A gentle breeze, laden with the sweet scent of ripened wheat, whispers through the air. The stalks, heavy with grain, sway gracefully in response, their golden hue catching the sunlight. As I stand amid this scene, the cool air presses against me, filling my lungs with the invigorating freshness of the countryside. The ground beneath me is unyielding, the sensation of coarse stalks pricking my back grounding me in this sea of gold. Attempting to find my balance, I reach out, fingers brushing against the sturdy wheat stalks. It's a moment of simple, unspoiled beauty—fields of gold stretching out as far as the eye can see, under a sky painted with delicate shades of pink. The perfection of this calm escape, however, is punctuated by an unsettling question: escape from what? The beauty of the surroundings faded gray, its beauty faded like the lie life is and I wonder.

"Where am I?" I wonder aloud, the words hanging in the air unanswered...

I felt cold and alone in such uplifting scenery. The loveliness of the scene is apparent but with the uncertainty that clouds my thoughts, why would it matter?

I needed to know how I arrived at this place. Where this place was, and how to get back home if there was such a thing? I began to panic, frightened by my thoughts and lack of knowledge. Standing in a daze, I am stumped by the weight of these questions, the golden fields offering no clues but a distraction.

A sharp sound pierces the air, drawing my attention away from the sea of wheat. Faint barks echo in the distance, and as I look around, my eyes catch a glimpse of a figure. There it is—the source of the barking. An unmistakable white coat gleams in the sunlight, a conspicuous anomaly against the golden backdrop. A dog, sizable and commanding attention, elicits conflicting emotions. My gaze extends beyond the dog, meeting the eyes of a handful of figures masked by the sun across the field but they're the last of my worries. As the dog approaches, my heart quickens, I consider how I might defend myself against its imposing presence. Should I run? Should I attack it? What might happen to me if that beast bit into me? Would anything be left by the time the figures in the distance found me? Still left in a state of uncertainty, I was forced to face the dog as it began its hunt. It circles me with a gaze set on one thing, my palms moist with anticipatory sweat. Their pace quickens. I'm left turning faster and faster, trying to keep my eyes on him when suddenly the world is swept from below me. My knees buckled my body hurling towards the ground. Darkness closed in around me, a suffocating shroud that seemed to devour any trace of light. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears like a relentless drum of impending doom. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead as my trembling hands fumbled for purchase on anything solid. I grasped at the edges of consciousness, but they slipped away like sand through clenched fists. I heard only one thing while I tried to hold on.

"Heel boy!"

Harland Strongheart
"Heel, boy." I bellowed, frustration lingering as the disobedient dog continued its wayward exploration. 

"Alkaios, go get your damn dog; you're the one who trained him," I voiced my irritation aloud

"Yes, Father," Alkaios responded, his hurried footsteps resonating against the backdrop of nature's symphony. My love for the boy mingled with concern, knowing he still wasn't fully prepared for the solitude of the outside world.

"FATHER, COME QUICKLY!" Alkaios's urgent scream filled the air, injecting a dose of anxiety into my veins. What could necessitate such urgency over a mere dog? Despite my skepticism, I quickened my pace, Reginald and Harrison trailing behind, their banter slicing through the tranquil surroundings like an unruly gust.

As I approached, I was met with a perplexing sight—a man of formidable stature and bulk lying amidst my fields. My sons, ever the chatterboxes, caught up with me.

"Of course, we're the lucky ones to find a drunk in our fields," remarked Reginald, his words tinged with sarcasm. My instinct urged me to silence the impudent comment, yet my attention was captivated by the man's torn attire and dirt-stained face.

"Which bar do you think he came from?" inquired Harrison, insensitivity dripping from his words like venom.

"Shut it, you two," I rebuked, shooting them a stern look. Turning to Alkaios, I issued a directive, "You and the twins, bring him into the house."

Overheard groans and reluctant compliance hinted at the displeasure of my sons, but Alkaios, respectful if not vocal, led the way. Time elapsed before they barged in, the clamor of their entrance betraying the unexpected challenge of managing the burden they carried.

I ventured into the hall, and the reason for their prolonged absence unfolded. Alkaios bore the weight of the man all alone on his back, his brothers trailing behind, lost in a world of jokes and banter. An involuntary groan escaped me, wondering if Fort Warren awaited not only the Alkaios but also my duo of troublemakers.

"Boys!" I bellowed, breaking the silence that followed their entrance. "Why is your brother the only one carrying? Help him bring him to the chair."

His face was concealed beneath a layer of stubble, and his hair, as black as the night, begged for the liberation that came with the removal of his torn shirt. As I delicately tended to his wounds, I uncovered the remnants of battles etched into his skin—bruises and slices from a sword, lingering scars that defied the gentle touch of time. Blood, a testament to his struggle, stained the fabric, creating a vivid tableau of the hardships he had endured.

