If you'd told me a week ago that I'd be leading a group of villagers in combat training, I probably would have laughed in your face. But here I was, standing in the middle of Greystone's central square, showing a group of wary but determined villagers how to defend themselves with nothing more than some sticks, rocks, and a bit of creativity.
"Alright, everyone, listen up," I called out, trying to sound confident even though I was still figuring this out myself. "Remember, we're not trying to outmuscle our enemies. We're trying to outthink them. Use the terrain, use your numbers, and most importantly, stay calm under pressure."
A few of the villagers exchanged doubtful glances, but they were here, and that was a start. It wasn't easy convincing people who'd spent their whole lives relying on brute force—or hiding—to try something different. But I could see the flicker of hope in their eyes, the first signs that maybe, just maybe, things could change.
I demonstrated a basic defensive stance, holding a sturdy stick like a spear. "It's all about positioning," I explained. "Keep your center of gravity low, your movements controlled. You don't need to overpower your opponent—just make them work harder to get to you."
A few of the villagers mimicked my stance, though somewhat clumsily. One of them, a tall man with a perpetually furrowed brow named Gregor, took to the instructions quickly, his natural athleticism apparent. Another, Elara, a middle-aged woman with short, graying hair, looked less confident but determined to keep up.
"Good, Gregor," I said, nodding as he adjusted his stance. "Elara, try shifting your weight a bit more—there you go. It's not about strength; it's about leverage."
Kara was standing nearby, arms crossed as she watched the training session with a critical eye. She'd been helping me organize these drills, her presence lending credibility to what I was trying to do here. The villagers trusted her, and her support meant they were more willing to listen to me. Not that I didn't still get the occasional suspicious glance from Boren, who was hovering around the edges, probably just waiting for me to slip up.
"Let's try that again," I said, stepping back to give them room. "This time, think about where your enemy is coming from. Anticipate their movements, and be ready to react."
As the villagers practiced, I noticed Kara stepping in to correct a few stances, her voice firm but encouraging. Varric, who had finally decided to join us after a lot of prodding from Kara, was helping some of the older villagers with their footing. He might not have been enthusiastic about this whole thing, but even he couldn't deny that the villagers needed it.
"Keep it up, everyone!" Kara called out, clapping her hands. "You're doing great. Remember, it's not about being the strongest—it's about surviving."
I watched them work, a small sense of pride bubbling up inside me. This wasn't just about teaching them how to fight. It was about giving them confidence, showing them that they didn't have to live in fear all the time. And slowly but surely, it was starting to work.
As the session continued, I found myself falling into a rhythm, the steps and techniques coming to me almost instinctively. I moved through the group, offering corrections, demonstrating moves, and occasionally stepping in to spar with someone who needed a more hands-on example.
And that's when it happened again—another flash.
One moment, I was showing Gregor how to block a strike with his stick, and the next, I was flooded with images—clear, precise, and incredibly detailed. I saw diagrams of fighting stances, pages from what looked like a manual, complete with annotations and instructions. It was like flipping through a book in my mind, the knowledge right there, fully formed, as if I'd studied it my whole life.
I blinked, momentarily disoriented, and Gregor paused, looking at me with concern. "You alright?" he asked, lowering his stick.
"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," I said, shaking my head to clear it. But inside, I was anything but fine. This wasn't the first time this had happened. Over the past few days, I'd been getting these flashes—sudden bursts of information, techniques, and strategies. They were so vivid, so detailed, almost like memories… but they didn't fit with what little I remembered of myself, or rather, the blank slate that my memory had become.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something about these flashes felt different. It wasn't like remembering a random fact or a piece of trivia. It was like I was reliving something I'd done before, something deeply ingrained in me. These weren't just random bits of knowledge; they were experiences, muscle memory, things I knew in my bones.
"Take a break," I told Gregor, who nodded and stepped back to join the others. I needed a moment to think.
I walked over to the edge of the training area, where Kara was observing the session. She raised an eyebrow as I approached, probably noticing the look on my face. "Everything okay?"
