Chapter 1 - Exodus
I gave one last look to the bustling cityscape below - the warm and abundant lights of urban life forever imprinting themselves in my mind.
And so, I closed my eyes.
A haze descended over my mind, and I found my consciousness wandering. Why do I find myself here? Such details were the first to go, in service of a landscape of possibility. Time seemed to slow to a standstill as all sensation ceased, and I found myself void of body and mind.
It was not that I opened my eyes, but that they were forced open - a barrage of light assaulting my retinas as all my senses were returned to me at once. I raised my hands to staunch the optical attack, but such a motion did little to quell the disorientation and surprise I was struck with in the moment.
The passage of time improved my condition, and after a few seconds, I came to my senses physically. If I was capable of parsing the input available to me, I would have called myself recovered - alas, the scene I found myself confronted with put me ill at ease.
Where once I looked upon the urban sprawl from afar, now I was at its very epicentre. Instead of a dark winter's night, it felt a warm summer's day - and the buildings too: a distinctly [European] style in the place of the steel and glass [American] high-rise.
No sooner did the thought occur to me did I then question the origin of those terms - a brief mental search yielding no results. Indeed, I could recall precious little of the past; it was as if a great fog had descended upon my mind, preventing recall of all but the most basic of facts.
Having spent enough time gawking at the new scenery, I settled on orienteering myself. The nearby signage was written in a language unfamiliar, but ultimately comprehensible to me. I knew this to be [French].
From the litany of quaint "Cafes", "Boulangeries", and "Boutiques" that lined the pavements, I concluded that I was in a commercial sector of some sort. The question was in which city had I found myself?
I briefly palmed my pockets, seeking to find any belongings that might clarify my origin, but unfortunately my search yielded nothing.
"Pardonnez-moi" I spoke to a trustworthy looking passer-by, consolidating my linguistic knowledge. "I'm a little lost - could you tell me where I am?" I spoke with as much grace as I could. The man, a plain looking fellow dressed in a cotton shirt and trousers much like my own, blinked briefly before answering me with a sudden clarity.
"You wouldn't be the first Atlesian tourist to get lost in Vale, friend. You're on the far edge of the commercial district. Where are you headed?" He answered kindly.
'Atlesian? Vale?' The words felt unfamiliar to me, yet I did not react outwardly in shock. There was a good chance this was part of the knowledge I had forgotten. Perhaps some light reading would jog my memory.
"I'm trying to find the library." I responded, after some time.
"I'm afraid there isn't much you won't find in Atlas, but the Multiplex Library is three blocks down there, and two blocks to the right." He said, pointing down the road.
"Thank you, sir." I responded politely, before beginning to follow his direction.
"Travel safe." He bid me farewell, not unkindly.
I gave him my farewells as I began my journey. The revelation of a grid system, while a godsend to my ability to navigate this place, was nonetheless disturbing: it seemed to clash mentally with my idea of [Europe]. And I had never heard of a Vale before…
I couldn't help but notice the motor vehicles on my way: while I could not recall specific models, they all struck me as remarkably classic designs which, combined with the old architecture, made the city reek of nostalgia.
I turned a corner and was on my final approach to the library - I could see it in the distance: a large, three storey building adorned with a large plaque displaying its name.
Stepping inside, the hustle and bustle of the street faded into a quiet calm. It was moderately busy: about half the tables were filled with people chatting amicably, or enjoying a snack from the café that stood just opposite the entrance.
Not quite hungry yet (and more importantly, bereft of currency), I swiftly located the stairs and read the nearby sign before my ascent. As I had observed, the ground floor housed a café and casual seating, in addition to the main reception desk. The first floor was reserved for fiction, while the second floor contained non-fiction texts.
Before proceeding further, I made a detour to the toilets to relieve myself. I was struck at once with my visage reflected in the bathroom mirrors: a young man of good build and seemingly average height, with thick maroon hair slicked back with a shiny pomade. Had I always looked this way? It troubled me that I was not able to recall, and I went about my business in silence before venturing out and toward the stairwell.
Making my way to the second floor, I was confronted by rows upon rows of grand oak bookshelves. Navigating this sprawl on my own was nothing short of untenable, without knowledge of its organisation. I sought out the assistance of the worker sitting at the help desk to the right of the stairwell.
