The tattered leather-bound journal is the only hint of what his memories might once have held.
It sits in his palm, sloppy ink scrawl staring up at him from rough parchment with a taunting glare, laughing at him, laughing that he can't remember anything at all.
Year 1,276, Month of Blossoms, Day 13, the top of the first page reads.
He doesn't know what month or day it is. Doesn't even know what year it is. Doesn't know anything about his surroundings, or himself for that matter. He wonders if the handwriting is his, if the journal is his, but when he reaches for answers, his mind is only blackness.
Father gave me this journal for my tenth birthday and told me to write in it, cause when I have children they'll want to know all about me. My birthday was fun today, I turned ten! I don't have anything else to write. Bye for now!
And he curses the author of the journal. He doesn't know if it's him, or if it's someone else, but he curses them anyway, because they had so much to write about and they didn't. They could have told him something, anything about the world around him, or even himself, but there's nothing. Nothing at all.
A forest of aspen trees surround him, branches swaying in the breeze, leaves quivering, and for all he knows they might be laughing at him. For all he knows, the world itself might be laughing at him, laughing that he's lost and helpless in this cruel place. And their shadows envelop him, a thick gray cloud moves to cover the sun, and he feels like he's being plunged into darkness.
There's only a horse nearby to comfort him, a beautiful black creature with a white blaze on its nose. It acts as if it knows him, gently nuzzling his shoulder when it senses his breathing quicken and his shoulders shaking in frustration and hopelessness.
And, inexplicably, he calms down at its touch, and releases a shaky sigh that holds all his pain and frustration as he gently strokes its nose. It was this horse's saddlebags in which he had found the journal, but when he had woken in the morning, there had been no rider to accompany the horse.
Unless, of course, that rider is himself.
Year 1,279, Month of Harvest, Day 26.
Today Melryn had her foal! It's a really pretty girl, all black with a white blaze on her nose. Father gave her to me, and I named her Agro.
As soon as he finishes reading the small passage, the black horse nuzzles him again, and when he looks into her warm, dark eyes, he can't help feeling that they're terribly familiar. And he wonders if this is Agro, and if he is the boy writing the journal.
It must be so, he thinks, and he hopes it is.
With the smallest of smiles on his lips, he pats Agro's nose, then slips the journal into her saddlebags where he'd found it. Then he swings up into the saddle with the ease of one who had been riding horses his whole life, and he thinks maybe this is his mare after all.
"Let's go," he whispers into her ear, and she lightly tosses her head as if nodding in agreement.
Year 1,283, Month of Sun, Day 31.
This year is hotter than it's ever been before. The snows melted early and spring didn't last long. Even our hardiest crops - the ones that usually survive through the harshest weather - are dying. They're all wilting, and we can hardly grow anything decent in this awful heat.
He flicks her reins, and with a whinny, Agro surges into a gallop. It feels so natural to him, to ride, and he feels almost free as the trees rush past him as naught more than blurs.
Then he breaks free from the trees, and his heart soars. Before him is an emerald field, vast, grander than anything he's ever seen or that he thinks he ever will see. Hills roll, undulate like living beings, and far into the distance mountains loom dark over the world, majestic heads crowned with snow. Over the forest the sky is gray, but slowly it fades into a beautiful blue, far into the horizon.
The wind whips around his ears, and tosses his maroon hair into his face, and as Agro's sharp hooves churn up the grass and dirt, he can't help but feel small in comparison to this vast world. But it's a wonderful feeling, a feeling that the world around him is beautiful beyond description, and he only stares in awe at the field before him and the mountains far away.
Year 1,283, Month of Harvest, Day 3.
There's almost nothing to harvest. Most our crops are dead, and the few we managed to scavenge are withered and dry. There isn't nearly enough food to sustain us.
I can't help feeling that there's something wrong. This year the people refused to pray to the Old Gods, because none of us believe in them anymore, myself included. But now I'm not sure. Maybe the Old Gods are real, and they're punishing us for refusing to pray to them.
What cruel Gods, to kill our cattle and take our crops and starve us to death. If this is how they are, then I reject them.
There's a town in the distance, far away, nestled into the foothills of the mountains. It's small, and he wouldn't have noticed it had he not been gaping in awe at his surroundings. It doesn't seem like much, only a dark blur that nearly blends in with the mountains themselves - but it's a town nonetheless. And he can't help hoping that perhaps someone there will know him, know something about him and his past.
The hope might be a ridiculous one, because he has no idea why he was in that forest, or which direction he came from, or where his home is.
But he hopes anyway, because hope is all he has. Within the darkness of his mind, it's the only pinprick of light that he can reach out to.
Year 1283 month of harvest day 21
There isn't time, the fire's coming. It destroyed everything, and I ran away with Agro, but there's nobody else. It's just me. Only I survived, and I can't believe it, everyone else is all gone. Maybe it's my fault, I don't know.
But I don't have time for this. I don't even know why I'm writing in this ridiculous journal anyway, but I just can't help feeling that the fire is unnatural. There's something wrong with it, I can't explain because I just don't have time but
its coming here it is
i cant say all that i want to but i can say at least this
above all else
remember who you are
And he kicks his heels into Agro's sides, and she gallops faster, faster than ever, and if he closes his eyes he can almost believe he's flying.
This time it isn't freeing to ride on Agro's back. This time his heart doesn't fly free. This time he isn't even sure if he has a heart anymore.
