Asdras Awakening (IV)

"Last death?" The question coiled in Asdras's mind like a serpent preparing to strike.

He hunched forward on the creaking cot, the coarse fibers of an old blanket digging into his bare skin. His breath came uneven, thick with the weight of so many unknowns. Resting in his hands lay a battered stick etched with faint lettering, each groove worn deep into ancient wood. He passed a fingertip across the carvings, lingering on the words that tormented him: Last Death.

An almost frantic energy stirred beneath his ribs. The small tent around him looked ready to collapse at the slightest breeze — loose fabric sagging against crooked supports, a lopsided jar teetering in the corner next to a battered broom. The space reeked of neglect, as though it had once been used dutifully but was now forgotten. He glanced from the jar to the broom, wondering how different everything might have been if none of this ruin had befallen the village.

He pressed the stick against his chest, feeling its rough bark rasp through his tunic. Though the brunt of his confusion stemmed from an utter loss of memory, the proximate cause of his tremor was this piece of wood and its cryptic message. Maybe focusing on it would jar something loose from the vault of his mind. Yet only a fresh ache gnawed at his temples when he tried.

"Last Death," he whispered, as though speaking the words might unravel their meaning. His voice sounded hollow within the flimsy walls. "Is it my death... or someone else's?"

Raking a hand through short, disheveled hair, he lifted the stick closer to his face. A swirl of half-remembered dread prickled in the back of his skull at the thought of the monster that stalked these lands. He recalled— albeit fuzzily — the creature's presence. The memory stiffened his heart with a cold fear.

"Hidden Choice... Cut Source... Defeat Monster... Learn the song... Whose idea was it to list all these? And what madness drove me to carry this around?"

He forced a smile, but it didn't last. That same moment, a memory of seeing a lute somewhere in this ragged camp shimmered across his consciousness, only to vanish like a vapor trail. He set the stick aside and reached for the battered broom near the bed, handling its wooden shaft. It was laughable — pretending a broom could stand in for whatever instrument he once knew how to play — but it stirred that faint echo of recollection just enough to matter.

"Learn the song," he muttered, resting his forehead against the broom's handle. "Why does that ring so loud in my head? The villagers sang something earlier... but was that the song? Or do they have another? And who wrote down these instructions in the first place? Am I meant to face that monster alone?"

He felt his entire body tighten. Despite the numbing fear, no actual physical pain throbbed beneath his skin, which struck him as odd. When he brushed a rough edge of the broom bristles across the back of his hand, he detected no sting or pinch. Ever since coming face-to-face with the nightmare that roamed these parts, his senses seemed dulled. Yet his thoughts spun relentlessly.

"Damn it," he hissed, unable to withstand the storm of questions churning inside. "Everything's messy. I barely remember who I am, much less who to trust. And the scrawled note says 'Trust Joah.' Who is Joah, anyway? I haven't met anyone by that name — just First, and Second, and Sixth. There's no John or James or any normal name. Have I gone mad?"

He noticed his own voice growing louder and abruptly fell silent, not wanting to rouse the others. A wave of claustrophobia pressed in on him, heavier than the canvas overhead. He needed air.

Pushing aside the tattered flap, Asdras stepped out into the night. The cold bit at his exposed arms, though once again, it didn't sting quite as sharply as he expected. Wide arcs of moonlight spilled across the makeshift walkway between tents, painting everything in a ghostly glow. Shadows writhed across the ground, twisting like serpents whenever a breeze stirred the few surviving trees.

He paused, inhaling a deep lungful of frosty air. He listened for the moans or murmurs of villagers but found only silence, except for the wind whispering over loose leaves. The night carried both tranquility and sorrow in its hush—an echo of the many lives broken here by that lurking horror.

The cryptic messages clawed at him. "Don't be a fool," one read. He let out a laugh, low and humorless. "They don't need to remind me. I'm already groping in the dark, stumbling around with no idea who I am."

Spotting an unsteady row of fences further down, he ventured across the clearing, thick grass brushing his ankles. The flicker of movement near that fence caught his eye. Second stood there, half-hidden by moonlit gloom — a gaunt man with sharply angled features and a guarded expression. Despite his slight frame, Second wielded a sword with precise, deadly arcs, practicing strikes in a silent dance with an imaginary opponent.

Asdras's heart gave a pang of recognition. Something in the sword, in the stance, stirred a longing — like muscles tensing around a forgotten skill. He couldn't recall when he'd last held a blade, but he felt the shape of it in his bones.

Second's breath came in short bursts of steam. He lunged forward, the blade glinting in lunar radiance, then twisted to parry an unseen swing. Each pivot revealed the intense focus in his single, uncompromising eye. A layer of grime clung to him, yet he moved with an elegance that defied his malnourishment.

As Asdras approached, boots crunching gently on loose gravel, he was uncertain whether to interrupt. Second spoke without turning.

"Can't sleep?"

A faint, humorless smile tugged at Asdras's lips. "No. More lost than ever, if that's possible."

Second lowered the sword, exhaling a measured breath. "Something on your mind?"