Her ears caught my attention at once: massive, rabbit-like appendages that seemed to merge seamlessly into her long brunette strands. And they were clearly no grand display of costuming either. My God I had never seen anything like it.
"C-can I h-help you sir?" The girl, who couldn't have been older than sixteen, stuttered nervously - obviously put off by my shocked expression, and seemingly fearing a negative reaction.
"I'm sorry," I said, composing myself. "I did not mean to make you uneasy - I have simply never met anyone with your… features…"
"O-oh…" She breathed out quietly, before chuckling in nervous laughter. "Yeah, rabbit Faunus sure are rare, haha…"
I blinked, before resolving to change the subject. "Could you give me a brief tour of the floor? I am struggling to find anything, currently."
"Oh, yeah, no problem!" She seemed far happier with the focus of the conversation away from herself, and leapt to her feet and began striding toward the bookshelves. I followed her, and listened intently as she began to sound off.
"So, the books are divided by genre, and you can tell which type of books are where by the signs above." She gestured upwards, where I found signage I had completely missed. "You can also use this map here, which shows you where everything is." She said, handing me a brochure.
"Thank you" I replied earnestly.
The girl then went about explaining in great detail the system by which the many texts present were stored - she spoke with practised ease, no doubt having done this many times before.
"...and here in this aisle we have the natural sciences and engineering texts." She said, finishing up her brief. "Oh, and the computer desks are at the back!"
"You've been a great help, Miss Scarlatina." I said, reading off her name badge. "I appreciate it."
The girl blushed and smiled at the praise, in a very endearing way. "All part of the job, sir." She chirped back happily.
I nodded her way before making my way through the aisle and toward the computer desks. Books were great for specialist knowledge, but I thought the internet a better way to orient myself.
I seated myself at one of the far desks where I might find myself in relative peace. I at once started attempting to gain access to the device, but found a strange difficulty. I had no doubt I had done this many times before, so why now did it feel so strange?
Eventually I navigated my way through the odd user-interface and created my own account to access the system. It was at this moment, while my newly input credentials were being authenticated, that I finally took a moment to breathe and take stock of my situation.
I had no idea who I was. Not even a name to go off of, and no belongings on my person from which I might clue myself in to my identity. Perhaps I should have felt an overwhelming sense of loss but… I felt nothing much at all. It was hard to miss what you didn't remember, after all.
That being said, the prospect of rediscovering my identity was not as hopeless as I had made it seem: despite being able to recall precious little information directly, it seemed subconsciously I was still affected by my origins, in the way I processed the environment I found myself in.
I held that thought as the authentication of my account had just completed, and began seeking out a search engine so that I might find the meaning of some of the strange terms I had recently encountered.
I started off by typing in "Vale".
A Kingdom? And a capital city? So that is where I had found myself. Though no matter in which manner I thought about it, one sentiment was incorrigible: this was not my home.
The grounds felt alien beneath my feet. The streets offered no familiarity as I stepped through them: this was, without a doubt, my first time setting foot in Vale.
Changing tack, I replaced the search term with "Atlesian". The stranger thought me one of their number, after all.
"Originating from or feeling a sense of belonging to the Kingdom of Atlas…" I clicked on the hyperlink to the page for the Kingdom of Atlas.
A floating city? And another city-state. The concept seemed… absurd. And yet I could not discard the photographic evidence in front of me as fiction. It was clear to me that this place was not my home, either.
Though, that man had thought me Atlesian, hadn't he? My manner of speaking must have given him that impression: my dress was quite similar to his own. Perhaps there was another country that spoke the King's [English].
And so, I searched for that term.
0 Results.
This was… unexpected. I double-checked my input yet found no error. But I knew this to be the name of my mother tongue, so why?
Still not sure what to make of it, I now searched for [French]. Yet again, it yielded zero results. Twice now, I found words from the depths of my consciousness unknown to this world. Either this network did not contain all the knowledge of this world, or…
…or I was not from this world at all.
The prospect was… troubling. Further research revealed that the languages were called "Atlesian" and "Valean" respectively. It felt… wrong.