The packed dirt streets of the town are busy, filled to the brim with people, and Agro can hardly maneuver through them. It seems that her hooves are nearly stepping on someone's feet every few seconds.
And if he looks closely, he can see the people giving him suspicious glances out of the corners of their narrowed eyes. As soon as he notices them, they quickly look away and keep walking, as if nothing had happened.
He isn't sure if these people know him or not. Maybe they're looking at him like that because he used to live here, and he did something terrible in the past, and they all hate him. Or maybe they're just not accustomed to visitors.
Agro plods through the dirt streets until they turn to cobblestone, and the houses lining them are still made of wood, though now they have proper shingles rather than thatched roofs. The doors and windows are opaque paper, and as the cobblestone streets narrow and are soon devoid of people, he begins to feel strangely alone.
The street winds up a steep hill until, finally, he reaches the top, and comes to a stop before a small but beautiful temple, all red and gold trim and elegantly sloping rooftops. Behind it stands a regal forest of tall pines, reaching up to the sky as if to touch it. The forest itself stretches far, climbing up the sides of the mountains - which are now nearby, instead of far into the distance.
For a moment he only pauses, sitting astride his mare, and she shifts beneath him with an impatient nicker. He pats her neck to soothe her, and frowns, unsure of what to do. Surely if he is to ask who he is and where he came from, this temple is the best place to do it.
So he takes a deep breath and slips off Agro's back, and suddenly the temple stands daunting over him, like an impassable solid wall of rock. And to him it seems foreboding, though he can't understand why, but he doesn't like it, and he entwines his fingers in Agro's black mane for comfort.
But then she lifts her head, and her ears stand tall. He hears it too - the snap of a twig underfoot. He turns to see who it is -
- and stops when his eyes meet hers.
They're warm chocolate brown, welcoming, kinder than any other eyes he's seen thus far. They aren't watching him in suspicion. They aren't glaring at him from beneath lowered brows. They're instead set in a small face of porcelain skin, black hair like silk falling a little past her shoulders.
At the sight of him her small pink lips form into a surprised o.
"Who are you?" she asks him, not unkindly, but her voice is curious. She takes a step toward him, long, pure white dress swishing at her bare feet.
The question hurts. Hurts more than he can even really comprehend, because he can't answer it. And it hurts him that the only link to his memories - that journal, that accursed journal - is so vague, and makes no sense, and raises more questions than it answers.
He swallows against a throat that's suddenly dry, and he can no longer meet her eyes, no matter how kind they are. His gaze drops to his shoes, and he clenches his hands into fists, and tries not to let them tremble.
She doesn't know who he is, and so he can't ask her anything. She won't know. She won't have the answers. She can't help him.
And so - "I don't know," is his response, honest, so quiet that he's afraid she can't hear him.
But she does. "You don't know who you are?"
The pain is almost more than he can take. That pinprick of light - the one cutting through the blackness of his mind, the one sliver of hope he'd had - dies. Snuffed out like a candle. And then there is nothing anymore, and he is falling into darkness again, confused, maybe even a little scared.
He sees her take a take a single step toward him, bare feet filthy, covered in dirt and bits of leaves. And he forces himself to look up, to meet her eyes - and to his surprise, she's smiling.
It's a sweet smile, a caring one, and it lights up her face with sunshine. And though he hasn't really seen anyone else smile at him, and so he has nothing to compare it with, he thinks that he could live a thousand lifetimes and still never see a smile as beautiful as hers.
"It's all right," she tells him, voice as soothing as a gentle breeze on his skin. "I'll do my best to help you, if it makes you feel any better."
Suddenly he's smiling at her. He can't help it, her smile is infectious, like sunshine chasing away the darkness and confusion inside him.
And this time, when he speaks, he thinks there's a note of hope to his voice.
"Thank you."
Barren rock, devoid of life. No trees, no grass, not even a bird in the sky. There's no sound, only the monotonous clip-clop of Agro's hooves on the gray rock. The sky is gray too, but there's no rain, as if it feels the same way he does - dull, lifeless. And all around him, there's only gray. Gray as far as the eye can see.
Her name is Mono, and she lives in the temple.
"Ever since my parents died, Lord Emon took me in," she tells him as they sit beneath a pine tree, cool shadows dancing across the forest floor.
He can't say anything to her, because he has nothing to talk about. No past to discuss. But he realizes that, when he's with her, he doesn't mind, because he enjoys listening to her.
"Lord Emon?"
"He is kind," Mono replies, dark eyes rising to watch the pine branches sway in the wind. "The lord of this village, and its protector and priest. He prays to the New Gods for guidance and they give it to him. He sees visions of the future and knows how to help us prepare for it."
The New Gods. They're unfamiliar to him, but he remembers the Old Gods, remembers the journal mentioning them. And at the thought of them, hatred stabs at his heart, but he isn't sure why, because he can't remember anything about them.
And the fire, the one the journal had mentioned as feeling unnatural - what does it mean?
But he has no answers to these questions, and he can only stare at his feet, lips pressed into a thin line, trying to chase away the frustration he feels whenever he tries to remember something and just can't.
Then he remembers that Mono is there, and he doesn't feel quite so helpless.
The days pass, and he lives in the woods behind the temple. He can't live inside of the temple itself, Mono tells him with regret, because only those studying to take over Lord Emon's position as prophet can live there. But he doesn't mind the peaceful woods, and the birdsong carried to him on the gentle breeze. Still - there are times when he can't take it anymore, and he climbs onto Agro's back and rides her far away, trying to forget the fact that he has forgotten.
