Me Myself and l

The heavy wooden gates creaked open, revealing the stone fortress beyond. The air inside the castle walls was thick with smoke and the metallic scent of blood, but it was quiet—eerily so.

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

'Did I really 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 truly 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 to the bone.

'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 was a gaping void, and now, something far worse had settled in—a creeping sense of unease.

As he passed through the towering stone archway into the castle halls, he exhaled slowly.

Maybe it was 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—it was a fortress built to withstand the ages.

Yet, here he was, standing inside it.

A frown crept onto his face.

'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. No overwhelming numbers, no obvious strategic advantage. And yet, they had won.

It didn't make sense.

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

And they didn't have it.

His thoughts spun, analyzing every possible explanation, trying to make sense of it—

"Edward… Edward!"

A voice—familiar—cut through his thoughts, growing louder. But he was too deep in his mind, processing, searching for an answer—

A sudden hand on his shoulder snapped him back.

His body reacted before his mind could. He twitched—tense, alert—as his gaze darted toward the source of the disturbance.

It was Commander Richard.

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

Edward, despite his burning curiosity about how the Dragon Army had managed to take the castle, forced himself to remain careful. He had no past memories. No certainty about who to trust. Asking too many questions could draw the wrong kind of attention.

After taking a few steady breaths, he 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's eyes narrowed slightly. Does that mean we just took back what originally belonged to us?

But something still felt off. A hundred years?

From its sheer size, presence, and fortified structure, Emberhold didn't look like a century-old relic. It looked like a beast carved from stone, meant to stand for eternity.

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

Which only made it harder to believe.

"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 'them' 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 struck him like a blade to the gut.

'Who the hell is Michelle?'

And more importantly, where was she?

Richard had spoken as if she was 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.

That light... he had never seen anything like it. It wasn't just glowing. It was radiating, pulsing as though it had a heartbeat of its own. And yet, for the fleeting instant it appeared, something about it felt familiar.

Warm. Comforting. Like 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 after everything he'd experienced, was it really impossible?

Since waking up, nothing had made sense. His missing hand. The gaping void of his memory. The creatures in the shadows. Commander Richard's ominous warnings and chilling aura. And now this—the light. All of it 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 a mix of 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 cries sharp with agony, others sighs of relief. The air felt heavy, 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.

Another voice followed, just as weary. "My daughter is getting married soon… I don't want to watch her from heaven."

A brief silence followed. Then, a woman's voice—soft, yet steady—cut through the uncertainty.

"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 carrying a quiet strength.

"We won't die here."

"Now get some sleep," Michelle added, her voice softer but firm.

A brief silence followed, only the faint crackling of lanterns and the occasional pained groan filling the air. Then, after a small 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 she can sense people's presence.'

What does that mean? What kind of person is she?

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—about his age, maybe a little older—yet something about her presence felt powerful, commanding. Her long, golden-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, framing a face that was both delicate and striking. Her emerald-green eyes, vivid and sharp, 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, draped elegantly over her form. Even in the heavy air of an infirmary, with injured men groaning around her, she carried herself with an air of grace and quiet confidence.

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

She was no ordinary healer.

The way she moved, the way she handled herself, the way she had sensed him without even looking—it was far beyond normal.

'Who is she… really?'

"Commander Richard sent me—"

Before Edward could even finish, Michelle spoke, her voice soft yet assured.

"I know," she said, barely looking up from the patient she was tending to.

"Take a seat."

Her tone carried no hesitation, no need for further explanation. She had expected him.

Edward hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, still trying to grasp just who this woman was and how she seemed to know things before they even happened.

Edward sat down on what looked like a self-made bed, the rough fabric barely cushioning the cold, hard floor beneath him.

He waited, watching in silence as Michelle finished tending to the previous patient, her movements precise, practiced.

His mind, however, was far from still.

'What should I even ask? Should I ask anything at all?'

The questions tangled in his thoughts, twisting and overlapping before he could make sense of them. Would she be using magic? Did she already know about his missing memories? Was she even the kind of person who would answer honestly?

Before he could settle on a single answer, Michelle had already turned toward him, her emerald gaze locked onto his as she approached.

"Turn to your right," Michelle commanded.

Edward obeyed without hesitation.

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

The thought struck him unexpectedly, sending a ripple of cautious hope through his mind. Different possibilities raced through his thoughts, each one more impossible than the last. If magic could do this—if it could mend what was lost—then maybe… just maybe…

But before he could dwell on it, Michelle was already examining his wound closely.

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 difficult 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 replied quickly.

"That was enough." Michelle gave a small 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 before. It wasn't just soothing—it was familiar. The same feeling from before, when he had seen that flash of light in the hall.

Sweat began forming on Michelle's brow as she continued, her expression strained yet unwavering.

Edward felt it—the pain dulling, fibers reconnecting, 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—that was probably too much of an ask, taking in consideration he couldn't remember how he lost it.

Even though he hadn't regained his hand, at least 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 the best I can do right now," Michelle said, her voice calm but laced with a quiet apology. A faint smirk tugged at her lips, but Edward could sense it—she wished she could have done more.

He flexed his remaining fingers, relief washing over him.

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

If there was one thing Edward still understood, it was that survival required risk.

To get stronger, to stay alive, you had to act.

And right now, his greatest obstacle wasn't his missing hand—it was 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. If he wanted answers, he had to take the risk.

"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 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 really going on."

For a long moment, Michelle said nothing.

She simply watched him, her emerald gaze locked onto his, studying, measuring.

Was she trying to see if he was lying?

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."