Could this place be some vestige of the past? Or some far-flung future? No… it is highly unlikely that the language would be comprehensible to me given the length of time it would take for nations and continents to rearrange.
But if I were truly from another world, it would be highly unlikely that I could comprehend any of these languages in the first place. Assuming no interaction between these… worlds…
But I found myself here in the first place, didn't I? Perhaps others had as well. Or the inverse…
But still, these languages are not new to this world. Even if there was an exchange of language between worlds at some point, my understanding of it now would require a mirrored evolution of two languages for centuries. The prospect seemed unlikely.
Then the exchange must have been constant? But I had definitely not heard of the Kingdoms of Atlas or Vale before. And there would be knowledge of [English] and [French] in the case of the opposite.
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. The facts were proving difficult to resolve. Perhaps language was always set to evolve along predetermined paths? Either way, at this moment, it seemed beyond my ability to answer. I decided to ponder the more immediate consequences of this revelation: namely, the fact that I am completely and utterly undocumented, and bereft of contacts or currency, void of name and home.
I checked the time in the corner of the screen… It was nearly ten in the morning. I suppose I was fortunate that the timekeeping was as familiar as the languages.
I had to work something out quickly if I wanted to avoid vagrancy - I was no citizen of Vale, that much I was sure of. Without documents proving my right to work, gainful employment was out of the question - but I had no intention of eking out a living on scraps and ill-gotten gains, either.
No, I had far more class than that, I'm sure.
Without a traceable history, or intimate knowledge of the system, I was unlikely to obtain said citizenship - and I wasn't going to fulfil either of those conditions in a day, either.
I spent the next few hours researching the law, and possible government schemes that could help me. I came across little that could aid me, however, and I was beginning to despair until a certain advertisement on the search engine caught my eye:
"Enlist in the Atlesian Armed Forces today! Service guarantees citizenship."
I may not have known my past, but never had I been more grateful for targeted advertising, I'm sure. Military service wasn't entirely objectionable to me, and it would provide me a roof to sleep under and meals to eat. I clicked the link and started scouring the site for every piece of information I could.
Enlistment contract length… three years. Well, I had expected as much, but reality was setting in: if I chose this path, there would be no getting out for a long, long time…
While I was contemplating the new information, an image from the site gallery caught my eye: a heroic depiction of what I could only imagine was a group of Atlesian soldiers, holding at bay a horde of what could only be described as nightmarish creatures with a hail of automatic gunfire. There was a small caption under the image:
"Take the fight to the Grimm!"
Another term I could not recall. Though this was hardly a surprise at this point - I began my usual routine of searching up the offending keyword, but I was not prepared for the information I would find.
Real monsters.
Monstrosities that permeated the lands; that actively preyed upon men and that threaten entire settlements. Most of the world was occupied by these macabre beasts, and yet society at large seemed… at ease? There was no war-economy, no existential struggle. It was as if these creatures were merely a fact of life.
The idea disturbed me, to say the least. I researched a little more about these creatures, viewing photographs of some of the common forms and reading a little bit of general information. They were attracted to negative emotion itself, if my source was to be believed.
The physical ramifications of that tidbit aside, this revelation was perhaps the most shocking one yet: the world around me had seemed mostly familiar, and I found a degree of comfort in that, only to find it upended completely.
Man was not the apex predator in this world.
Despite my shock, this information did little to put me off national service. If anything, I felt emboldened: how could people sit idly by as settlements went dark? As families were torn asunder?
No - sit by I would not. I would enlist - purpose is good for the soul, if nothing else. And I would be needing to keep that intact should I wish to rediscover it.
My journey of self-discovery would be slow though, I knew. And I needed a name.
I once again turned to the internet, looking up the naming conventions of this world… of Remnant. It seemed I would have to fashion myself after a colour. Perhaps I could go by -
"Bruno Mars?"
A decent name, I admit, but I don't think I could countenance being called Bruno. How about:
"Sorell Mars?"
A better first-name, to be sure, but the complete phrase flows poorly. I think I'll go with:
"Sorrell Dunn?"
It would do, I suppose. It would only be a placeholder, until I could remember more, of course...
I wish that I believed that.