The days drifted by in a haze of recovery and quiet curiosity. Torrack lay in bed, letting his body mend, as his mind struggled to put together fractured pieces of memory. His own life seemed to flicker in and out of clarity, like the delicate flame of a candle on the verge of extinguishing, only to be reignited by a stray thought or a new detail from his surroundings. Though he knew he was Torrack, a being forged by both man and dragon, his dreams and memories painted something more elusive—he was a stranger here, but why did it feel so oddly familiar?
Bit by bit, his questions began to accumulate. He learned that the village had a name: Aia. And the land surrounding it, with its sprawling forests and quiet rivers, lay within a kingdom known as Iampor. Unlike Arenthia, which was governed by humans and its power-hungry dukes, Iampor was filled with creatures that seemed drawn from fairy tales: beastfolk with tails and ears, orcs with sturdy frames and gentle eyes, gnomes whose hands bore the marks of crafting and forging, and elves with wise, piercing gazes. The village elder, who visited him daily, explained patiently that humans were a rare myth in their land—mentioned in stories but never seen in reality.
With every answer he received, Torrack's conviction grew: this world, with its unique inhabitants and peaceful rhythm, was nothing like Arenthia. There were no echoes of familiar places, no whispers of the districts or any of the places he'd known. But if this wasn't Arenthia… where was he? Was he truly in another world?
The realization hit him one afternoon when he sat up, gripping the elder's hand with sudden, almost desperate intensity. He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "What do you know of dragons?"
The elder looked at him curiously, an eyebrow raised as if his question was somehow both unexpected and inevitable. "Dragons?" she repeated softly, and a hint of reverence filled her gaze. "Come with me."
With effort, Torrack followed her through the winding streets to the heart of the village. It was a place he'd passed by before but hadn't thought much of in his daze. The building at the center was far larger than the modest huts that made up most of the village, its walls carved with intricate symbols of creatures—both familiar and strange—that seemed to dance along the stone as the sunlight shifted. The villagers around him had stopped their tasks, watching him and the elder with quiet curiosity as they moved through the courtyard and into the grand hall.
At the center of the hall stood a statue, towering and awe-inspiring. It was a dragon, with scales that seemed to ripple as if alive, its wings spread wide in a stance of both strength and peace. Torrack's heart pounded as he took in the statue, tracing every ridge and line with his eyes. This dragon… he knew it.
"This," the elder began, her voice echoing in the vast hall, "is Shadow. One of the dragons our people revere as gods. They guided us for countless generations, bringing wisdom and strength… until, one day, they vanished. No one knows where they went, but we believe they still watch over us from beyond the stars."
As she spoke, a flood of memories surged through Torrack's mind, nearly overwhelming him. He saw visions of people bowing, whole cities chanting his name as he stood above them. The roar of crowds and the reverence in their eyes—the memory was brief but piercing, and his knees nearly gave way beneath him. Shadow, the dragon-god of this place… it was no stranger to him. Shadow was part of him.
He staggered back, clutching at the stone wall, breathing heavily as the images faded. The elder watched him, concern etched into her features. "Are you all right, Torrack?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Shadow," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I… I know Shadow."
The elder's eyes widened, a flash of understanding mingling with wonder. "Then perhaps the legends are true. You are touched by the dragons, by the gods themselves." Her words lingered in the air, filling him with a mix of awe and unease.
As the days went by, Torrack immersed himself in learning all he could about Iampor. He pored over the village's maps and charts, marking out the boundaries that encircled this world. To the north, he learned, lay an invisible barrier—a mysterious wall beyond which no one could venture, no matter how strong or determined. Southward, the kingdom stretched into a tapestry of more villages and cities, each with its own stories, yet none bore a trace of human presence.
This kingdom, he discovered, had been at peace for hundreds of years. Villages had no need for walls or gates, for there was little to fear. Occasionally, a wild beast might wander too close, but even that seemed a minor inconvenience compared to the turmoil he knew back in Arenthia. The villagers went about their lives with a tranquil ease, sharing their labor and joy in equal measure, unburdened by the kind of strife he had always known.
Yet, as serene as it was, something gnawed at Torrack's soul. Despite the peacefulness of this land, he felt an invisible tether pulling him—perhaps back to Arenthia or maybe to the dragons, his kin. He tried reaching out, tapping into his bond with Kaelith and the beasts he had once felt so vividly. But the connections were faint, if present at all. It was as if the power here, while potent, operated on a different frequency, leaving him stranded and alone in this world.
One evening, as he sat by the village's central fire with the elder and a few others, he asked, "How does your world… connect with others? Are there ways to journey beyond this land?"
The elder tilted her head thoughtfully. "Some believe there are paths between worlds," she said slowly, "but they are hidden, known only to those who are part of both realms—the ones touched by both worlds."
Torrack's mind raced. Was he, then, part of both realms? This revelation lingered in his mind as the night grew darker, and he sat by the fire, staring into its depths as if he could find the answers there.
He remained in the village for some time, absorbing knowledge like a dry sponge. Days bled into weeks, and though he kept looking for signs or clues of a way back, none surfaced. His strength returned, and the people of Aia welcomed him as one of their own. He began to feel a connection to them—a deep, almost familial bond. They were so different, and yet they were like kin, sharing pieces of themselves with him in stories and lessons.
One morning, as he studied the maps, he asked the elder, "Why are there no defenses here? No walls?"
The elder chuckled, her eyes crinkling with age and mirth. "We have no need for such things. There hasn't been a war here in longer than anyone can remember. And besides, if a threat did come, we have the forest. It protects us, and we protect it."
The forest… Torrack looked toward the tree line at the edge of the village. It loomed large and mysterious, an ancient barrier that, though unthreatening, held a promise of power and protection. Perhaps the forest, like the villagers, bore its own secrets.
Finally, one day, Torrack made up his mind. He would journey to the edge of this kingdom, to the barrier that separated Iampor from whatever lay beyond. He hoped that somewhere, in the vast unknown, he might find a way back to Arenthia or at least some clue to his place in this world.
As he prepared to leave, the elder placed a hand on his arm, her gaze both solemn and gentle. "Remember, Torrack, the forest and its people are with you, as are the gods who once walked this land. You carry their strength within you, no matter where you go."
With a nod, he stepped into the forest's embrace, the village fading behind him as he ventured toward the unknown.