The Weight of the Unknown

The solid wooden gates groaned as they opened, unveiling the stone fortress ahead. Inside the castle walls, the air was heavy with smoke and the iron-like aroma of blood. Yet a haunting silence prevailed.

Edward stepped forward, his body still aching from the battle, his thoughts muddled. The flickering torchlight cast long, moving shadows against the walls, but his mind was elsewhere.

'Did I see that? Or was it just my imagination?'

The distant blackened ruins at the base of the hill lingered in his thoughts. Had the exhaustion, the blood loss, and the chaos of war warped his senses? Or was there indeed something unnatural moving in the darkness?

The memory played over in his mind—a shadow too fast, too large to be human. It had been just a glimpse, but the feeling it left behind chilled him.

'If it was real… what the hell was it?'

The castle courtyard was littered with remnants of the battle—fallen bodies, shattered weapons, broken banners swaying weakly in the cold night wind. The Dragon army had taken the stronghold, but Edward felt no relief.

His missing past represented a vast emptiness, yet something even more troubling had taken root—a creeping sense of unease.

He exhaled slowly as he passed the towering stone archway into the castle halls.

'Maybe it is all in my head.'

He almost believed it.

Almost.

Inside the castle, Edward was taken aback.

The sheer size and grandeur of the fortress left him momentarily speechless. Towering stone pillars lined the halls, their surfaces worn with time, whispering of a deep history buried within these walls. This wasn't just any stronghold—a fortress built to withstand the ages.

Yet, here he was, standing inside it.

'How the hell did we take this place?'

His gaze swept across the massive halls, his mind instinctively piecing together the tactical impossibility of it all. From what he remembered of the battle, their forces were, at best, evenly matched with the defenders. There were no overwhelming numbers or apparent strategic advantage, yet they had won.

It didn't make sense.

Everyone knew defenders always had the upper hand—protected by walls, forcing attackers into narrow chokepoints, and using elevation to their advantage. To take a fortress this grand, you needed sheer numbers and a clear advantage in manpower.

And they didn't have it.

"Edward… Edward!"

A recognizable voice broke into his thoughts, intensifying in volume. Still, he remained deeply engrossed in his reflections, hunting for a solution. Suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him back to reality.

His body reacted before his mind. He twitched, tense and alert, as his gaze darted to the source of the disturbance—Commander Richard.

"I tried to reach you, but you were lost in thought. Something wrong?" Richard asked, his face carrying the usual weight of exhaustion.

Despite his intense curiosity about how the Dragon Army had managed to seize the castle, Edward forced himself to stay cautious. He had no memories and no certainty about whom to trust. Asking too many questions could attract the wrong kind of attention.

After taking a few steady breaths, Edward finally responded.

"It's nothing. I'm just… amazed by the sheer scale of this castle."

Richard let out a chuckle as if taking the remark as praise.

"Sure, that's Emberhold. Built a hundred years ago by the previous Emperor," he said, glancing around the fortress walls with a look of familiarity. "It's one of the Empire's most valuable strongholds."

Edward narrowed his eyes slightly.

'Does that mean we just reclaimed what originally belonged to us?'

But something still felt off. A hundred years? Given its sheer size, presence, and fortified structure, Emberhold didn't seem like a century-old relic. It appeared to be a beast carved from stone, intended to stand for eternity.

And yet, somehow, they had taken it with ease.

"Enough talk. We have to prepare for the night," Richard said, his voice lower now—almost grim. His expression darkened, shadows clinging to his features as if the mere thought of 'night' unsettled him.

"They will come for our souls."

The words sent an unexplainable chill through Edward. There was something in the way Richard said it—something beyond war, beyond strategy.

The older man exhaled sharply and straightened his posture, his usual towering presence now carrying an even darker, heavier aura.

"Go visit Michelle. We'll need your help to defend the castle," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate. Edward nodded instinctively, but as he turned to leave, a realization hit him like a knife to the stomach.

'Who the hell is Michelle? And, more importantly, where is she?'

Richard had spoken as if she were someone important—someone whose role was crucial to whatever was coming. From the tone of his voice, she was likely a medic or healer. That meant she was probably stationed in the barracks or somewhere treating the wounded.

But this castle was massive.

Edward glanced back at the towering halls and endless stone corridors. He could wander all night and never find her.

