He came to a silent understanding in his mind.
Walking among the others — the once bustling and thriving streets beginning to dwindle like a flame caught in the wind the second the morning rush had ended — he couldn't help but reminisce.
The group walked down the streets like the world was their stage, and all the while he thought to everything that has happened to him in only less than a days time.
Everything that led to this very moment was purely a chance encounter with the man.
Or even before that, it could all be attributed to his amnesia. He had managed to circle around the questions thrashing his mind this entire time, and yet the walk back was the closest he came to breaking.
How did I get found? Why did I lose my memories? Who is Elior? What does Patches mean by 'created?'
And yet, with all these thoughts spiraling in his head like a vortex that only consumed and never gave, he could only focus on one thing.
Only one question that intrigued him the most. Only one question which caused him to stop and ponder.
What's beyond the scratched-out door? Never mind that, but who is beyond it?
He wasn't blind to the facts. Each door was inscribed by a name. A name for each of the children — their rooms.
With that blatant fact, it was natural to assume the same. Someone is or was living behind it at some point in time.
And he wanted to find out. He felt as though it would be the answer to all of his questions.
It didn't take long for the five of them to reach the tavern. Rune effortlessly kicked the door open, nearly appearing as if it would knock it straight off of its hinges.
"We're back, Elior." He murmured, hand reaching up and scratching the back of his head.
Nephyr hesitated at the door, watching the others march in to immediately claim their respective seats at the tables. He scanned the room, expecting to see the man and his refined demeanor.
And yet, he saw nothing.
He frowned slightly, a knot beginning to tie itself in his stomach. With a subtle gulp, he peeked his head through the frame, taking a large step onto the creaking boards below him.
It was then did a firm hand crash down onto his shoulder. He flinched.
Slowly did his eyes peer towards the figure — that of which was Elior — notably leaning against the immediate wall as if awaiting for his arrival specifically.
He tried to get a read of the man's emotions, though his face remained unwavering. Once again, it felt like a wooden mask. He felt like a statue.
"Looking for me?" Elior asked, a sly smile curling the tips of his lips. Not caring for a response, he gave Nephyr's shoulder a slight squeeze before releasing his grasp. "All of you, go get settled in. I'll prepare our dinner."
His command almost felt casual. And yet, a deep fear began to brew in his chest. After coming face-to-face with his "mask," he knew there was something deeper to his words.
Something he had yet to understand.
* * *
Nephyr sat in swallowing silence. Sitting on his bed — the night sky looming just beyond the thin window — he found himself whirling in his own mind.
It felt as if every interaction he made led him further and further away from who he forgot he was. As if he was leaving his forgotten path behind.
That thought gnawed at his mind, and felt like it was beginning to consume his every waking moment. The only thing which would put it to rest was the subtle reminders that he was still human. Still alive. Still himself, no matter how fragmented his own being truly was.
He felt his heart drop following a sudden knock on the door.
"What is it?" he queried, quickly getting up and pulling on the metallic latch. Much to his surprise, it wasn't Elior waiting outside, but rather a pleasantly familiar face.
Patches.
"Can I come in?" She asked, voice sounding almost soothingly soft — not a hint of tension staining her sense of calm.
"Oh," Nephyr blurted, slightly taken aback by the abrupt question, "Sure... why not."
As she entered, he gently pressed the door back into place, hearing the subtle click and clamor of the wood signaling its closing.
Turning back around, he quietly placed himself back down on his bed, glaring at the girl with a sense of confusion staining his vision.
She moved to the far end of the room, lightly resting her fingers against the sill and silently taking note of the scenery beyond. Nephyr could instantly notice a hint of an unspoken sadness lingering on her face.
"You know," She began, eyes beginning to gain a slight glisten in appearance, "When I first came here, the man tossed me a pole in this very garden. He taught me to use it."
He immediately thought back to when Patches masterfully saved him and Rune from the boys in the alley. "Is that why you used the long pipe in the alley?"
She nodded. "For months I would train to use it. To perform for the circus. I'd learn tricks and stunts, all to dazzle the audience. In a way, I enjoyed it... but..."
She paused, head slightly lowering as she spoke. "It was layered with pain. Every mistake led to a part of me being taken away. It's up to you if you want the same fate."
While he didn't fully understand, he could sense the weight to her words. She meant them.
The newly found silence between them was heavy. It was as if neither knew of the proper words to say — or maybe they knew no further words needed to be spoken.
Patches, after a while of sulking by the window, turned. Her eyes, while still blank in her own typical nature, notably had a hint of compassion in them. She marched over towards him, slightly kneeling as she placed both hands onto his shoulders.
"If you feel like you don't," She murmured, "then don't go to the basement. No matter what."
Without much more of a word, she paraded herself out of the room. With a sudden swish, the door opened and shut, and she was gone. Nephyr was alone once again.
Only now, he had more questions than before. Questions that wouldn't take long for him to find the answers to.