A young man opened his eyes under a large red maple tree. Wind brushed the grass like fingers combing through hair.
He sat up quickly, confused. "Where… am I?"
His clothes were torn, body dirty, hands trembling.
He turned—there was a house nearby.
A woman in her early 20s was hanging clothes on a rope.
"Um… hello?" he called softly. "Where am I?"
She turned—shock covering her face.
"My goodness—are you alright?"
"I think so," he said, looking himself over. "But I… I don't know where I'm from. I woke up under the tree."
"You don't know?" she said. "You must've been attacked by bandits—your clothes…"
He scratched his head. "Maybe… I don't remember. Where is this place?"
"You're in the Kingdom of Velharin," she replied.
He looked toward the distant village. "Velharin…"
"You don't look like you're from here," she added softly. "My name is Verona. You look tired. Hungry too. Let me prepare a bath, then food."
He nodded.
Later, wrapped in a towel, he stared at himself in the mirror—black hair with silver undertones… silver eyes reflecting back.
Verona entered. "Clothes are in the wardrobe. Pick what fits."
He nodded again.
She paused at the door. "What's your name?"
He stared at the mirror. "I… I don't know."
"You don't know your own name?" she whispered.
He shook his head.
She sighed. "We'll talk after you eat."
—————
Outside, a wooden table set for two. Simple. Warm.
He stepped out, wearing clothes too big for him, sleeves rolled.
"These clothes…" he began.
"They belonged to my husband," Verona said gently as she set down bowls of rice. "He's gone now. You're free to use them."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to reopen anything."
"It's alright. Sit. Eat before it gets cold."
He took one bite—and his eyes widened. Then he devoured it, almost desperate.
Verona laughed softly. "If you want more, just ask."
He didn't even hear her. He was too busy eating.
They finished, and she washed the dishes. He stood.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I… don't know. Maybe I'll find something about myself."
She looked at the darkening sky. "It's too late. You don't know who you are, and you're alone. Bandits could attack again. Stay here for now."
"It wouldn't be right. I don't want to burden you."
"It's fine," she insisted. "Stay until your memories return."
He bowed. "Thank you."
She smiled. "Alright then. How about a name? Hmm… Arden."
"Arden…" he repeated. "It's good."
"Then from now on, that's who you are."
He nodded slowly.
"My name is… Arden."
—————
It was morning outside.
Arden and Verona had just finished eating, still sitting at the small wooden table. The plates were empty but neither of them moved.
Arden spoke softly.
"Um… can I ask you a question?"
Verona looked at him with her usual gentle eyes. "Sure. Go on."
Arden pointed downward — to the far small village sitting like a dot against the land.
"Well… the village is far down there. But… why are you living up here on this hill and not with the others?"
A silence dropped between them. A heavy one. The kind that makes you immediately regret opening your mouth.
Arden lowered his eyes. "I guess it was too personal. It's… alright. You don't have to tell me."
Verona breathed out slowly, as if she had been holding that exact story in her throat for years.
"I live here because I was chased from the village… together with my husband."
She looked toward that far little village again.
"The people saw us as filth. Unwanted. Unclean. Perhaps a stain on their perfect view."
She touched the table lightly. "He built this house with wood he carried from the forest… even the furniture."
Her voice wavered. ""But one day he went to the forest… and didn't come back. So I stayed here. Alone, since then."
Arden straightened, guilt crawling up his chest.
"Sorry… looks like I made you remember things you'd rather not."
Verona smiled.
"No need to apologize. Anyone would've asked."
She stood and walked inside.
Arden watched her go, whispering to himself.
"I wonder why they saw her as filth… I shouldn't ask again. I don't want to hurt her."
Verona paused at the doorway. "Have you remembered anything… Arden?"
He shook his head. "No."
"I see," she murmured, and disappeared into the house.
Arden stared at the distant village as a small wind brushed his hair.
—————
The sun climbed higher.
Arden was beside the house, an axe in his hands. Each swing sent a dull thud through the ground. Sweat dripped down his face, rolled under his shirt, and glued the fabric to his skin.