Mono brings him food as often as she can, but she can't quite give him regular meals, since she can only really manage to leave the temple once a day. So instead she gives him a bow and quiver of arrows to hunt his own food with, and to his surprise he discovers he's quite skilled with the weapon.
Every day she stops to visit him, and she talks to him, talks about her past. He wants to ask her questions, to see if she knows anything about where he came from, but he's too scared.
Her name is Mono, and she is the sunshine that chases away the darkness of his mind - but she's only the dawn. There are still shadows lurking in the depths, shadows the sun can't reach quite yet.
So he rarely speaks, only listens to her, and for a moment - he really can forget the fact that he has forgotten.
One day he's sleeping beneath the shade of a tree, Agro standing behind him and lazily grazing at the grass beneath her. She doesn't need to be tied, because she never runs away, and stays by him almost like his own shadow.
Then she hears footsteps, running footsteps, and the cracking of twigs beneath desperate feet. She lifts her head, ears perked, and whinnies, which is just enough to wake her master. Slowly, reluctantly, his blue eyes flutter open, and he gives a sigh of irritation at being woken from such a peaceful nap.
Suddenly Mono bursts from between the pine trees, the fabric of her white dress gathered into her fists and lifted, just slightly, to allow her feet room to run. She's panting, and nearly trips over a jutting root, but there's a grin on her face.
He sits up, brow furrowed in confusion. "Mono -"
"Come on, we have to hurry!" Her voice is gleeful, and, still as confused as ever, he stands, brushing stray specks of dirt from his clothing.
"What -"
"Agro won't mind if I ride her, will she?"
As if responding to the question, Agro flicks her long black tail and snorts.
"What is this about?" he finally manages to ask as Mono brushes past him, trying and failing to clamber atop the gigantic mare.
"Lord Emon doesn't like it when I leave the temple to walk in the woods. And he especially hates it when I get dirty." She speaks quickly, her words tripping over each other in her haste, and she's still panting and trying to climb onto Agro's back.
With a sigh, he helps her up into the saddle, then swings up in front of her. "And so?" he prompts her, and she continues excitedly.
"And so he caught me, with the hem of my dress filthy, and my feet even more so - and to make it worse, I tracked mud all over the floor, and he hates that more than anything else. He got angry, so... I ran!" She giggles then, and he thinks she's far too happy about this. He casts a glance over his shoulder to raise a brow at her, and she only grins at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "What are you waiting for, let's go! He's probably chasing me as we speak!"
And her happiness is so contagious, he can't help but grin in return. He kicks Agro's sides, and she seems just as excited as her two riders are, bursting into a gallop, hooves throwing stray twigs and fallen pine needles up into the air behind her.
Her name is Mono, and her laugh is like freedom itself, joyous and bright, and as it flows in the wind it has no boundaries.
For once - for the first time since he can remember - he laughs too. And it's not too bad of a sound, he thinks, but maybe that's just because it's been infected by Mono's laughter.
They stop beside a river, Agro slowing down with a whinny and an excited toss of her head, black mane flying about her head like a living thing. As soon as her master slides off her back and lands nimbly on the ground, she nuzzles his shoulder affectionately, and he's laughing all over again, patting her neck and saying, "I love you too, girl." Then she nuzzles him again, and wanders off to drink from the laughing, dancing river.
"Wait - wait, how do I get off?" Mono calls, watching as Agro dips her head into the water, and it swirls around her muzzle as she thirstily drinks it.
He's still laughing, and it's a wonderful feeling. "Sorry." He walks over to her, holds out a hand, and helps her down. She gives him a wide grin in return, and her hair is wind-blown, falling into her eyes, her nose, her mouth, everywhere it isn't supposed to be. There might even be a few pine needles sticking out from it, he notices, and laughs even harder.
Mono realizes he's never laughed this much since she met him - he's never even laughed at all - and she furrows her brow, mumbling, "What's so funny?"
"Your hair - your hair, it looks like a bird's nest -" But he can't say anything more, because now he's doubled over with cackles so merry that there isn't even any sound coming out of his mouth anymore. He can't understand why he finds the whole situation so funny, but he doesn't care, because it feels wonderful to release all his pain and let it disappear into the wind like a whisper long forgotten.
"That's not very nice of you to say," Mono huffs as she gingerly tangles her fingers into her wild hair and tries in vain to brush through it, but she's smiling too, and maybe even giggling.
As he laughs, and laughs, and can't stop, he realizes that maybe the sun has risen a little higher into the sky, and the shadows are just a little more sparse.
Her name is Mono, and she's the sun itself.
He's been traveling for far too long now. But time means nothing to him, just as it never has, and he'll keep traveling until the end of time if he must. His grave blue eyes flick to the bundle that lies, motionless, on his horse in front of him, and he thinks maybe he's close now.
The sun rises again and again. The moon changes her face. The rains fall sometimes, and sometimes they don't. But even though he knows he's been living in this forest for a while now, he isn't quite sure how long.
He splashes his face with the cold water of the river, and Agro drinks beside him. He stands once more and places a gentle hand on her neck, to which she responds by lifting her muzzle, dripping, from the water and nickering at him. He smiles in response.
And then there's a flash of white speckled with brown from between the pine trees, and his heart skips a beat as he lifts his sky-blue eyes.
