EVERYTHING AFTER I PASSED OUT is a mismatch of puzzle pieces where my consciousness flashed in and out. I was constantly out of it with occasional bouts of waking up but I could not get a hold of anything so I simply passed out again.
One time, when I opened my eyes, I found a woman clad in a pastel blue cloak holding my hands. It itched where our skin met but before I could protest, I fell asleep again. Another time, a man in sort of the same pastel blue cloak held onto my hand, shaking his head to someone beside him.
"The hair colour . . ." he was saying but his voice was so low that I barely heard anything after that.
"No," the other person in the room said. A female. "It is too soon to say anything."
"Let him sleep," the woman whispered. Some shuffling and the hold on my hand tightened. I blacked out.
I finally come around for good a lot later, to the sound of horse neighing and bells chiming. My sweaty palm is once again held on by someone –not the man or the woman– but someone different.
"Um," my voice cracks like a matchstick holding an elephant. My mouth is all shades of disgusting, a close cousin to an unwashed public loo. "My hand is sweaty."
The other person seems more startled than shocked to see me talk and she scrambles to her feet. Her eyes are monolidded and wide open, hidden beneath the shadow of her hooded cloak. Electric blue eyeliner runs around her eyes, so brilliant that it adds to my splitting headache.
Pushing myself from the soft, fluffy duvet, I look around the room. It is empty, except for the bed I was lying on and the chair the girl was sitting on. But the walls are different. Huge stone runs from the ground to the roof, a single smooth surface polished to perfection. There are no cracks, no crevices and for a second, I almost see my own reflection on the pristine stone. It doesn't shy away from making me feel claustrophobic.
The girl hurriedly steps back, sticking out a gloved hand in front of me. "Lie down, strange one." The words tumble down in waves, almost a scared plea, though her face is aggressive. I wonder if it is an imagination but the electric of the blue around her eyes seems to shine. I pause.
"I think you might've misunderstood," I say. My stiff legs crackle like potato chips as I stand up. Bandages press into my sole and I look down to find every inch of me bandaged like an Egyptian mummy. She stumbles back quickly, positively looking scared. Gone are any traces of aggression. And gone is the static from the eyeliner.
"I said stay down!" she yells and I freeze for good this time.
Well, this is definitely a very warm welcome.
Probably at the sound of her command, footsteps approach outside the door until they materialise into a knock. The door gets pushed open before I can throw out a come-in. The same man who had held onto my hand strides in with an older woman in tow. They are still in the same pastel blue cloak, uniform gloved hands clenched on their sides and I want to laugh at the hilarity of the moment. If I didn't know, I'd say they were scared of me.
Two men, who look more like guards with their armour the colour of faded stone, walk in behind them, one on either side. A long piece of white cloth runs around their heads, mirroring my mummified state. I double take. Brilliant blue lined eyes stare from the slits in the bandaged helmet.
Calming my nerves, I stare at everyone in the room. My nerves are still a mess but here's to hoping it doesn't show on my face.
Only the older woman is in an attire that isn't a cloak. Her ageing face has the same blue eyeliner as the others while her ageing hair is reminiscent of faded blue jeans. But streaks of dazzling blue, extremely rich in colour run in between the loose braid. She smiles at me, eye crinkling till they disappear. She's your normal neighbourhood grandma minus the hipster hair but wordlessly, I just smile back, albeit stiffly.
Where the hell is Foras?
The girl bows her head respectfully. A flourished flick of the old woman's right hand and wordlessly both the girl and the two mummy wannabe dudes exit out of the room.
"How are you feeling?" In the empty room, her voice bounds off like an organ, majestic and deep. An uncontrollable shiver runs down my spine but I decide it is best to just tell her the truth.
"Seen better days, actually."
I'm not sure if she is just being polite but she still chuckles at that. I smile back.
"You were in a very bad shape when the guards took you to us, child. Just what happened to you?"
I've had The System's medicine a few days back when I tried telling Shin Woo and got thrown to the Neutral Space. Yet here I am, once again contemplating if I should sell The System out to this regal woman. If this was a novel and I were the protagonist, she would definitely be that wise Elder who passes away right before the war.
I clear my throat, hackles raised for the first sight of The System but she doesn't creep in like she always does. So I take the bait.
"Actually, I . . ."
I knew it was coming but it still knocks my breath and senses away. Like some invisible iron hand, a force chokes my throat, sealing the words and truth inside. I struggle as I see the older woman's eyes study me but I can only squirm like a fish out of water.
"Yes, child?"
The invisible grip on me doesn't falter nor do the black spots clouding my vision. Fine, I shout to The System whom I'm sure is eavesdropping, You win. Let me go.
"Young one, are you okay?"
The Elder's eyebrows are pulled together in worry and passive alarm, sinking the wrinkles deeper and hollowing her ancient eyes. Frustration builds deep in the pit of my stomach, burning everything in me into cinders. But I say the only reasonable thing I can say.
"I . . . I think I've lost my memory. Where is this?"
As the Elder sucks a breath in shock and pity, I hear The System's snigger loud and clear.
God darn, here's to fitting in.