He set another log upright, raised the axe over his head, and split it cleanly.
When he was done, he tied the wood together with a cloth, lifted it, slung the axe over his shoulder, and walked toward the front.
He leaned the axe against the wall and dropped the wood with a soft thump.
Verona, sipping tea, placed her cup down.
"You're doing a good job, Arden."
Arden wiped his forehead with his wrist. "It's nothing."
She smiled faintly. "To think it's been two weeks already. You've been a great help around the house." Then her brows pinched together. "But still, nothing? Not even a little memory of your family? Where you're from?"
Arden walked past her. "I'll go freshen up now."
Verona watched him enter the house, sighing.
"Poor guy… I wonder what kind of life he lived. Who he even was…"
Later, Arden stepped out again, clean and a little calmer.
"You're going out?" Verona asked.
"Yes. I'll rest under the shade of the tree."
She nodded. "Be careful."
"I will."
He walked toward the red maple tree he'd woken under two weeks ago.
He sat with his back against the trunk. The air was cool, the wind brushing leaves over him like little green feathers. Peaceful. His eyes drifted to the faraway village, then slowly, quietly… closed.
—————
When he opened them again, everything had changed.
The world was white. Blank. Infinite.
He hovered naked in the air, except his body glowed faintly with golden light, like he was wrapped in sunlight.
"Where… am I?" he whispered.
A small golden orb floated toward him and burst into tiny lights. The lights came together, forming a young girl sheathed in white—long gown, long white hair, golden eyes —like she was sketched out of sunlight .
She drifted closer.
Arden blinked hard. "Who are you? Where am I?"
She smiled lightly, like she'd been waiting for those questions.
"Do you want to regain your memory?"
"My… memory?"
She chuckled softly. "Here. I'll show you."
She lifted a finger and tapped his forehead.
His head snapped back — eyes widening as golden light shit through him — then everything broke open like a dam. Images flooded him. His team entering the dungeon. The boss. The fear. The betrayal. His death. Faces. Blood. Aiden. Selena. Lance. Rowen. All of it twisted and spilled through him like a storm of pictures he couldn't stop.
When she pulled her hand away, Arden's breathing was sharp and ragged.
His teeth clenched. His eyes burned.
"I remember." His voice trembled with rage. "I remember everything. How I died. How they left me."
The girl smiled like she enjoyed the fire inside him.
"And now? What do you want to do?"
Arden's fists tightened.
"Revenge. I'll hunt every one of them down. I'll make them pay."
"If that's what you wish to use your second life for," she shrugged lightly. "Then do what you want. But if you truly go through with it then…"
Arden narrowed his eyes. "Then?"
She giggled lightly. "It's a surprise gift."
"A surprise gift? What is—"
"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, silly." She floated back. "Now… goodbye."
"Wait—!"
But a powerful force yanked him downward violently like gravity returned with an attitude. His hand reached out desperately, while she just waved cheerfully with a serene smile as he fell.
——————
Arden opened his eyes with a gasp.
"Damn… my head…" He held it with one hand, feeling a stubborn throb under his skull.
Something suddenly dropped beside him—soft, but heavy enough to startle him.
He turned . It was a wounded squirrel with claw marks across it's side.
Arden looked up and saw a hawk on a branch above. It flew away like it had been caught in the act.
Arden breathed out slowly.
"I see… you escaped somehow."
He leaned closer. "But you're badly hurt. Let me heal you."
He held his hand above it… then paused.
"Wait. Do I even still have my healing abilities? This is a new life, a new body… do I still have it?"
There was only one way to know.
He inhaled deeply.
"Heal."
Green light bloomed in his palm. Soft. Familiar. Little motes of green seeped into the squirrel's wounds, closing them up.
Arden exhaled with relief. "I'm still a healer…"
The squirrel stood, scratched its head with its tiny limb, then darted up the tree like nothing happened.
Arden looked at his hands.
"I can heal others… but not myself."
His fists balled tight, trembling. "Not until I've healed the wound they left in me. Not until I make them suffer."
He stood up slowly and walked toward the house, the wind brushing past him .