The Lost Vanguard

The darkness came swiftly. One moment , I was on the verge of slipping into a numb, exhausted haze, and the next, there was nothing. No pain, no thoughts... just an empty void, cold and infinite. It felt like the worlds had faded into the background, leaving only a small, flickering ember of awareness that barely registered the passage of time.

When I woke up, the first thing that struck me was the overwhelming scent of antiseptic and herbs. My body ached, every muscle screaming in protest, but it was the unfamiliar weight of silence that unsettled me the most. I opened my eyes , blinking against the dim light, only to find myself in a small, dimly lit tent.

The air inside was thick filled with scent of medicine, and the steady rustling of cloth brought my attention to the woman who was tending me. She sat at my side, her brow furrowed in concentration as she adjusted the bandages on my chest. Her movements were careful, as though every touch touch was deliberate, measured.

"You're awake" she said softly, her voice low and calm, but there was an undercurrent of urgency. "How are you feeling?"

I tried to respond, but my throat felt dry, like gravel scraping against my vocal cords. I swallowed, but it didn't help. I couldn't form words.

Her eyes softened as she noticed my struggle, and she gently lifted a cup to my lips, letting me drink in small, slow sips. The cool liquid slid down my throat, easing dryness, but it did little to clear the fog in my head.

"Easy" she murmured, her voice soothing. "You"ve been through a lot. Rest."

I wanted to ask where I was, who I was, but worlds wouldn't come. My mind was still to clouded. I only had fragments, images of pain, the faint memory of a man carrying me, and then... nothing. The gaps were vast, and they felt like they stretched on forever.

The woman continued her work, her hands moving with practiced ease as she checked my bandages and adjusted position of my legs. The coldness of the tent, the sharpness of the scents, it all felt too real, too tangible, like a cruel contrast of the disjointed emptiness inside me.

"What... what happened?" I managed to rasp, the words barely leaving my mouth. I hated how weak I sounded, how distant my own voice seemed.

"You were attacked" the woman replied. "By a wold. A wild one. But you're lucky. If you'd been alone, you might not have made it back. The man who found you brought you here. You've been unconscious for nearly two days."

Wolf. The word stirred something deep within me, but it wasn't enough to make sense of anything. My mind recoiled at the thought, but memories of the attack remained elusive, like trying to catch smoke in my hands.

A soft groan from the side of the tent caught my attention. I turned my head slightly and saw a man, his face pale, lying on another table nearby. His leg was wrapped in bandages, and his arm was slung over his chest in a makeshift sling. His eyes were closed, but there was faint grimace on his face, as though he were struggling against pain even in his sleep.

The woman glanced at him, then back to me. "The others are recovering. Some worse than you, but we're doing our best."

I nodded weakly, unsure if she could see it or not. I felt detached, like I was watching myself from a distance. My body was here, but my mind... it was somewhere else.

"Who... who am I?" I whispered before I could stop myself.

Her hands paused mid-motion. She gave me a long, searching look, but than her expression softened. "You don't remember?"

I shook my head , but it didn't help. There was a weight pressing on my chest, as if I was searching for something deep inside, something important, but it was buried under layers of confusion and uncertainty.

"You were brought here by one of the hunters" she said after long pause, her voice carefully neutral. "Your father's been waiting outside. I told him not to disturb you while you rested. but... he's anxious."

 "Father?" I asked. A surge of something stirred within me, familiarity , maybe? But there was no recognition, no name to attach it to. I couldn't picture him. I couldn't remember anything.

"I... I don't know" I whispered, my voice trembling. "I don't know anything."

The woman's eyes softened with pity, but she didn't say anything more. Instead, she checked my bandages again.

The flap of the tent rustled, and before I could react, a figure appeared in the doorway. A tall man, broad-shouldered, his face was weathered by years of hard work. His eyes locked into mine almost instantly, his expression shifting from concern to something else, something deeper, almost... relieved.

"Alaric." His voice cracked on the name, and he took a tentative step forward.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. The name. His voice. Everything about him felt strangely familiar and yet so utterly foreign.

I tried to speak, but my throat caught. Instead, I stared at him, my mind struggling to form a connection. The man took another step, his face taut with emotion.

"Son," he said, his voice was rough. "It's really you."

There was a long silence between us. I could see the man's chest rise and fall with the effort of holding back something... emotion, maybe? But I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand any of this.

"Who are you?. I finally managed, my voice weak but desperate. "Who am I?"

His expression faltered for a brief moment, then softened with a quiet resignation. "It's me, your father. Kaldar."

Kaldar. The name. Something about it stirred a faint recognition within me, but it was like trying to reach for something just out of reach. I couldn't grab a hold of it. I couldn't remember.

"I don't know you," I whispered, feeling the weight of the words more then I should have.

The man's expression stiffened, his lips pressing together in a controlled manner, but there was no mistaking the flicker of disappointment that passed through his eyes. H epaused for a moment, as if weighing his next words.

"It's not important," he said finally, his voice steady but with an edge of something unreadable beneath the surface. "You'll remember soon enough."

He didn't reach out to touch me. His hand remainedf by his side, his gaze steady but distant, as if he were holding back whatever emotions might have threatened to surface.

I didn't say anything. My mind felt like it was falling into a deeper abyss, and I had no idea how to pull myself out. The silence between us lingered, uncomfortable and thick with unspoken tension. I wanted to remember. I wanted to feel something, anything that would make sense of this.

But all I could feel was emptiness. And it was terrifying.