And if time was as short as Richard made it sound… He needed to figure it out fast.

After a few minutes of wandering, Edward's luck finally turned. A sudden flash of green light flickered down one of the dim corridors—brief but unmistakable.

He froze.

The light was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. It wasn't merely glowing; it radiated and pulsed as if it possessed a heartbeat. Yet, in that brief moment of appearance, a sense of familiarity washed over him. It felt warm, comforting—like coming home.

He frowned, unsettled. How could something so strange feel so right?

His thoughts raced, trying to rationalize what he had seen. Magic? It was absurd, but was it impossible after everything he'd experienced?

Since waking up, nothing makes sense. His missing hand. The gaping void of his memory. The creatures lurking in the shadows. Commander Richard's ominous warnings and chilling presence. And now this—the light. All of it happened in just a matter of hours.

'No, if there was such a thing as magic, maybe it wasn't as unlikely as it sounded.'

He exhaled slowly, his pulse quickening. His body moved on instinct, drawn by unease and curiosity. Step by step, he made his way toward the source of the green glow, determined to find out what it was.

As Edward neared the source of the light, new sounds reached his ears—voices. Chatter mixed with muffled groans of pain. Some cried sharply with agony; others sighed with relief. The air felt heavy and thick with the scent of herbs and blood.

Just as he reached the corner, he slowed his steps, listening. A deep, shaken voice spoke first. "Miss Michelle, do you know if backup is going to arrive? The Empire can't just let us die here… I have a family," the man's voice cracked, hovering on the edge of desperation.

A tired voice added, "My daughter is soon to be married… I don't want to watch her from heaven."

There was a moment of silence before a woman's gentle yet firm voice broke the tension.

"The Empire and our God will not let us die here," she said, her tone calm, unwavering. "We are at Emberhold, one of the greatest strongholds in the realm. And we have Commander Richard, a Two-Star Knight."

She paused, her words expressing a quiet strength. "We won't die here." "Now, get some sleep," Michelle said, her voice softer yet firm.

A brief silence followed, with only the faint crackling of lanterns and the occasional pained groan filling the air. Then, after a momentary pause, she spoke again—this time, directly addressing someone.

"You can enter, young man."

Edward stiffened. She knew he was there. Taking a slow breath, he stepped forward, ready to face the woman behind the voice.

'Two-Star Knight… and a woman who can sense people's presence.'

The thought lingered in Edward's mind as he stepped inside. The green glow that had momentarily blinded him began to fade, and his vision adjusted to the dimly lit room. His gaze locked onto the woman sitting at the edge of a wounded soldier's bed.

She was young—in her twenties, perhaps a bit older—yet something about her presence felt powerful and commanding. Her long, golden-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, framing a face that was both delicate and striking. Her vivid, sharp emerald-green eyes gleamed in the dim light, holding an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

She wore a flowing healer's robe, a blend of deep green and soft white fabric that draped elegantly over her form. Even in the heavy air of an infirmary, with injured men groaning around her, she carried herself with grace and quiet confidence.

Yet beneath that serenity, Edward could see something else—resolve.

'She is no ordinary healer.'

How she moved, handled herself, and sensed him without looking was far beyond normal.

'Who is she?'

"Commander Richard sent me—"

Before Edward could complete his sentence, Michelle interjected, her voice gentle but confident.

"I know," she replied, scarcely glancing up from the patient she cared for.

"Please, have a seat."

Her tone carried no hesitation, no need for further explanation. Edward hesitated momentarily before stepping forward, still trying to grasp who this woman was and how she seemed to know things before they happened.

Edward sat on what looked like a self-made bed, the rough fabric barely cushioning the cold, hard floor beneath him. He waited silently as Michelle finished tending to the previous patient. His mind, however, was far from still.

'She seems to know something. Should I try asking her?'

The questions tangled in his thoughts, twisting and overlapping before he could make sense of them. Would she use magic? Did she already know about his missing memories? Was she the kind of person who would answer honestly? Before Edward could settle on a single answer, Michelle had already turned toward him, her piercing green eyes locking onto his as she approached.

"Turn to your right," she commanded, her voice firm but composed.