His physique, sculpted and weathered, bore witness to a journey through the crucible of hardship. The thought crossed my mind: could he be a returning soldier, a weary warrior returning from the unforgiving trials of a grueling mission? Delving deeper into my investigation, certainty settled in, confirming my suspicions that this man had indeed faced the brutalities of war.

After meticulously wrapping his wounds and applying disinfectant, a notion sparked within me. Swiftly, I translated my musings into written words, penning a letter that accompanied him on his journey with my sons to the inn. Hopeful that my intuition proved accurate, only time would unveil the truth.

His body, a testament to endurance and hardship, hinted at a past shrouded in the shadows of conflict. Bruises and slices told tales of a soldier returning from the brutal theater of battle. Wrapping his wounds and disinfecting them, I mused on the possibility that lay before me. In that quiet room, I hastily penned a letter, sending him and the letter off with my sons to the inn, hoping that my suspicions were right. Only time will tell and see if my gamble pays off.

The Man
As I blinked away the remnants of dreams, I awoke to my nightmare. The room gradually took shape around me. The details sharpened, from the muted colors of the walls to the wood furniture standing sentinel in the early light. Before I even had a chance to think, I was met with a nudge. A dog similar to the one who had chased me. However, the years had caught up to this one, eyes foggy, body full of aches and pains. I wish clouds could also blind me from this experience. As I sat up to pet him, I let out a yelp as pain washed over my body. The dog was startled yet stepped forward as if he understood the pain his body had felt, a new set of footsteps began shortly after theirs stopped.

"Are you awake yet?" said the woman

A woman small and pale, hair hidden beneath a delicate coif, poking out in strands of brown, that reflected amber in the candlelight. She would know how to answer my questions, wouldn't she?

"Where am I?" I said aloud

"Hawks Inn, it's the only place with an innkeeper dumb enough to take you in," she said in a dismissive tone.

An awkward silence filled the room, Shocked, I could do little but murmur to myself in a state of confusion. Where was that? Some small town I had never heard of. Why couldn’t I recognize a thing? Then she began again.

"A group of farmers saw you passed out in the wheat fields. I assumed you were a belligerent drunk from the slurry of words you said. Once you gather yourself, you know where to find the bar. Hurry up and get out before you're kicked out."

Slamming the door before I could mutter another word she made me wonder what I had done to provoke her, as she exited the dog trailed behind. Left to my own devices, solitude engulfed me, my only companions being the echo of my thoughts. Wincing at the persistent ache in my muscles, I reluctantly pulled myself from the bed in the inn. The room, dimly lit by a solitary candle, held an air of age and simplicity, its wooden beams crafted by hours of labor. Clad in worn attire, I navigated the cramped space, the uneven floorboards protesting beneath my weight. The inn's charm unfolded with each step—a coarse blanket draped over a narrow cot and a small wooden table bearing the scars of countless travelers.

I walked through the room, pausing by a timeworn mirror leaning against the wall. In its tarnished surface, my reflection stared back, a face marked by the strains of an unknown journey. Lines etched by experiences I couldn't recall hinted at a life lived on the fringe of medieval tales, and tired eyes told stories only the heart could understand. I looked like I was in my late teens, but my body…

As I examined it under the candlelight more closely, the scars and bruises on my body became more apparent. I wondered how a human could deserve these marks. No human did; it was disgusting and disgraceful. The warmth from the metal candle stand burned my hand, but I had little care regarding the sensation my body felt. I wanted answers and I wanted them now.

Delving into the recesses of my soul, I found nothing but an abyss, a void filled with hatred, pain, and anguish. The once-dim candle, mirroring the tumult within, burst into a fervent blaze. The searing pain subsided, replaced by an inferno in my eyes—an unwavering resolve. I knew one thing for certain; I would find out who I was and who dared to disgrace my body and pay it back 10 fold with death.

I stood silent observing myself deep in thought. I needed a plan, I needed answers. I looked at the wooden window still and the night sky it held, unaware of how much time had passed. At first, I contemplated going out the window and fleeing but I needed to clear my name. I may not know who I am, but neither do they for I am not drunk.

I stumbled through the room, following the bright light that crept out from under the door. Placing my candle down, I took a deep breath and began. A vast corridor of rooms unfolded before me, and the once-muted noises became apparent. Laughter filled my ears as I traced the sound through the lengthy corridor, growing louder with each step. Finally, I reached the corridor's end on the first floor, where a group of people laughed and drank over the balcony edge. I stood, gazing at them, silently yearning for the luxury of camaraderie.

