Every day felt new.
Not in the poetic sense—new as in unfamiliar. As though I'd been dropped into the middle of a story with its beginning torn away.
Still…
It intrigued me.
I learned by watching—how people moved, how they spoke, how they accepted everything without question.
The world made perfect sense to them.
Just not to me.
Bredley said my memories would return eventually. He spoke with such certainty that I believed him.
He even revealed to me my name.
So I chose not to dwell on it.
---
Time passed.
I grew familiar with my surroundings.
At first, I tried helping around with chores, but people here drifted—lost in thought or fixated on their task. They rarely noticed anything beyond it.
I had to tap shoulders or step into their path just to be seen.
It felt… intrusive.
So I stopped.
Eventually, boredom pulled my attention toward things I might have ignored before.
"Hey… didn't you tear that yesterday?"
"Huh? Oh—Alisya." They scratched the back of their head. "What was that?"
"Your clothes," I said. "They were ripped yesterday, weren't they?"
"Oh." He glanced down briefly. "Got them fixed."
And just like that, his focus drifted again, returning to his task before I could press further.
I lingered, watching—scrutinizing.
The same clothes. Lacking any sign of repair or damage, not even stains—almost as if… It would remain unchanged.
---
It took time, but eventually, I asked Bredley.
"Is it that strange?" he said, scratching his head.
That was all.
No explanation—just a casual dismissal, as if the question carried no weight at all.
I didn't press him, nor the others, unsure how they might react.
Instead, I chose to find out for myself.
---
That night, while most slept, I moved through the halls in silence.
I went where they rested—rows of beds, a few scattered pieces of art, and little else.
No wardrobes.
There's nothing to suggest a change of clothes. If they had others, they were being kept elsewhere.
So I turned to what they wore—even in sleep.
Carefully.
I tucked a flower into a collar, threaded a stem through a sleeve, and brushed a streak of color across the fabric.
Small things.
Harmless things.
But deliberate.
Markers.
Proof—so I told myself—that something does persist.
Or at least…
That I would notice when it doesn't.
---
It took time, in that quiet rebellion, before I noticed another presence.
Wrapped—layer upon layer of cloth pulled tight, concealing everything, even their hands.
They were watching.
I froze.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, I raised a hand in an awkward, uncertain gesture.
"Um… could you keep this a secret?" I whispered.
Silence.
Then—
They laughed.
Not loudly.
But in the stillness, it cut clean.
Too loud.
It might wake the others up.
Panic hit me.
Before I could think, I crossed the distance, grabbed their sleeve, and pulled.
My heart pounded as I dragged them down the hall, fumbling with a door before forcing it shut behind us.
The latch clicked.
Only then did I realize what I'd done.
---
"We're in the storeroom," they said lightly, as if that explained everything.
I turned.
In my panic, I hadn't even looked.
The air was thick, dry, and heavy with old leather and something faintly metallic.
Shapes loomed in the dark—
then resolved.
Pelts hung from hooks, hollow and swaying.
Scales—large, jagged, iridescent—stacked in uneven piles.
Plates of chitin and bone leaned together like discarded armor.
Crates overflowed with horns—some polished smooth, others still rough, as if freshly taken.
And in the far corner—treasure.
Unsecured. Untended.
Gold and trinkets heaped carelessly together, catching what little light there was and breaking it into dull, fractured glints.
I swallowed.
"Don't be so nervous," they said, tilting their head. "You can call me Chrisy."
"I'm Alisya."
A pause.
"You won't get angry about this, right?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
They considered.
"Angry?" they echoed, faintly amused. "Over this?"
A soft breath of laughter.
"No," they said. "This isn't nearly enough to make me angry."
That didn't help.
If anything, it made it worse.
While I was still trying to process that, their gaze drifted past me—slow, deliberate.
Not just observing.
Measuring.
Then, almost idly—
"So," they said, "what do you think of the place?"
"It looks incredible," I said. "Especially those white scales."
A brief pause.
"You have good taste," they replied. "Those were taken from an albino lindwyrm."
I hesitated—but curiosity won.
"What is a lindwyrm?"
For a moment, they said nothing.
Then they stepped closer to the pile, crouching beside it. One wrapped hand hovered over the pale surface—not quite touching.
"They're at the top of the food chain," they said at last. "Exceptionally so."
