn't eaten since… before he woke up here, wherever here was.
He picked it up slowly.
Clyde sat down near the fire, stretching out his legs like he had no care in the world.
A moment later, Grace stepped into the clearing.
She didn't say anything at first. Just walked over, brushing a few strands of dark hair behind her ear as she sat down across from Ethan. The firelight danced in her eyes—sharp, calculating.
Then she spoke, calm and matter-of-fact.
"We might find something good there," she said. "The pit. Things produced by direct exposure to the Curse… they sell for a high price back at camp."
Ethan glanced at her, startled.
Was she… excited?
He could've sworn her eyes sparkled—just a little.
Glowing with dollar signs.
Wait—dollars?
There's no dollars here.
His mind tripped over itself for a second.
Right. Wrong world. Whatever this is, it isn't Earth. He was pretty sure of that now.
Still… his memory was a mess. Jumbled pieces, flashing at odd angles. Half-familiar things from a life he wasn't even sure he lived.
He blinked slowly, trying to steady himself.
Elric hadn't moved. He sat watching the fire, bottle in hand, like nothing around him mattered anymore.
Ethan looked down at the pouch in his lap.
He started eating slowly.
Whatever was in the pouch tasted… dry. Some kind of salted meat, and a few hard, nut-like things he couldn't name. Chewing was a chore. Swallowing, even worse.
But hunger did miracles.
After a few bites, the pain in his stomach stopped screaming. It dropped to a low, dull ache—almost like thankfulness.
A few minutes passed.
The fire crackled. Wind stirred the trees overhead. No one said anything.
Then Ethan turned.
His eyes landed on Clyde, sitting comfortably by the fire like he belonged there. Like the world outside the firelight wasn't filled with cursed monsters and things with too many teeth.
Ethan stared at him for a while, trying to figure out how to phrase it.
Then he just spoke.
"Ahm… can I ask you something?"
Clyde raised a brow, glancing over lazily.
Ethan hesitated, then pushed forward. "How did you know I wasn't one of them? Whoever them is."
He frowned after saying it.
Why didn't Clyde just say who they were? Why keep it vague?
Was it for dramatic effect or something?
Clyde smiled faintly, then leaned back on one arm. "If you're wondering how I knew you weren't one of them," he said, "it's easy."
He gave Ethan a quick once-over, his gaze dropping to the bracelet on Ethan's wrist.
Then he raised his hand.
And resting there—on his wrist—was a bracelet. It looked almost identical to Elric's: smooth, metallic, dull gray, with a faint sheen that caught the firelight like old steel.
"They never wear a bracelet," Clyde said simply. "It's against their beliefs."
His voice was calm.
"And if you wanna know who they are," Clyde added, his tone darkening, "they're the ones who used to live in that village."
He looked at Ethan carefully, watching his expression.
"Even that dead woman… the one in the house where I found you. She was one of them too."
Ethan blinked. He hadn't really looked at her. He didn't even want to.
"They're a bunch of lunatics," Clyde went on. "People who worship the Curse like it's some kind of divine gift. Think it's a miracle from the heavens or whatever nonsense they've cooked up."
He spat into the fire and then watched it sizzle.
"They hate the bracelets. Say they block the 'blessing' of the Curse. So they kidnap people. Use strange relics to expose them to huge amounts of cursed essence. Some die. Some… change. They think it's a test. A path to some twisted kind of transcendence."
Ethan felt his mouth dry out.
Clyde didn't stop.
"They're the reason the Royal Guard's out here. That's who they're after. Fanatics hiding in ruins, spreading the rot like it's holy."
He leaned forward, eyes hard.
"They dump the people who don't survive their rituals in random places. As far from their nests as possible. That's why it's so rare to find a site like that pit."
Ethan stared into the fire.
Silent.
'So the people in that pit… I was one of them.'
His chest tightened.
'Does that mean…?'
He didn't finish the thought.
Because a voice cut in—soft, but firm. Like it had been waiting.
Grace.
"Don't worry," she said, her gaze fixed on him. "You're clean."
Ethan looked at her.
She didn't smile. But she didn't look suspicious either. Just curious.
