Waking

.

"I found him."

.

Light.

Something splits the darkness in front of me, peeling away the pod I'm in.

Did I fall asleep in that?

The hands lift me up, pull me to my feet, and I can't stand. I'm too weak. My vision swims, my head feels numb.

"…disoriented. He just woke up, give us a minute."

The person lowers me to the ground, a break I'm more than happy to take.

"Are you okay?"

Is she talking to me? Her hand rests on my shoulder, her angular pink mask seems like a light at the end of a dark tunnel, guiding me from the fog. Gentle. Kind.

"Are you alright?"

I manage to nod.

"Stay here."

Where's here?

A building. Destroyed, flaming in places. Wires and wall panels lay in ruin, machines and tools scattered and twisted. Something tells me I did this.

How…?

A soothing sensation washes over my arm, and I see the metal there heal itself in a soft light. My head feels straight again.

"Regeneration. A good quality."

I look up at the woman in front of me. She's holding something. She raises the sword—testing the balance—swings it once, and offers me the hilt.

"A good blade, but it better fits your hand than mine."

The blade is long, beautiful, and as orange as the light that healed my arm. It fits perfectly in my hand, like it was made for me. It was just like the blade I held that day when the shadow rose over my shoulder and the city burned to the ground. I turned to face my attacke-

"Stay with me friend."

The woman was there again, hand on my shoulder.

"You remember, don't you?"

.

Memories.

That's what they were.

"They will not stop coming, but you must learn to tell the difference between memory and reality."

"Who-?" My voice was ragged, unusual.

"I am called Fiora."

"Where-"

"There will be more time for questions later. We must leave."

She retreated, picking up a thin pink blade.

"Come with me."

I stood slowly, my familiar sword clasped tightly in my hand.