Taking a deep breath, Tristan snapped his eyes open. His gaze fell on a dusty ceiling and he sprung up from the bed, landing on his feet.
Scanning the room, he looked for an exit, and sure the brown door into that room stood closed. Tristan rushed toward it, and when he found that it gave him resistance, added force and directly tore the door out of its hinges.
He had forgotten about his strength, but that event alerted those within the rest of the building.
The sound of murmurs and individuals rushing up a flight of stairs reached his ears even before they were even at eye-shot and a rush of emotions filled Tristan's head.
He couldn't understand for what reason he felt that way, but he was ready to fight. At least that was until the events of the other day flowed into his mind and he calmed down. Which was when a series of four figures rushed up a curved stairs to arrive at the upper sitting room.
Caution and tension were in the air, but then someone rushed forth from between them, making five individuals. All men.
"Hey hi…" The young-looking man looked ready to calm the tension, but his eyes could not but dart to the destroyed door. He swallowed hard. Sir Lax had dropped Tristan off there and had asked that they took care of him, as he was someone of higher status.
Tristan took a step back when he noticed a crucial detail. He glanced at his body and saw that he now had proper clothes on.
Momentarily stunned, he inspected his figure to check out that light outfit. It was a simple dark-green long-sleeved round neck and a pair of loose gray trousers. Slightly oversized but were tied at his waist.
"Who dressed me?" Tristan asked and those men grunted in worry. His tall figure scared them, especially after what they had heard from Sir Lax.
"Uh… me…" the same young-looking man responded after silent persuasion from the others. His expression radiated worry.
Tristan furrowed his brows but took a step forward. The other flinched, but the young man before him could only raise his head. Tristan stood taller than him.
"Thank you," Tristan announced, glancing over his shoulder. He inspected the others, but the man before him had gained new importance.
"I am Tristan," he revealed. "You?"
"Uh. I'm Marcus. But you can just call me Mark," the young man stated, a bit weirded out. Tristan was calmer than Lax had told him to be.
Mark was a man that looked to be in his early twenties, he had short brown hair and his face featured dark spots stretching from the bridge of his nose till they were directly below his eyes.
He had relatively healthy pale skin, but signs of skipped meals were evident in his features.
Mark was a slim, rather average-height man. He remained feeble even to Tristan's mentality, and the fact that his head bent to the ground in timidness did not help the issue.
His brown eyes carried traces of fear and fatigue. His eyeballs had sunk from lack of sleep and even then Tristan could see that he hid other things behind his obedient demeanor.
Unfortunately, Tristan would only be able to heave a sigh when he remembered that moment in the future.
"Okay… Mark. Do you know where Lax is?" Tristan got to the main point. He still needed help to find out about the name of the town in his head. He knew it was a town due to its image from an elevated point of view.
"No…" Mark turned to glance at the others, they averted their gazes and Tristan didn't care.
"He dropped you off here two days ago and hasn't returned," Mark explained, and he watched amazement bloom on the young man before him.
Tristan's strangely evident masculinity could not but be further enhanced by his colored gaze. They had to be the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
Then again, he had barely been to many places in his years of existence there might be eyes far more pretty than those before him. The downsides of being born and perishing in that hell-hole of a town.
"Two days?" Tristan muttered. He understood the concept of days even if he did not have memories of ever learning them. He understood many things even without memories of how he attained that knowledge.
"Yes. He asked me to feed you and cloth you. Which I did, but he never said anything about returning…" Mark explained, stepping back.
Tristan furrowed his brows in confusion. He honestly did not expect less from that man, but he needed all the help he could get. His confusion was taking over his mind. Rage was at the corner. The men before him were probably easy to vent on. But he wasn't that much of a bad person.
"Thank you for your help. But there are things I need to find out," Tristan announced, sweeping his gaze on those individuals. In honesty, he didn't completely know how to act in front of those people.
Now that the rush of being attacked was not present he interacted with those men like equals, at least to some point. They essentially knew more than him.
A strange shyness tried to take over him, which was why he focused on Mark and left the others as background characters.
Tristan tried to take a step forward. He knew nothing about that environment, but he believed he would find his way.
"Wait!… Sir Lax also ordered that I kept you with myself. I am to do as you told me. We all are… as repayment of our debt," Mark explained, saying that last part almost like a whisper. Thanks to his powerful hearing, Tristan could hear even that part with utter clarity.
"Eh?" Tristan muttered furrowing his brows. He once again understood the concept of having control over a set of humans. They were called. 'Servant's…. or maids,' Tristan recalled those words when he looked for something to fit his situation.
Mark nodded his head and the others lowered their faces.
"But he never said anything about returning. He was clearing out the base of the killer whales, maybe he's still busy with that," Tristan tried to find an excuse. Even if he somehow doubted his words. The man was definitely doing something underhanded.
Thankfully he didn't care. All he desired now was knowledge about that place.
"Yeah…" Mark replied. The air had begun to turn awkward when Tristan's belly made rumbling noises.
"I desire something to eat," Tristan announced the obvious.
"And I only want Mark around. The rest of you can please go," he explained, and could almost see their relief. They exchanged glances with Mark who felt dejected and alone.
"I will get you something to eat, please wait," Mark announced following the other downstairs. Tristan could hear their murmurs and even their conversation. What he heard broke his heart.
Mark returned with a brown bowl only to find Tristan inspecting various details of the room. He stood before a shelf where a small picture frame stood.
Tristan placed the picture back on the shelf when he noticed Mark. He wondered what it was and curiosity could not be more evident in his eyes.
"Were those your family?" He asked, scanning the bowl of steaming food that had been brought for him. His mouth watered but he exercised restraint. From what he heard them say, he saw the need to remain friendly.
"Yes," Mark replied, his tone low and his gaze shifty and dark. He obviously didn't like the topic.
Tristan decided not to probe and simply gave a light polite comment, unsure of how he knew how to do that. Mark paused and spoke, however.
"They were the worst. Left nothing for me and my little sister, who ended up dying before she even hit fourteen," Mark said those words like a curse, with unfathomable anger burning in his chest.
Tristan noticed that the room literally got hotter at that event.