Edward obeyed without hesitation, shifting stiffly as he repositioned himself on the makeshift cot. His body remained exhausted, every movement dragging against the weight of lingering pain. The air inside the barracks was thick with the scent of herbs and blood, a quiet symphony of whispered prayers and muffled groans filling the space. A thought struck him unexpectedly as he turned, sending a ripple of cautious hope.

'If this was magic… could she even restore my hand?'

The idea was impossible—ridiculous, even. And yet, it wouldn't leave him. His thoughts raced, colliding with each other. If she could mend his wound and restore what was lost, then maybe… just maybe…

The possibility was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Would it be painful? Would it even work? 

Would he feel whole again?

His right hand instinctively clenched at the thought, fingers curling into the rough fabric of his tunic. He hadn't realized how much he was leaning forward. His breath was a bit heavier, and his pulse revealed the storm brewing in his mind. But before he could dwell on it, Michelle was already at his side.

She moved with practiced efficiency, and every motion was smooth and deliberate. She knelt just enough to bring herself to his level, her presence calm yet strangely commanding. Without hesitation, she reached for his arm, her fingers ghosting over the makeshift bandage. Edward flinched—not from pain, but from its sheer foreignness.

Her touch was light and precise, yet something else lingered beneath it—a weight, a presence. She wasn't merely looking at his wound but reading it and grasping its significance. The air between them shifted and for the first time since waking up on that battlefield, Edward held his breath.

She was beautiful, something Edward only fully noticed now that she was so close. A subtle, pleasant scent lingered around her, something fresh and soft, making it almost distractingly challenging to focus.

"You did a great job stopping the blood," she finally said, her voice calm yet sincere.

"I'm impressed."

Edward blinked, snapping back to reality.

"It was the best I could do," he said quickly, glancing down as if to hide his discomfort.

"That was enough." Michelle gave a slight nod. 

Without another word, she placed both hands near his severed arm, her eyes closing as if concentrating on something unseen.

Then, a familiar green glow pulsed from her fingertips, enveloping the wound. A sudden warmth spread through Edward's body, different from anything he had ever felt. It wasn't just soothing—it was familiar—the same feeling he had had when seeing that flash of light in the hall.

Sweat began forming on Michelle's brow as she continued, her expression strained yet unwavering. Edward felt the pain dulling, fibers reconnecting, and skin attempting to mend itself. It was… unsettling. The sensation of something trying to return to what was no longer there sent a strange chill down his spine.

But even as the pain faded, he knew it wasn't enough. Getting his hand back was probably too much of an ask, considering he couldn't remember how he lost it.

Even though he hadn't regained his hand, the pain was gone. The constant, nagging phantom sensation had faded, leaving him able to move without the unbearable tingling where his hand once was.

"That's all I can offer now," Michelle replied, her tone steady yet tinged with a subtle apology. A slight smile played at her lips, but Edward could tell—she wished there was more she could provide. He flexed his remaining fingers, relief washing over him.

"I'm very grateful for your help," he answered, meeting her gaze. He understood one thing clearly—his chances of survival would have been close to none without her.

But if there's one thing Edward understood, it's that survival requires risk. To grow stronger and stay alive, you have to take action. His biggest obstacle isn't his missing hand—it's his lack of knowledge.

He knew nothing about this world. Nothing about his past. Nothing about the creatures lurking in the shadows or the magic Michelle had just used. Even Richard's title—Two-Star Knight—was a mystery to him.

He was clueless, and if he wanted to survive, that had to change. He needed information, that much was clear. Edward took a deep breath, gathering all his courage.

"I… need to ask you something," he finally said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at him. Michelle raised an eyebrow but remained silent, waiting.

"I don't remember anything," Edward admitted. "Not just the battle—everything. My past, who I was, where I came from… it's all gone."

Her expression remained unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in the air around her. Encouraged by her silence, he pressed on.

"I've seen things. Strange things. Shadows are moving where they shouldn't. Something lurking in the forest above… something that doesn't feel right. And then there's Richard—when he spoke about 'them,' his whole presence changed."

Edward leaned forward slightly. "I need to know what's going on."

For a long moment, Michelle said nothing. She watched him, her emerald gaze locked onto his.

'Is she trying to see if I was lying? She can wield magic; something like that is definitely possible.'

The silence stretched, the air between them growing heavier. Then, finally, she exhaled. And in a voice quiet but firm, she said—

"What I'm about to tell you… you won't like."