"…But I have no idea how that's possible," she added, frowning slightly. "Maybe it wasn't that crazy cult who threw you in there. Maybe it was someone else who through you there..."
Ethan was confused. Thrown in there? By who?
The idea spun around in his head, but he couldn't catch anything solid. No memories surfaced. No faces. Just the blank haze of darkness and cold walls. He couldn't even tell if he was remembering nothing—or if something was actively missing.
His lips parted slightly, but he said nothing.
Then Elric's voice broke the silence.
"I think I know why you were thrown in that pit."
Ethan's head snapped toward him, eyes wide.
Even Clyde and Grace turned at that, surprised.
Elric didn't look up right away. He took another long sip from his Metal bottle, exhaled like the weight of the past was pressing against his chest—and then finally spoke again.
"…Tell me something, kid," he said, voice steady. "Does your Aspect… have anything to do with ash?"
Ethan blinked.
His heart stuttered for a moment.
Without thinking, he summoned the screen again. It blinked into existence before his eyes—still glitchy, flickering slightly, filled with corrupted characters.
Aspect: [As^h Wa##en I7k$%alk78r]
[W*en the f@l&m#s... Every fallen en@e wr@@!its ano*]
[Error: failed to identify Aspect]
Ethan stared at it, that strange screen floating in front of him, its text still shimmering like something alive. He didn't understand most of it, but that first word...
Ash.
Was it just coincidence? Or did it really mean something?
Even if the language was warped and corrupted, the letters seemed to rearrange themselves in his mind. The noise softened just enough to whisper a single, possible meaning.
"…I… I think so," Ethan said slowly.
Elric nodded once.
He didn't look surprised—just… resigned.
The firelight danced against his weathered face, catching in the corners of his narrowed eyes. There was something there. Not fear. Not awe.
But memory.
"Then I really think I know what you are," he said quietly."You're an Ashborne."
Ethan blinked.
Ashborne?
The word meant nothing to him. But it didn't sound small.
He looked around the fire, trying to read the others' faces.
Grace's eyebrows raised just slightly. Her expression tightened—not quite fear, but a definite shift in the air.
"You mean that noble family?" she asked, glancing toward Elric, then back at Ethan. "The ones with the sealed estate east of the capital?"
Even Clyde looked up, his eyes sharpening. "Now that you mention it… the hair, the eyes. Silver-gray. That's not something you see often." He leaned closer, inspecting Ethan without shame.
He didn't know these people. Didn't know any family.
Then Elric spoke again, his tone harder now.
"If you are Ashborne… then someone went to a lot of trouble to throw you out here. Middle of nowhere. Pit full of corpses. Do you know how far that is from the capital?" He shook his head, then added, "This wasn't a mistake. It wasn't random."
Ethan turned toward him.
"You're saying… it was someone from the family?" he asked, his voice low.
"Could be," Elric said. "An enemy of the Ashborne. Or worse—someone inside. A purge. A power struggle. Could be you were important… too important. Maybe even part of the main bloodline."
The fire popped as if to punctuate his words.
Silence settled between them again—deep and cold despite the flames.
Ethan stared into the fire, his mind turning over everything he'd just heard.
A noble family. A sealed estate. A buried legacy.Maybe it meant something. Maybe it was a lead. Maybe… it was a beginning.
And a strange, quiet thrill stirred in him.
Wasn't it always like this in the stories?
From what little he could still remember of his past life—those books, those games, those shows—wasn't it always the discarded heir, the exiled son, the amnesiac outcast, who turned out to be the real main character?
The one with the secret bloodline.
The one who returned stronger.
Who claimed what was his.
Could that be me?
For a fleeting second, the firelight looked brighter.
But just as quickly as the feeling rose—
—it cracked.
Because the screen was still there.
And the word still burned in the center of it like a brand.
Curse: [Null Brand][Barred from using magic weapons or channeling Attributes in combat]
The chill hit him again.
No matter what bloodline he had, no matter what family name he carried, how could he fight for anything like this?
'What kind of protagonist can't even swing a sword?'
He wasn't the hero of some clean, chosen-one fairytale.
Not here.
Not in this cursed world.