"Who am I?" Grey asked as he quickly snapped one of his eyes open and then the second one, both eyes suddenly widening in shock and realization. "Wait! Who am I? I…I…I can't rember who I am!"
"Wait, what?!" everybody in the room shouted at once.
"What do you an by you can't rember who you are?" Vanessa asked with a raised eyebrow as she stared at Grey over and over, her tone lined with both disbelief and concern.
"I…I…I don't know!" Grey shouted, his hands clutching his head tightly. He began forcing himself to think, but his mind was blank—empty, distorted, and completely void of identity.
"Is there anything you can rember?" Yami asked, his voice now calm but deeply concerned. "Which clan you're from? What level of warrior you are? Your family? Anything that might help us reunite you with your loved ones?"
"Dad!" Finral cut in with a frustrated groan, facepalming himself. "Look at him! Does he look like a warrior to you? Have you grown so old that you can't recognize a warrior when you see one?"
"Finral! Be respectful," Clarice scolded imdiately, her voice sharp, but the young man just scoffed and crossed his arms, turning his face away.
"Clan? Warrior? Level?" Grey repeated in utter confusion, shaking his head slightly. "What… what are those?"
"You don't even know any of these?" Vanessa asked, her eyebrows arching further. "Are we sure you're even from this continent?"
"I…I don't know!" Grey shouted again, and this ti, he broke out in full sobs. His hands trembled, not from the cold, but from fear and confusion. His lips quivered, his voice a broken whisper now.
"Okay, that's enough interrogation from all of you," Clarice said as she stepped forward, her voice firm but caring. She sat down beside Grey and gently pulled his head to her bosom, wrapping her arms around him protectively.
Her fingers stroked through his crimson hair, slowly and tenderly. The warmth of her touch began to soothe him. The trembling in his body eased little by little, and the erratic beats of his heart began to slow down.
"There, there… it's okay if you don't rember who you are right now," Clarice whispered in a comforting tone. "We'll help you. Together, we'll rediscover who you are—one step at a ti. And hey, at least you rembered your na, huh? That's already sothing. That's a good thing, if you ask ."
Finral angrily scoffed and stord out of the room, grumbling under his breath, "First, give him my room, my bed… and now, my mum."
Yami let out a soft sigh and glanced at Grey one more ti before heading out as well. "Let
give you both a minute," he said, gently closing the door behind him.
"Hey, Grey," Vanessa chid in with a bright smile, trying to lift the mood. "What would you like to eat?"
Grey didn't respond. He was still deep in thought, his mind spiraling as he struggled to force sothing—anything—to co back.
'Who am I? What am I? It's obvious I'm a living thing and all that, but… what species am I? How was I able to say my na and forget everything else? Where is this place? Who are these people? Are they good…? Well, I guess it's obvious they're good people. They took care of . For only heaven knows how long.'
Grey's thoughts raced. The more he tried to piece things together, the worse the throbbing in his head beca.
"Mum, is he my new brother?" Millie asked with wide, curious eyes, still standing at a distance and watching Grey.
His head remained gently resting on Clarice's lap while his thoughts slowly quieted. His eyelids drooped, and in just a few minutes, he slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Clarice didn't stop stroking his hair.
"That depends on what you want," Clarice replied with a warm smile as she looked at Millie. "Do you want him to be your brother?"
"Hmm…" Millie mumbled thoughtfully as she stroked her chin, then suddenly snapped her fingers. "Not only my brother—I want him to be my best friend!"
"Good," Clarice chuckled softly, her eyes resting on Grey's sleeping face. "Then that's what he'll be."
'I wonder who he is and where he cos from. He looks weary, tired, and emotionally broken. When Yami brought him ho, he was injured and didn't even look like he would make it.
But I think the gods wanted him to live longer because he managed to survive those deadly injuries. I wonder what happened to his family… and who he really is.'
"There's no use standing here if the pretty boy is asleep," Vanessa scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned and exited the room. "I wonder how he can even sleep after being unconscious for three whole weeks."
With Vanessa gone, Millie jumped onto the bed and began gently stroking Grey's head, her small fingers brushing through his crimson hair with innocent curiosity.
---
anwhile, Yami, after stepping out of the house, was heading sowhere in a hurry.
The ho he exited stood proudly at the edge of a serene village, frad by towering ancient trees whose leaves whispered gently in the breeze.
Its architecture was a harmonious blend of traditional craftsmanship and modern coziness—walls of warm, honey-colored wood accented with stone pillars, and a gently sloping roof adorned with dark ceramic tiles that glead faintly under the sunlight.
A cobblestone path led from the sturdy wooden gate through a lush garden bursting with vibrant flowers and carefully trimd bonsai trees.
The path curved gently past a small koi pond, its crystal-clear waters shimring as brightly colored fish darted beneath the surface.
It eventually led toward the main entrance, where a heavy oak door—carved with delicate patterns of dragons and phoenixes—awaited guests.
Inside, the house opened into a spacious living area filled with soft light filtering through hanging paper lanterns and sliding shoji doors.
The scent of sandalwood mingled with the faint aroma of freshly cooked als drifting from the kitchen, wrapping the ho in a feeling of peace and warmth.
Tapestries and hanging scrolls adorned the walls, each telling tales of valor, wisdom, and ancient battles of the land.
At the far end of the garden, a narrow stone path veered off from the main walkway, winding beneath a wooden pergola draped in flowering wisteria vines.
This quieter path led to a smaller structure nestled among tall bamboo stalks—the family's dojo.
The dojo was a sanctuary of discipline and calm. Its wooden floorboards, polished to a mirror sheen, reflected the soft light pouring in through tall paper-paneled windows.
Traditional weapons—katana, bo staffs, bows, and spears—lined the walls, each one ticulously maintained and positioned with reverence.
Along one side, neatly stacked tatami mats awaited eager practitioners, while a simple yet elegant altar stood at the front, holding incense, candles, and sacred symbols paying tribute to their ancestors.
The air was infused with a subtle blend of cedarwood and incense smoke—a peaceful contrast to the intensity of the training that usually occurred within these walls.
The room held an aura of unwavering focus, where both body and mind were honed to perfection.
Inside the dojo stood about twenty students, none older than seventeen and none younger than fifteen.
All of them were dressed in light robes, standing in disciplined lines, their eyes fixated on the entrance.
"I'm sorry for keeping you all waiting," Yami said as he stepped into the changing room beside the dojo.
Monts later, he returned—now dressed in a tight-fitting orange martial outfit, a black rope-like belt twisted firmly around his waist.
"Let's start today's class, shall we?" he said, cracking his knuckles as a firm yet encouraging smile ford on his lips.
Reviews
All reviews (0)