Chapter - 21

The dark forest echoed with the strange hums and clicks of unseen insects, a chorus of life hidden behind thick layers of mist and leaves. Sam's ears twitched at the cacophony, every chirp and buzz foreign to his memory, like he had awoken into a completely different world—because he had.

In front of him stood the old man who had saved him from the nightmare he had just witnessed. The man was stooped, wrapped in rags and chains, but there was something about his posture, his steady gaze, that made Sam feel like the forest itself bent around him in respect.

"I healed you," the man said, voice rough but gentle. "You were in a bad way when I found you. Nearly didn't make it."

Sam, still dazed, had only managed one coherent question. "What's your name?"

The old man looked at him, squinting. Then he spoke again.

"Follow me, young man. I'll answer your question somewhere safer."

Sam hesitated, but the edge in the man's voice, the quiet urgency, made him move. The sounds of the forest crept into his bones, reminding him that they weren't alone. That soldier could still be nearby, hunting. He took cautious steps, mindful of every branch, every leaf. The iron shackles around his wrists clinked softly, but he did his best to keep quiet.

The old man led him deeper into the forest. The trees grew closer together, their roots snaking like coiled serpents over the uneven ground. The mist thickened around them. It wasn't long before they reached a hollow beneath a massive, ancient tree—its bark blackened with age, twisted like a frozen flame.

Only then did the old man speak.

"My name is Teron," he said, kneeling to gather dry branches scattered across the forest floor. "What about you, boy?"

Sam opened his mouth—then froze.

His mind was blank.

Not just confusion, not just foggy recollection. There was nothing. No last name. No first. No image of family. Not even the name of the body he was in. All he had was the memory of waking in the clearing, of pain, and of blood.

He could have made something up. Lied. But something about the old man told him that would be unwise. The man had saved his life. Perhaps he would help him understand it.

"I don't remember," Sam admitted. "I don't remember anything about who I am."

Teron paused, one hand resting on a gnarled piece of bark.

"Hmm," the old man murmured. "Dissociative Amnesia."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"It's a condition," Teron said without looking up. "Mind chooses to forget what the heart cannot bear. Trauma. Death. Pain. Maybe even betrayal. I've seen it before. You may not have any scars on your head, but your soul's bleeding somewhere inside."

Sam stared at him.

"Okay," Teron continued, voice softening. "No need to panic. You must've gone through hell. Past ain't something we can change. But listen here, young man. It won't be easy moving forward either. This world doesn't care if you're broken. It just pushes harder."

He turned his head, eyes glinting under the canopy.

"But you can get stronger. Strong enough to face it. And maybe one day, remember."

Sam felt a strange calm at those words.

"Come," Teron said, tossing a few sticks into a pile. "Help me gather wood. It'll warm you up, and we need it anyway. Fire keeps the smaller beasts at bay."

Sam obeyed, still slightly dazed. As he bent down to pick up dry branches and snapped twigs, his mind kept returning to one thing: Teron had filled in the excuse for him. He didn't have to lie about his name. Luck, perhaps. Or fate.

Still, one thing bugged him.

The old man had said life would be hard from now on.

Sam couldn't help but ask, "Why did you say it won't be easy? Where are we exactly, and what kind of future are we walking into?"

Teron stopped gathering. He stood, turning toward Sam with a heavy sigh.

"We are in Elderwyn Forest."

The name rolled off his tongue like a curse.

"It's vast," he continued. "Older than any kingdom that stands today. Rich in herbs, minerals, mana crystals, you name it. But it's also home to beasts the size of carriages, and things darker still—things that don't have names anymore."

He reached into his rags and pulled out a rough map—more a collection of torn scraps stitched together.

Sam's blood ran cold.

Teron's face grew grim.

"We're slaves, boy. Every one of us. You, me, and the woman you saw. Those soldiers? They're not just guards. They're handlers. They take people like us—the lost, the wounded, the abducted—and haul us to the cities."

He spit on the ground.

"To be sold like cattle."

Sam took a step back. "That can't be right. Why would they do that?"

"Because power needs bodies. The empires—they build cities on the backs of people who scream in the dark. Slavery is legal in this world, and where it ain't, it's ignored. You think they care if you had a name once? They just see muscle and mana potential."

The old man turned toward the fire pit and began arranging the wood.

"The cuffs on our wrists aren't just iron. They're enchanted. Drain the soul, suppress mana. Even if you had power before, it's locked."

Sam sat down, breath shallow.

Everything hit him at once. The scars. The forest. The soldier. The woman. The chains.

He was a prisoner. A slave.

And he didn't even know who he was.

"How do we escape this?" he asked.

Teron didn't answer right away. The fire sparked into life, casting dancing shadows across his gaunt face.

"We can't escape this... only death."

He paused. Then, coldly:

"Come on. Time to go. They're waiting. If we stay longer, they'll kill us."

Sam's hands trembled. The idea of death, of killing, spoken so casually—it chilled him.

Back in the world he once knew—wherever that was—murder was a heinous crime. Here, it was routine.

And so, shackled and silent, Sam followed Teron into the mist once more.

................................

📢 Author's Note 📢

Hey legends!

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Love y'all. Until the next chapter—stay curious, stay wild. ⚔️