She's here now, running toward him with her white dress dirty, bare feet almost black. But to him she seems so pure, because no matter how filthy her body manages to get, there's always a bright twinkle in her beautiful chocolate eyes that can never be dirtied.
Mono skids to a stop in front of him, and then pauses, bending to place her hands on her knees and gasp for air.
"Running from Lord Emon again?" he asks with a smile.
"Something like that," she replies once she's caught her breath. "To be honest... he's never liked me very much. It was kind of him to take me in once I no longer had parents, but he knew from the start that I was never interested in becoming a prophetess..."
"You aren't?" Truthfully, he's never really thought she cared much for the idea of being a prophetess. Her preference to be outside with him instead of inside the shrine, training, is proof of that.
Mono shakes her head, messy black hair flying about her face. "I don't want to watch over the entire village. I don't want to feel responsible for all its people, and I don't want them looking to me for answers. It's far too stressful. To be honest -" Here she stops, and averts her eyes. There might be a light pink tinge to her cheeks, but he's sure it's only due to the exertion of her run.
When she doesn't continue, his brows furrow in confusion. Usually she isn't one to hesitate when she talks. She's blunt, and likes to say whatever is on her mind.
"Mono?"
"To be honest," she continues, lifting her eyes to his with a small, embarrassed smile, "I'd much rather be out here with you."
His heart skips a beat - and he realizes it's been doing that around her a lot lately, though he isn't quite sure why. He swallows nervously, and awkwardly shifts his weight, unsure of how to reply to her. "I... I feel the same."
There's an awkward silence then, and he thinks it might be the first one they've experienced since they both met. She looks away again, and there's definitely a pink tinge to her cheeks, brighter this time. He turns to Agro, absentmindedly stroking her nose, trying to distract himself from the strange feeling in his chest.
His eyes fall to the mare's saddlebags, and suddenly he remembers that journal, the one that told him everything and yet nothing all at the same time.
And he thinks, maybe it's time.
"Mono..."
"Yes?"
"I..." His throat is thick and dry, and he can't swallow. His hand trembles as he reaches it into the saddlebag and fishes through it until his fingers brush the familiar texture of worn leather. "I need to show you something."
Then he produces the little journal, reluctantly turning around to face her, and he slowly reaches out a hand to present it. Mono blinks at him, lips pursed in confusion, and she accepts it from his shaking hand.
"Just read it," he instructs.
And she does. She sits down on the forest floor, crossing her legs beneath her, and she gingerly opens to the journal's first page.
"I... I woke up one morning in a forest," he explains to her, "and I didn't know anything about myself at all. I couldn't remember my own name. And... I still can't. But I woke up with Agro beside me, and when I searched through her saddlebags I found that." His voice shakes a little as he explains, but he tries to hide it and feels that he's failing miserably. "I think it might be mine, because it describes a horse that looks exactly like Agro, and on that first day that I woke in that forest, she acted as if she knew me even though I didn't know her."
Mono watches him carefully, studying his face as he talks. He straightens his back and squares his shoulders after he's done, trying to appear more confident in himself even though he isn't. It's hard to be confident when he doesn't even know his own name.
But she gives him a small smile in response, that wonderful smile of hers that comforts him, tells him without words that everything is all right, and he releases a sigh of relief as Mono dips her head and lowers her eyes to read the journal.
He tries to pass the time by stroking Agro's neck, running his fingers through her mane, patting her nose. She whinnies at him in response and gently presses her nose into his shoulder, sensing his tension. "I'm all right," he whispers to her, but can see the obvious concern in the mare's eyes as she watches him.
Then Mono shuts the little book and looks up at him, lips pressed into a thin line.
"What does it mean?" she asks quietly.
The breeze dies down, and the birds cease to sing in the trees. There is only cold silence, as if the earth itself is holding its breath.
"I don't know, Mono, I don't know..."
She stands and crosses to him, delicate bare feet silent against the forest floor. The journal hangs almost limp in her hand, and after a moment of hesitation she passes it to him.
He only stands there, doesn't want to touch it, because it's given him so much grief and confusion and he can't decide if he hates it or not.
"Do you know of... of any villages that have burned down recently?" The question is hard to ask, because he can hardly speak around his dry throat. And he can't meet her eyes, because he knows he'll see sympathy there, and pain, and he doesn't think he can take it. He hates making her feel this way for his sake. He just wants her to be happy.
"I'm afraid I don't," she responds, voice gentle and caring. She steps around him so she can reach Agro's saddlebags, and gingerly places the journal inside of it herself since he won't take it from her. Then she turns to him, and after a moment of hesitation places a hand on his arm.
It's warm, like sunlight, and it comforts him, just a little. He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a shaky breath, simply allowing her to wrap an arm around him and rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"It isn't your fault."
"But I'm sorry I can't help. I really wish I could."
"Mono -" And at that moment he realizes something strange, that her name tastes sweet on his lips, but he's never noticed it before now. His heart sinks. She has a wonderful name, a name like music to his ears, a name that when he thinks about it, calms his aching heart.
But he has nothing. She never refers to him by any name at all, because he has none.
And suddenly he's shaking all over again, even though he thought he'd regained his composure. He grinds his teeth together and clenches his fists, but it does nothing to calm him.
"What is it? Are you all right?" she asks tenderly, looking up at him with eyes filled with concern.
"I'm fine," he lies, and forces a smile.
