Chapter 10: Welcome to the Memory Palace

"Can you hear me, boyo?"

What was that? A voice? A voice calling out in the darkness. Where is it coming from? Wait. Where am I? I'm supposed to be dead, right? Glorified Titan chow. But I can still think and feel things. Am I…still alive?

"Can you move? Follow my voice."

I'm not crazy. I can hear that voice. But I can't see where it's coming from. Nothing but darkness surrounds me on all sides.

"Are you lying down? Get up! You can't follow my voice if you aren't moving towards me."

Get up? How can I get up? Or walk? I don't even have…legs. Wait. I do now? Everything felt numb but as I become more aware of my surroundings, the sensation of touch returns to me, like when blood starts returning to a limb you've sat on for too long. My arms and legs have returned. I scrunch my fingers and rub my thumb against each one like I'm smoothening a pebble between them. I can curl my toes and bend my knees, too.

I hoist myself up into a seated position. Everything feels stiff. Like I've been asleep for a thousand years and all of my joints have rusted over like ancient machinery.

"Oh, screw it," the voice says, sounding impatient, "I'll just find you, myself."

I hear footsteps approach from an unknown direction. They sound like they're coming from all around me. I don't understand any of this. What is going on?

I remember being smushed between Titan Armin's teeth.

I died.

I very clearly died.

But what is this then?

"Where the fuck are you, boyo. Don't make this difficult for an old man. Say something please so I can find you easier."

"Who are you?" I shout, "What is all this?"

"Aha, so you're over there, boyo! Shout again for me, please. I think I'm close to you!"

The footsteps grow faster, more determined. I don't know if it's a good thing that someone is looking for me. I can barely see my own hands in front of my face. I feel something graze the back of my head. Another hand wildly flailing in the dark?

"Did I just touch you, boyo?"

He was standing directly over me. I swivel around and scoot away but the owner of the voice is quicker. "Get away from me! Leave me alone!" I shout He grabs at the back of my collar and hoists me to my feet. He's strong.

"Yes! Finally found you! Are you alright, boyo?" the voice says, dusting me off and fixing my hair like he can see me clear as day.

"Stop it! Stop touching me! Who are you? Where am I?"

"Ah, yes. I see. You're still discombobulated from your arrival. Don't you worry, boyo. All of your questions will be answered very, very soon. But for now, take my hand. We have to make our way out of this infernal darkness."

He feels along the side of my arm, navigating down towards my hand. I meet him halfway and for the first time, I get a sense of what this guy might look like. His hands feel wrinkled, the skin stretched and loose like that of an elderly person. The palm is rough and calloused. He grips me tightly, for fear of losing me again. I don't know if I should be happy that he found me. But anything would be better than stumbling in this darkness.

As we walk in whatever direction to wherever the old guy had started from, the darkness gradually dissipates. I can make out general things like the outline of his body and as it gets brighter, I notice the smaller details, like the rope tied around his waist which he is holding onto with his free hand, feeding it through his fingers and coiling it around his left arm as we move forward. Is that what's helping him navigate out of here?

It seems to do the trick though because pretty soon we are out entirely and the two of us are standing alone in what looks like an arid desert with an impossibly beautiful night sky overhead. It's staggering to behold, absolutely riddled with stars and shimmering galaxies. In the distance is a massive column of bluish-white light, casting everything in that same bluish-white. Nine twisting veins of light branch off from the main column and shoot off in all directions, stretching as far as the eye can follow, far past the horizon.

Despite it all, this place doesn't feel alien to me. It actually feels strangely familiar, like I have been here once before a long time ago but had forgotten about it until just now.

"This is…" I start to say.

"We're in the Paths, boyo," the old man says, "welcome home."

"Home? The Paths."

The man who had helped me out of the darkness seemed familiar too. He's definitely an older gentleman with a salt and pepper beard. His hair goes down to around his shoulders. He's dressed all in white. I've seen him somewhere before. I know I have.

"And you're…I remember you from somewhere."