Their voice softened.
"Most lindwyrms blend into their surroundings—gold-green, brown, or black scales with brighter underbellies."
A pause.
"They're drawn to shiny things. They hunt for it."
Their head tilted slightly.
"But an albino…"
Their fingers brushed the scale.
Even in the dim light, it shimmered—white, but not empty.
Something shifted beneath the surface. Faint colors moved within, like light trapped in ice.
"Such a creature has no need to look elsewhere," Chrisy continued. "Its scales reflect everything—sunlight, fire... even magic."
A brief pause.
"Blinding, if you're too close."
I swallowed.
"Beautiful," they added softly, "if you're far enough away."
I forced myself to ask.
"Was it… dangerous?"
A quiet laugh.
"Of course."
They straightened, though their gaze lingered.
"It didn't stalk. Didn't chase. It simply watched."
A pause.
"Perched high."
Another.
"Waiting."
Their voice dropped just slightly.
"And attacked anything that came close."
Silence pressed in.
Heavy.
Patient.
"As if it couldn't lose."
Then—
"But it was mistaken."
The words fell softly.
Certain.
I hesitated.
"…You killed it?"
Chrisy turned.
I still couldn't see their face—but I felt their attention settle on me.
Sharp.
Absolute.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
Just certainty.
"It was only a matter of time."
---
We spoke for a while after that.
About beasts and distant lands—things that sounded more like myths than living creatures.
Forests that breathed.
Deserts that shifted, as if something vast moved beneath the sand.
Frozen wastes where white snow and roaring wind swallowed everything whole.
Places I couldn't quite picture, no matter how carefully they described them.
And somewhere along the way, I realized—
learning felt… new.
Not the act itself.
The sensation of it.
Amusing.
Strange.
Then a thought surfaced.
"Are you an adventurer?" I asked.
Chrisy tilted their head.
"In a manner of speaking."
I frowned.
"That's not an answer."
A soft chuckle.
"No," they agreed. "It isn't."
I crossed my arms.
"Then answer properly."
Silence lingered.
Not empty.
Deliberate.
"I pursue things," they said at last. "Rare things. Dangerous things."
Their tone was light.
Too light.
"And when I find them…"
A pause.
"I take them."
Something in the way they said it—flat, unadorned—tightened my chest.
"That still sounds like an adventurer."
Another quiet laugh.
Softer this time.
"Yes," they said. "I suppose it does."
But it didn't feel right.
It felt incomplete.
Like I'd been given the outline of the truth—and nothing more.
---
"By the way," they added, their gaze drifting past me, "aren't you curious how there's light in here?"
I blinked.
Then stilled.
They were right.
There shouldn't have been any.
No windows.
And tonight—no moon.
The realization settled slowly.
"…You're right," I said. "There shouldn't be."
Chrisy lifted a hand, pointing.
"There."
I followed their gesture.
At first, I saw nothing.
Then—
A faint glow, tucked between clutter and shadow.
A crystal.
Small.
Unremarkable.
And yet—
It pulsed.
Soft. Steady. Unwavering.
Not firelight.
Something… familiar.
I stepped closer without thinking.
The light didn't flicker.
It simply swayed.
"I've found a few uses for it in alchemy," Chrisy said. "But I doubt that's all it can do."
I hesitated, then reached out.
The moment my fingers brushed its surface, something gave way.
Not in the room.
In me.
A sharp shift—like a lock breaking under pressure it was never meant to bear.
Fragments stirred.
Not memories.
Something close.
My breath caught.
The light didn't grow brighter—it drew closer.
Pressing in.
Filling everything.
"Hey—"
Chrisy's voice cut through it.
"Are you alright?"
I blinked.
The sensation slipped away.
Gone—like a dream dissolving as you wake.
"…I'm fine," I said.
It wasn't true.
My hand withdrew slowly.
The crystal dimmed—or maybe it only felt farther away.
"Maybe…"
My voice faltered.
"…I just need some rest."
Chrisy went still.
Not frozen—focused.
Their gaze sharpened, fixed on me in a way that felt almost invasive.
As if they were reading something written beneath my skin.
As if they could see past me—into something deeper.
Something I couldn't see.
A chill crept down my spine.
And I couldn't shake the feeling—
that whatever he was looking at…
involved me.