It's obvious she doesn't believe him, because she stares at him with her lips curved into a frown, a line of worry between her brows. "But -"
"Really, I am. Mono," and this time the taste of her name is bittersweet, "you should return. It's getting late, and it isn't safe for you to be wandering the forest after nightfall."
He isn't sure how he feels. He wants her by his side, to comfort him, but he also wants to be alone, left to his own thoughts. And he isn't sure which feeling is stronger.
Mono seems to notice his confusion, and she nods her head, taking a few careful steps away from him.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," she says quietly.
"See you." He isn't really looking at her, because he feels too weak to. What if he disappoints her by showing her the helplessness in his eyes?
And she leaves without another word.
As soon as she's gone, he climbs onto Agro's back, and she only turns a worried eye to him, making not a sound. He strokes her neck in an attempt to reassure her, but knows that she can feel that his hand is trembling.
"Go," he whispers, and kicks her sides, and she gallops off through the forest.
For hours she alternates between walking and running, stopping only occasionally to drink from the river they've been following the entire time. Not even when the full moon rises above the world and rests atop the forest like a white, glowing crown does Agro stop. Not even when the trees grow sparse and the land slopes dramatically upward does Agro stop.
She only stops when both her and her rider's breath comes out as white puffs in the night air, and there's little clumps of snow lying on the rocky mountain trail before them.
For days she and her master aimlessly wander the mountains.
And Mono returns to the forest every day, wondering where they are.
A hawk soars overhead, drifting easily with the cold, bitter wind. It follows his journey along the edge of the cliff, and he casts it only one listless glance before he is once more focused on the path ahead. The bird cries loudly above him, and he wonders if it's mourning for him too.
But soon there will be no need to mourn.
When he returns, both he and Agro are exhausted, and the poor mare hangs her head low as she plods slowly across the forest floor.
And standing there by the river is Mono. She lifts her head at the sound of slow, steady hoofbeats, and with eyes widening rushes toward him and the horse. "You're here!" she cries in excitement, skidding to a stop beside Agro and immediately reaching out to stroke her neck. The mare gives a tired whinny and gently nuzzles the girl's shoulder.
He can't meet her eyes. Can't even move, because he feels too terrible for leaving her so long without a word of warning. But he knows that not wanting to face her is pathetic of him, so he slips off Agro's back and turns to her.
"Mono..." He doesn't know what to say, but he doesn't need to say anything at all. She wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his shoulder. His brow furrows in surprise, and he slowly, cautiously, returns the hug. "You're not angry at me?"
"No," she murmurs, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. "Why would I be?"
"What? Because..." How can she be so forgiving, so kind? He doesn't deserve to have her as a friend. Doesn't deserve to even know her, not when he's so helpless and when he doesn't even know who he is. "I was selfish to run off like that without a word."
"You must have been upset," she reasons, drawing away from him to look him in the eyes. "Would you like to tell me why?"
He doesn't hesitate to reply. "You have a name. I don't. I don't have anything."
"You have Agro," she says, smiling sweetly at him, "and... you have me."
She's right, he knows, and he curses himself for being so blind. Here she's been with him from the start, through all his confusion and pain, and he thanks her by running away without a word and no doubt making her worry.
And he buries his face in her black hair, even though his heart is hammering wildly and the bold action makes him panic a little. It smells of the forest, of pine, and of earth, and he loves it. It soothes him, and he realizes he feels at home, and he never wants to leave her again.
"I'm so sorry," he sighs, and he knows she has long since forgiven him.
And then - "Wander," she says, and he lifts his face in confusion, staring at her with eyes blank. She only smiles. "Your name."
At first the word makes his heart clench, and his lips curl into a frown. "Because I'm a wanderer who doesn't know who he is and where he's from?"
"No, no!" Her smile widens, and she gives him a little giggle that immediately lifts his heart and almost makes him forget the grief he had felt only moments earlier. "Because you wandered your way into this village, and this forest, and my heart."
And his own heart flutters in a very strange way, and for a moment he can't say anything. There are no words to describe his relief, his joy - Mono has given him life again, has filled the darkness of his mind, and she's the noonday sun, and there are hardly any shadows within him now. Of course they're still there - the shadows of the memories he'll never know - but with her beside him, he doesn't care about them anymore.
Why should the past matter when he can live here, now, with Mono?
"That's," he begins, unsure of what to say, because he can't even find words for how his heart feels. It's soaring, free, and he realizes he loves her with all of that soaring heart, because she's quite literally everything to him now.
"Too much? Sappy?" she frets, biting her lip. "I'm sorry -"
"Mono, I don't believe we've been properly introduced," he says with a laugh of joy.
Her eyes search his happy face, and she's grinning as he says his next words - "It's nice to meet you. I'm Wander."
These lands have long since been forsaken. No life dwells within them now; once-grand structures are now crumbling, lonely wind whistling between the cracks in the stones. A bridge stands, still proud even after all these centuries, hundreds of yards above the desert sands below.
Even the hawk is gone now, no longer circling round his head, too afraid to enter these forbidden lands. Agro's hooves, slow and sad, trod across the great stone bridge, the sound of it mixing with the wind to create a mournful wail that echoes across the cliff walls.
And there it is, the great stone shrine, standing tall before him with the ancient wisdom of a forgotten old man. Somehow he thinks he can feel eyes, perhaps sinister, eagerly watching him approach.
"Wander!"