"I should think you'd remember me. It wasn't that long ago that I was devoured by you. You were much younger then. You've grown quite a bit since. But I don't think we were ever properly acquainted. My name is Harmand Vogt. I was the Colossal Titan before you."

"Harmand. What am I…what are you…what are we doing here?"

"I'll explain on the way. Come. I'll take you to the car."

"Car? Why would you have a car out in the desert? It's hardly the best thing to get around in."

"You think so? Maybe with the autos from our time but prepare to be shocked, boyo. Things are a little different around here."

Harmand leads me over a tall dune and points out a boxy-looking vehicle. The wheels are large and the actual cab where we would sit is suspended far above the sand.

"This is a car?" I ask.

"It is. But they call it a Jeep Wrangler Rubicon Unlimited."

"They? Who are they?"

"The ones who will follow after us."

Harmand gets in on the driver's side and I sit shotgun. The seats are soft and squishy, not like the ones in the cars I've been in before. I have no idea what to make of all this.

"Seatbelt," Harmand says.

"Seat what?"

"Put on your seatbelt," he says, pointing to the chrome buckle-looking thing sitting over my right shoulder.

"Pull that thing and slip it into the little lock by your left thigh," he says, miming the motion of pulling something over and down over his torso, like a sash.

I do as he says but I must not have placed the chrome part in the lock correctly because it flung itself back and hit me in the nose. Harmand laughed.

"It's alright, boyo. It's probably a bit of future shock. You'll get the hang of it pretty quickly once you figure out how everything works around here."

We drive across the sand for a while. The Jeep Rubi-whatever makes it look so easy. I look behind us and see all of the sand being thrown up in a cloud.

"Do you want to listen to the radio?" Harman asks, pointing to the collection of buttons and dials in between our seats.

"Listen to what?"

"Music, boyo. We have all kinds of music, everything for everybody."

"I never really listened to music before."

"Really? You never got a chance to go to the opera when you were a warrior? I loved the opera. It was always a spectacle."

"Eldians were allowed to attend?"

"Well, not regular Eldians. But Warriors were given special box seats in the nosebleed section away from everybody. Didn't matter to me, though. But it's ok if you haven't listened to music before. You'll have more than enough time to figure it all out. For now, I'll put something on for you and you tell me if you like it."

He taps a few buttons and like magic, angry sounds start blasting from an unknown place. I don't like it. The screeching sounds like nails on a chalkboard. The drums are too loud and the singer is growling in such a way that I can't even make out what they're saying. I cup my hands over my ears.

"Yes? No?" Harmand shouts over the music.

"NO?!"

"What?"

"I said no!"

"Said what?"

I do a thumbs down sign with my hand and shout "NO!" again. He nods and taps another button. The song that follows is softer. Much softer. I feel instant relief at not being assaulted by those sounds anymore. Someone must like the music, though. But it definitely isn't me.

I instantly like whatever this music is. I don't even analyze the words being sung or the composition of the sounds. I just know that it adds up to something pleasant for my ears.

"What kind of music is this?" I ask.

"It's called indie folk."

"Indie?"

"Yeah. Short for independent."

"Oh. And what's folk."

"It's hard for me to explain. I'll let you figure it out when you get access to the internet."

"The what?"

"Oh, my sweet summer boyo. You'll find out soon enough once we arrive."

"Arrive where?"

I have so many questions swirling around in my head right now. My alive/dead status? The paths? The founder? Jeep? Tiny radios? Indie folk? The Internet?

After driving for what feels like forever, Harmand stops on the outskirts of a massive palace. A tall stone wall borders it. Several other cars are sitting outside the wall, parked in a row. There are nine total.

"We're here," he says.

We disembark from the car and I spend a few moments just staring at the structure. When I say that the structure is massive, I mean it is massive. Like twenty mansions and twenty castles with vastly different architectural inspirations were mashed together into one big monstrosity.

"What is this place?" I ask.

"This is your new home, boyo. Welcome to the Memory Palace."