"I don't know," I admitted, leaning against the wall and rubbing my temples. "I've been having these… flashes, I guess you could call them. They're like memories, but not really. It's like I suddenly know exactly what to do, as if I've done it before. But I can't remember ever learning it. It's all so clear in my mind, but when I try to think about where it came from… there's nothing."
Kara frowned, her curiosity piqued. "So you're saying you're remembering things, but you don't know why?"
"Yeah, something like that," I said, trying to make sense of it all. "It's like there's a whole part of me that's locked away, and every now and then, a piece of it breaks free. But it doesn't fit with anything I actually remember—or rather, don't remember. I know how to fight, how to lead, even how to treat wounds. But ask me my name, or where I'm from? Blank."
Kara considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Could be some kind of instinct. Or maybe something tied to your past, before you lost your memory. If these are experiences you had before, it might explain why they feel so familiar."
I nodded, though the idea only added to my confusion. "That's what it feels like—like I've done this all before. But how? And why can't I remember anything else?"
"I don't know," Kara admitted. "But whatever it is, it's helping us. You're helping us. Maybe that's what you need to focus on for now."
I sighed, knowing she was right. There wasn't much I could do about my lost memories, and dwelling on it wasn't going to help the villagers. But it was hard to shake the feeling that these flashes were important—that they were pieces of a puzzle I didn't even know I was trying to solve.
"Maybe," I said finally. "But it's just… weird. You'd think if I could remember all this stuff so clearly, I'd at least have some clue about who I am."
Kara laid a hand on my shoulder, her touch surprisingly comforting. "You'll figure it out. For now, just keep doing what you're doing. You're making a difference here. That's more than most people can say."
I looked at her, grateful for her support. "Thanks, Kara. I guess I needed to hear that."
She smiled, and for a moment, I felt like maybe things weren't so bad. Maybe I didn't have all the answers, but I was doing something that mattered. That had to count for something.
"Alright, back to work," I said, forcing a smile. "These villagers aren't going to train themselves."
Over the next few days, the training sessions became more intense, more focused. The villagers were starting to pick up on the tactics I was teaching them, and I could see the change in them. They were more confident, more aware of their surroundings. Even Boren, who had been one of my harshest critics, seemed to be warming up to the idea.
One afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows over the village, I found myself sparring with Dara, a young woman with quick reflexes and a sharp mind. She was one of the few who'd taken to the training with real enthusiasm, and I could see the determination in her eyes as she faced off against me.
"Alright, Dara, show me what you've got," I said, raising my makeshift staff.
She didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, her movements quick and precise. I countered, blocking her strike and pushing her back, but she was relentless. Every time I thought I had her cornered, she found a way out, slipping past my defenses with a grace that belied her inexperience.
"Good," I said, genuinely impressed. "You're getting better. But remember, it's not just about the attack. You need to be ready to defend too."
She nodded, adjusting her stance, and we continued sparring. As we moved, I could feel that strange sensation again—the one that told me exactly what she was going to do before she did it. It was like seeing the fight play out in my mind before it happened. And then, there were the flashes—brief glimpses of other fights, other training sessions, all stored away in my mind like pages in a book.
"Is this really how it works?" I wondered as I parried one of Dara's strikes. "Are these flashes from my past life, or something else entirely?"
The thought was both comforting and unsettling. Comforting, because it meant I wasn't completely lost—I had skills, knowledge, something to hold on to. But unsettling, because I still didn't know why I had it, or where it came from.
The sparring match ended with Dara finally getting the upper hand, landing a solid hit to my side. I grunted, feeling the impact, but smiled at her victory. "Nice job, Dara. You've got the makings of a real fighter."
She beamed, clearly proud of herself. "Thanks. I've had a good teacher."
"Keep it up," I said, clapping her on the shoulder. "You're going to need it out here."
As Dara joined the others, I stood back and watched the villagers train, my mind still spinning with questions. These flashes, these memories… they were becoming more frequent, more intense. And while they were helpful, they also reminded me of everything I didn't know—everything I couldn't remember.
Who was I? Where did I come from? And why did these memories—if that's what they were—feel so real, yet so distant?