The cry is just as chilling as the autumn air around him, echoing across the thick trunks of the pines like the wail of a ghost.
He responds immediately, abandoning his task of washing Agro in favor of spinning on his heel to face the familiar voice.
Then Mono is there, breaking through the trees. She's even dirtier than usual, the hem of her dress utterly drenched in mud, hair a bird's nest on her head, dirt smudged on her face, feet black. Her usually calm chocolate eyes are now wide and panicked.
Wander's never seen her like this before, and his heart can't help fluttering in fear at the sight. He rushes to meet her, and just in time - for she trips over a root protruding from the ground, and stumbles straight into his outstretched arms. Immediately she buries her face in his chest, and he watches her with lips slightly parted, a question on his tongue that he can't seem to voice.
Then her shoulders are shaking, and there are strange choking sounds coming from her throat.
She's sobbing, Wander realizes in horror. Mono's always been so cheerful, so kind, that the sight of it makes his throat dry. "What is it?" he finally manages to ask, words trembling ever so slightly.
"Lord Emon -" Her voice is shaking horribly, so much so that he can hardly understand her. "He had a vision last night."
There's a sinking feeling in his stomach, and slowly a line of worry forms between his brows as he narrows his eyes. Obviously this vision wasn't a pleasant one, and he wonders why it's reduced Mono to such a state.
He's almost too afraid to ask - but he does anyway, even though he isn't sure he wants the answer. "This vision... what was it?"
"That -" Mono's voice breaks, and she's wailing then, loud, not caring that the noises are echoing all around her. For a while she can't speak, and Agro walks over to them in concern, gently nuzzling the both of them in question.
"Mono... Mono, it's all right -"
"No, it isn't!" she cries, lifting her face to look into his, her eyes shimmering with tears, cheeks red and blotchy and tearstained. "Lord Emon had a vision that I - that I would have a hand in reviving Dormin!"
Dormin. The name strikes fear into him, and he doesn't know why, because he hasn't ever heard it before and has no idea what it means -
No.
No, wait. Dormin. Suddenly just one memory is unlocked - just one shadow in his mind chased away.
The Old Gods.
And he hates the name. Hates anything to do with Them, and Their cruelty.
"What? But you wouldn't ever revive Dormin, would you?"
She blinks at him, surprised. "You know the name Dormin?"
"I... I do. They are the Old Gods. They ruined my life, Mono, destroyed my home... for all I know, They even took my memory away from me. You'd never revive Them, I know. I know for a fact. Why would Lord Emon..." His lip curls in disgust. "How dare he?"
"Wander, it's... I... I don't know. You're right, and I don't see why Lord Emon can't see that -"
"I'll make him see," he snarls, and is surprised at the rage in his voice. He's never felt this angry before, not that he can remember anyway. All he knows is that he hates Dormin for what They did to him, and he hates Lord Emon, for even daring to think such an awful thing that Mono would revive Them...
"Wander... Wander, calm down, I don't want you to hurt him..."
"I wouldn't hurt him -"
"You might," she whispers, and ducks her head again, tears streaming anew down her cheeks. "You might when you hear what he wants to do."
"...What?"
"This probably isn't the best time to say this, but -" Mono bites her quivering lip, trying to hold back her tears so she can speak, even though Wander isn't quite sure he wants to hear what she has to say.
"Lord Emon plans to - to sacrifice me, so that I won't ever be able to revive Dormin..."
His heart drops like a stone.
Then the light of fire is burning inside him, turning his blood to flames, and he's baring his teeth in rage. He's never met Lord Emon, but he doesn't care, because he already hates the man with every fiber of his soul.
He can't imagine his life without Mono. It would be like living without the light of the sun, never to see it again -
No. No, he won't let it happen.
"I'll kill him."
"Wander, n-no..." She claws feebly at the fabric of his shirt, hands trembling, and she can hardly hold onto him. There are tears pouring down her face again, and her shoulders are shaking so much she can hardly breathe.
"When is the execution?" he demands, teeth still bared like those of a snarling wolf.
"It - it isn't," she can hardly speak through her sobs, but somehow she manages to - "It's not an execution, it's a sacrifice. They're afraid of me, Wander, everyone's afraid of me now, because they think I'll revive Dormin..."
"They're wrong!" he snaps, arms held protectively around her waist. "I'll prove them wrong."
"Killing them won't solve any problems -"
And then the sound of galloping hooves interrupts her, echoing across the trees like bones grinding together in terrible, discordant notes.
Before either of them can do anything, there are three horses trotting into the clearing, tossing their heads as their riders pull them to a stop. Two brown horses, one white, and three masked men astride them.
The rider of the white horse climbs out of the saddle, old and gray-haired, clad in thick robes. He turns to them, terrible soulless mask obscuring his face, and Wander can't help but to shrink back a little at the sight of it.
"Mono," the man speaks, voice trembling lightly with age but still undeniably powerful. "Who is this?"
She doesn't respond, only clutches at Wander's shirt as if he will rescue her from her cursed fate.
And he wishes he could. Maybe he can.
Eyes narrowed, he reaches for Agro's saddlebags, who has gone stiff at the sight of the strangers. She watches them, ears perked, eyes untrusting, as her master draws the bow and quiver of arrows from her saddlebags.
"Don't you dare touch her," he threatens, drawing an arrow and nocking it to the bowstring.
The man in the front - the one he can only assume is Lord Emon - holds up a hand. The two men behind him nock arrows to their bows as well, and before Wander can react they point their weapons directly at Mono's head.