"HEY LOOK, IT'S THE DRUNK, COME DOWN HERE AND HAVE A DRINK." said a man

Annoyed but in need of answers, I descended the stairs, only to realize my body was still not in perfect shape. Whether it was the uneven, wobbly floorboards or my terrible balance, I couldn't discern. I struggled on the descent.

"HOW DID YOU MAKE IT TO THE WHEAT FIELD WALKING LIKE THAT?" said the man gesturing to his friend with an uncanny resemblance. The group erupted in laughter, and I realized I had become the subject of their amusement.

"HE LOOKS DRUNK RIGHT NOW." said the man 

There were four men in total. One was a large, bearded man who seemed acquainted with time. Two smaller, somewhat intoxicated men with charcoal black hair resembling mine. Finally, a younger man who appeared as uneasy as I felt.

Stumbling toward them, I pulled up a chair as they gestured.

"ANOTHER PINT OVER HERE!" the burly man called.

"Who exactly are you people, and how do you know me?" I questioned aloud.

The room fell into a heavy silence, with strange stares and concerned eyes fixated on me. It seemed my murmurs under my breath weren't as discreet as I thought. The first to break the silence was the woman from earlier.

"So you're not a drunk from the bar?" she asked.

"No," I responded. "I don't know what I am, but I'm not a drunk."

The large old man interrupted, "Well, son, I'm sorry to hear that. Let me introduce myself. My name is Harland Strongheart, and we own the farms nearby. These are my two sons, Reginald and Harrison, a set of fraternal twins. Finally, well..."

Harland pointed to the scrawny boy from earlier. "Go on," he encouraged.

I saw the boy's distressed eyes on the floor, yet as he swallowed, he looked up and gave me his name.

"Alkaios Strongheart."

"If you don't recall, you must go to Fort Warren. A strong man like you looks battle-worn. Why don't you go with Alkaios? The reason we're still drinking is to celebrate him becoming a man. Why don't you join him in one week at the academy." said Harland.

I wondered if I could find answers there, maybe the figure in my head who I bore resentment towards had never existed. Just pain from another enemy, the enemy my state sends me to fight.

"Yes, if it finds me closer to answers, I will gladly accept."

I do not know what type of answers I would get, yet I must search for them regardless.

"Perfect, see boy. I knew I would find you someone to go with, and to think of someone as burly as him," said Harland as he patted Alkaios on the back.

"Do you remember your name?" asked Harrison.

The twins, who stood silent half asleep, had finally awoken.

"I do not. However, I will find something that suits me," I muttered to myself, trying to find something that caught my eye, but time would give me that answer.

***

As the night ended the week began, In the days that followed, the small village became my temporary haven and the Inn my home. The woman I had encountered in my disoriented state revealed her name to be Grace Thornton. Her father, John Thornton, was not just the innkeeper but a respected figure in the community, known for his compassion and willingness to extend a helping hand.

The Strongheart family, who owned the nearby farms, took me under their wing. Harland Strongheart, a weathered but formidable patriarch, introduced me to his sons, Reginald and Harrison. A pair of fraternal twins, they carried themselves with a quiet strength that mirrored their father's resilience. Lastly, the scrawny yet determined boy, whom they called Alkaios, revealed himself as the youngest member of the Strongheart clan.

Days turned into a routine of labor and practice. Each morning, I toiled in the golden fields under the watchful eyes of Harland and his sons. The rhythm of the scythe cutting through the wheat became a meditation, grounding me in the present. As the sun dipped below the horizon, I transitioned from the fields to a makeshift training ground. Under the moonlit sky, I swung a sword with determination, the echoes of steel against steel filling the air.

The villagers, witnessing my efforts, extended gestures of kindness. They offered garments to replace my tattered clothes and shared tales of camaraderie around the communal fire. The town's ironworker was skilled and named Thomas Smith, he sent me to the mines and gave me work when the fields were harvested. With the scraps I gave him and the looming thought of the protection Alkaios would soon need. Thomas fashioned a sturdy weapon for me with the leftovers of his forge.

Nights were filled with shared stories and laughter, easing the burden of uncertainty that weighed on me. John Thornton, the innkeeper, became a source of wisdom, sharing tales of the village's history and the challenges they faced. Alkaios' father took me in as his own.

As the week unfolded, a sense of gratitude welled within me. The debts I owed to Hawks Inn extended beyond a mere innkeeper's hospitality. The village had become a sanctuary, a place where strangers become allies, and questions transformed into a shared quest for answers.

The impending journey north loomed on the horizon, promising not only a physical departure but a departure into the unknown realms of my past. Armed with a newfound will, clad in fresh garments, and sustained by the generosity of the villagers, I eagerly anticipated the ride northward—a journey that held the promise of unveiling the mysteries that lingered in the shadows of my forgotten memories.