"Everything." Asdras performed a half-shrug, a gesture that betrayed the scope of his turmoil. "Who I am, why I'm here. That monstrous thing outside the village gates. And this message carved on a stick — it's made everything more confusing."

Sheathing his blade, Second motioned for Asdras to come closer. A battered metal canteen hung from a broken slat in the fence, which Second grabbed in silence. Allowed a moment's pause, he pulled the stopper and took a long drink, then tossed it to Asdras.

"Drink. You'll talk easier if your throat's not parched."

The water was cold and shockingly pure compared to the funky brew First had given him earlier. He drank until the canteen ran empty, relief trickling through him like a faint reprieve from the day's bewilderment.

"Thank you," Asdras murmured. He offered it back with a slight bow of his head. "Sorry, I drank that much."

Second just shrugged, stowing the empty container. "So, go on. Talk. If you're as lost as you say, you might feel better letting it out."

Finding the fence, Asdras leaned his forearms against splintered wood, gaze searching the dark expanse beyond. Tree silhouettes jutted skyward, some scarred by savage claws or scorched bark, reminding him of the lurking threat that haunted this realm.

He recited the message in low tones: "Last Death. Hidden Choice. Cut Source. Defeat Monster. Learn the Song. Trust Joah. Don't be a Fool. Seek the Innkeeper. 347."

After a beat, he added, "At least two lines might mean something: 'Learn the song' could relate to what you all sang earlier. 'Defeat monster' obviously points to that beast I encountered. But '347'? A name? A place? And I can't see any inn around here, so 'Seek the Innkeeper' seems ridiculous. Then there's 'Trust Joah.' I haven't seen anyone called that either."

A hush settled between them. Second sat on the fence, tapping fingers against the hilt of his sword as though unraveling some puzzle of his own. A band of pale moonlight revealed threads of sweat near his temple, a testament to his recent drills.

"When we found you," Second said slowly, "you were alone. No sign of companions. If you were part of some group, they'd gone — or worse. You remember anything about a crow marking?"

"A crow marking?" Asdras turned up his palm, a slight jolt running through him. There it was: a faint red emblem, shaped like a crow in mid-flight. He had glimpsed it earlier but never questioned its significance. "Yes, this. It's... I noticed it, but I didn't realize it might matter."

Second studied it with guarded intent for a moment. His gaze hardened, as if the symbol dredged up old, bitter recollections. "You see that often in high-born families across the empire — nobility. A brand of sorts, for those with royal lineage."

Asdras's breath caught. "Then I might be—?"

"It's not guaranteed, but... yes, probably. Or at least you're connected to them. You have that refined way of speaking, too. Not like the folks born in huts around here."

He let out a hollow laugh, though it rang with subdued panic. "Then what am I doing in a cursed place like this? The monster alone is reason enough for a king's army to get involved, yet I find only survivors scrounging for scraps. The villagers say none can stand against it, but apparently I arrived anyway."

"An official trial, maybe," Second said, shrugging his bony shoulders. "High-born types undertake trials when they come of age. Some test of power or character, unique for each bloodline."

"But how does that line up with everything else — 'Defeat monster'? That fiend… and I'm just — Look at me!" He gestured at his own thin arms, frustration swelling. "If the empire knows about this threat, why send me as a trial? Why not dispatch an elite force? The message even hints at cutting off the creature's source, something about a deeper curse or root cause."

Second slid from the fence and landed lightly on the other side, still carrying that thoughtful expression. "I get your confusion. Doesn't make sense to me either. But trials rarely do. We're just the ones suffering here, hoping for a miracle. If your presence is that miracle, well... guess that's all we can cling to."

He stooped to pick up a small pebble, flinging it into the darkness. It smacked a branch with a hollow knock, provoking a startled crow to wing off into the night. The bird's agitated caw rippled through the forest, and soon other crows joined in a chorus of disquiet.

Second's face reflected a stoic acceptance. "We're broken, every one of us. First's bones practically grind when he walks — he's old and exhausted. Sixth ties rope around his wrists to stop himself from thrashing awake from nightmares. Eight lost her dad, and Third is only alive because her daughter is. Fifth has no legs and can't leave his tent. Fourth... well." His lips pressed tight, as though speaking that name dredged up sorrow. "We're weary. Ready for a spark of hope. So if the empire decided you could handle it, maybe you could."

Asdras sucked in a shaky breath, gaze dropping toward the ground. Suddenly, the weight of being some solution to their plight slammed into him, bearing down like a tombstone. "But how can I help? I can't even remember my age. I don't know if I have any special power."

"We'll figure it out," Second said, lifting the sword just enough for the metal to catch the moonlight. "You asked about 347. You notice how we call ourselves First, Second, Third, all the way up to Eighth? Maybe 347 is that person's number. If so, it's not a name I've heard before, but there might be logs or records. We should start there."

Asdras pushed away from the fence. "I'm not prepared for this."

The corners of Second's mouth formed a wry half-smile. "Neither am I. Doesn't matter. Hopeless or not, we keep moving." He swung a leg over the fence again, heading deeper into the forest's edge. Moonlit shadows consumed him, only his silhouette remaining in Asdras's line of sight.

He offered a backward wave, beckoning Asdras to follow.