"I would advise you to let her go," the gray-haired man responds, voice dangerously calm.
Wander drops his bow, and instead shields Mono's head with his arms, and gives his enemies a glare to rival the most terrifying of beasts.
Lord Emon takes a step backward, the eyes of his wooden mask only unfathomable slits, and again he lifts a hand.
Before Wander can even question what the gesture means, there are two arrows whistling toward him. One misses him and thuds, quivering, into the trunk of a nearby tree.
But the other buries its head into his thigh, and he can't help crying out in pain as he drops to the ground.
Everything is chaos now - "Wander!" he can hear Mono screaming, and Agro's neighing in rage, hooves lashing out at the enemy, and Lord Emon's shouting orders to his men, who might be slipping off their saddles and rushing toward him, but Wander can't tell. He's too distracted staring in horror at the blood flowing from his wound, pooling around his leg, and he's clutching at the arrow with trembling hands in an attempt to stop the blood, or the pain, he isn't quite sure.
"Don't hurt her," he hears Lord Emon's terrible voice, and despite the pain, he jerks his head up -
- only to see that the two other masked men are holding Mono tight in their arms, ignoring her thrashing and her screams of protest.
"No!" Wander cries, voice cracking with pain. He tries to stand, but he can't, because the simple movement causes the arrow to shift in his leg and tear the wound open even further. Blood pulses forth, and he releases a shout of pain, falling to the ground again. The whites of Agro's eyes are showing, and she's dancing back and forth in panic, ears flat on her head.
Then, abruptly, Mono stops struggling.
"If I go with you," she begins reluctantly, chest heaving with wild breaths, "will you tend to his wound?"
Lord Emon only looks at her, and his shoulders sag as he releases a long, deep sigh. "Yes. I will."
"Mono, no, don't," Wander tries to call to her, but he's so weak that the words come out strangled and nearly unintelligible.
But it's too late. One of the masked men lifts her up onto his horse, and then swings up behind her, turning the horse around.
Mono glances over her shoulder, a tenuous smile on her lips, and tears gathering in her eyes again. "Wander - I love you."
And for a moment, he can't feel the pain of the arrow in his leg. Instead he feels as if someone is ripping his heart out, tearing his insides to pieces, and he's almost consumed with the overwhelming urge to vomit. But he fights the feeling back, summoning the last of his strength to scream out in desperation - "Mono!"
And the last he sees of her before she vanishes from his sight is her back turned to him, shoulders heaving with sobs.
"Help him," Lord Emon says, motioning to Wander, and the other masked man, the one who had stayed behind, fishes through his saddlebags for a moment before choosing a few tools and then walking slowly towards him.
"No!" Wander snarls, trying to stand again, and again failing. "Bring her back, she doesn't deserve this, she isn't going revive Dormin -"
But he can't say anything else, because the man kneels by his side and shoves a vial of foul-smelling liquid into his mouth, and forces him to swallow it all. And before Wander can even question what it is, his eyelids are drooping shut completely against his will - and no matter how hard he fights it, the blackness consumes him.
Sixteen statues line the walls, watching him with menacing eyes as Agro walks through the vast hall, hooves echoing across its stones.
There at the end lies an altar, open to the desolate world beyond, sunlight streaming in upon its surface.
He slips off Agro's saddle, gently places a hand on her neck to calm her nervous movements, shifting from hoof to hoof. And - as soon as she's holding still again - he grasps the cloth-wrapped bundle that he'd carried with him for so long, across so many miles.
And he carries it - cloth flapping in the wind howling through the opening in the wall - carries it to the altar.
His footsteps ring across stone, heavy and slow, as he places that bundle upon the altar and only stares, blue eyes cold and hard as ice.
Then, with a steady hand, he grasps an edge of that cloth and tears it free. It billows up into the air for a moment, and then flutters away, wind carrying it far behind him until finally it comes to rest on the floor.
With the cloth gone now, there's only a body in its wake, still as a winter night, face pale as fresh snow, dark eyes closed for perhaps eternity.
But not if he can help it.
Agro's running as fast as she can, black legs only a blur beneath her, and Wander doesn't care about the sharp pine branches whipping across his face. The river he's following, the one that once seemed so joyful, is now only cackling at him - cackling, You're too late, you're too late!
But he ignores it, ignores the burning agony that arcs up and down his leg like fire each time Agro's hooves churn up the earth beneath her. His teeth are gritted, eyes narrowed against the wind, and his heart is hammering wildly in his chest like a caged beast roaring to be freed.
And then the black mare bursts from the trees, and he jerks her to a stop with a desperate cry of, "Whoa, girl!" She skids to a stop, hooves scrabbling for purchase at the dirt, shrieking and tossing her head as Wander leaps off her back before she's even fully stopped.
The moment he lands on the ground, his leg gives out beneath him, and with a cry he crumples to the ground. Agro's a smart horse, and she realizes just how desperate he is - so she shoves her muzzle into his side and pushes him, and with her help he's able to stand.
He doesn't even have time to thank her, only has time to run, ignoring the pain in his leg with each step he takes. It burns, and it might even be bleeding all over again, and he can feel it threatening to give out once more. But he doesn't care. He doesn't have time to fall again.
He's in such a hurry that he practically tears open the temple's paper door, and chest heaving with rapid breaths, he stops for just a moment to look inside.
At the end of a hall composed entirely of wooden floors and walls, there's a small wooden altar with candles burning beside it. And standing in front of the altar is Mono herself.
At the sound of the door flying open, she turns her head, lips slightly parted in surprise. Her eyes widen upon seeing him, and Wander's about to rush inside, heedless of Lord Emon standing behind the altar and four of his men flanking him.
But then he sees it - sees the shallow goblet in her hand.
Then she goes limp all at once, and drops the goblet. It falls to the ground with a clatter, and no liquid spills from it.
And before he can do anything at all, anything but stand there with his heart stopped and his eyes wide, Mono's eyes drift shut and she's falling backward, completely limp. One of Lord Emon's men rushes to catch her, and then he gently lifts her and places her upon the wooden altar.
The sun sets, never to rise again, and there's only endless, moonless night. He can't see anything, and he's helpless and afraid, alone in the blackness of his mind that will never be chased away again.
"No!" he screams, because he can't help it, and then he's tumbling into the temple, legs shaking beneath him.
His wounded leg finally gives out, and he collapses to the floor in a gasping, shaking heap. A shadow of his former self. And considering the fact that, ever since he'd woken up in that forest with none of his memories, he had already been a shadow of his former self, now he's just a shadow of a shadow. He feels like nothing, and like nothing matters at all, because Mono was the only one that ever cared. Mono gave him reason not to care about his past, and gave him light, and gave him a name and new life.
And now she's gone, gone for eternity.
Lord Emon, to his surprise, does nothing. He only stands there behind the altar, silent as stone. "I'm sorry," he finally says, "but it had to be done."
Wander hates that awful man, and wants him to pay for what he's done, to die for his crimes. But he's too broken to care, too broken to act upon the rage boiling up inside him, because the grief is too overwhelming, and he can't even stand.
"I had a vision. And as much as I wish it wasn't true, it is. Mono would have had a hand in reviving Dormin had she lived."
There's only silence for a long while, because Wander can't say anything, and Lord Emon elects not to say anything either.
It's a long while before Wander gathers the strength to push himself to his feet again. He trembles for a time and nearly falls, but forces himself to take a step, and then another, and another, until he's standing beside her. He pretends Lord Emon and his men aren't there, and thankfully they return the favor.
Mono's cleaner than she's ever been before, he notices, her intricate dress stitched with pastel patterns of all kinds devoid of even a single speck of dirt. Her feet, for once, are as porcelain as her face, and her black hair is brushed until it shines like silk.
She looks peaceful, he thinks, and he wishes he could follow her.
But no - he can't. She's too far away now, and there's no way to bring her back -
Wait. Unless...
There's a vague memory stirring in his mind, something he remembers about the Old Gods, and how They'd been sealed away because They were far too dangerous.
Because They could revive the dead.
Wander's gaze slowly drifts beyond the altar to the wall behind it, and he notices a sword hanging there - and another memory is kindled within him, faint, but a memory nonetheless. The memory of a legend, of a sword, perhaps.
Suddenly the pain in his leg is forgotten, and his body feels normal again - no longer trembling and weak.
He'd always been the weak one, while Mono was strong. He'd always needed her guidance, and had always relied on her, and had always felt so pathetic for it.
But now, it's time to take matters into his own hands. It's his turn to be strong, for her sake. All he needs is that sword - if only Lord Emon and his men weren't standing there still... But with his bow, they'll be easy to get rid of.
And as he stares at the five men before him - his enemies - his blue eyes turn to ice.
"Thou holdest the Ancient Sword."
The voices come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, powerful and deep, one male and one female, intertwining together to create one entity - Dormin, the Old Gods.
"Surely thy heart desires something of Us."
Wander turns again to Mono's corpse, and gently he presses a hand to her cheek. It's as cold as ice, and the feel of it against his skin almost makes him cringe. "She was sacrificed, for she had a cursed fate," he tells the entity, slowly removing his hand from her cheek and letting it drop, loose, to his side.
"And thou desirest for her spirit to be returned to her body?"
"Yes," he replies without hesitation, squaring his shoulders, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Is it not the law of mortals that, once a spirit has departed, it cannot be retrieved?"
"But You are Dormin. You can revive her."
The voices pause for a moment, and then they're laughing, a dark sound that claws at Wander's ears and makes his heart clench in dread. Then They make a sound that's almost like a sigh. "With that sword, it might not be impossible -"
"Really?" Wander interrupts, his heart leaping with a song of hope.
"- but thou wouldst need to destroy the sixteen idols along the walls. Behold them, and learn them well."
Wander narrows his eyes suspiciously, studying the stone statues. Yes, they are made of stone, but the task seems too easy.
"But these idols cannot be destroyed," Dormin continues, and Wander furrows his brow, wondering how, then, he can possibly succeed in his task. "Scattered across the land are sixteen colossi, incarnations of these idols. Slay them all - and then the maiden's spirit shall be returned to her body."
Sixteen colossi. Wander swallows, and a chill dances up his spine. Now the task doesn't seem so easy.
But he doesn't care, because when he looks at Mono again, he knows he'll do anything to see her eyes open once more. And so that he can finally say "I love you, too" - he'll give absolutely anything.
"But beware," Dormin says, Their voices suddenly low and menacing, "the price that thou must pay shall be heavy indeed."
And Wander shuts his eyes, allows a memory of Mono's beautiful laugh to play through his mind.
"It doesn't matter."