I continued to wander the harsh, expanse of Drachma, consumed by thoughts of the recent bloodshed. Those bandits I'd killed were only the beginning of something darker awakening in me, a thirst not just to survive, but to learn more about this strange, seemingly invulnerable body of mine.
The more I pondered, the more I was preoccupied with one question: who am I really? Would I be able to die like a normal person, or had I overcome the very idea of death?
With no one around and nothing pressing me, I began to experiment. My fascination with this newfound ability to regenerate turned into something of a ritual. The first tests were simple - small cuts and scrapes on my hands, shallow wounds to see how quickly they would heal. It happened instantly. The flesh healed in a matter of moments, leaving not a single scar behind. I continued the ordeal, making deeper cuts, almost forcing my body to give up. Each wound healed just as quickly as the last, whether it was a light prick or a deep gash. I went on, cutting myself limb by limb cleanly. The sensation of separation was unsettling, almost alien. But the severed parts crumbled to dust in seconds, and in their place grew new ones, as perfect as before.
How far could this go? I thought, crossing all boundaries.
I pulled out a knife, sharper and stronger than anything I'd ever used before. I plunged it into my stomach, feeling the cold steel cut through muscle and internal organs. For a moment, I wondered if I could still feel pain. Perhaps the memories of pain still remained, but the sensation itself had become dim, distant, irrelevant.
Pulling the blade from my torso, I watched as my internal organs - lungs, stomach, intestines - began to fuse together. After a few moments, it was as if nothing had happened. There was no blood loss. There was no damage. Nothing. Just a strange sense of rebirth every time something was cut away.
Even my heart, when it was taken out, stopped functioning and disintegrated like the rest of the discarded parts. Yet in its place grew another, stronger than before. I tried to feel fear - fear of death, fear of the unknown - but it was gone. The only thing that remained was this insatiable curiosity, this need to find out if I could ever find the true limit to my abilities.
Was I even human?
I had learned all I could at this point, but questions still remained. Perhaps one day I would find the answers to what was really fueling this endless cycle. For now, I put that aside, letting my thoughts drift to the background, and delved deeper into the icy wilderness of Drachma. The world around me changed, slowly transforming into a winter landscape. Snow began to cover the ground, softening the sharp edges of the world beneath a layer of cold clarity. Large, heavy flakes fell from the sky, and each one reminded me of seasons I had lived in another life. Despite my detachment from the normal human experience, I couldn't help but feel a slight nostalgia as the coldness in the air wafted in. After the desert, it was strange to rejoice in the chilly embrace of snow.
The wilderness of Drachma seemed to come alive in its winter garb, but despite the beauty, it was eerily quiet. The animals I encountered - deer, hares, and even ravenous wolves - kept their distance. They sensed something wrong in me, something unnatural, and instinctively avoided me as if I were not a living thing at all. Even the wolves I crossed paths with simply watched me from a distance, their yellow eyes glinting warily before disappearing into the snowy forest. The snow continued to fall, soft but relentless, and I continued to wander alone across the vast expanse of this frozen land.
My wanderings were also without purpose.
The landscape ahead changed again, as if I had crossed an invisible boundary between winter and spring. The snow had thinned, giving way to patches of green, while the air remained cool and invigorating. The trees stood tall and proud, their branches no longer weighed down by snow, and the ground beneath my feet felt softer, more alive. A river ran through the area, its clear waters reflecting the muted gray sky overhead.
As I walked, my attention was caught by a column of thick, dark smoke rising in the distance. It wasn't the thin, wafting light of a lone campfire - it was something else. Perhaps several campfires. Where there was smoke, there were people. I made my way cautiously, keeping in the shade of the trees and to leeward. The last thing I wanted was to be spotted too soon.
Eventually a settlement came into view. It was small, more like a village than a town, nestled in the forest. Wooden houses with thatched roofs huddled together, smoke rising lazily from their chimneys. People went about their daily business. Men and women tended their livestock, driving sheep and cattle to graze along the riverbank, while others worked on small plots of land, growing crops even in this cool climate. Children ran through the village, their laughter ringing in the still air as they played by the water's edge.
A group of women gathered around the central hearth, stirring food in large pots, the aroma of cooking meat and vegetables wafted to me. From time to time, men returned from the nearby forest, carrying bundles of brushwood or the spoils of a successful hunt.
The village seemed peaceful, almost idyllic. There was a sense of community, of shared labor and simple contentment. It was a far cry from the harsh survival-of-the-fittest mentality I had been told about. These people thrived not through domination or power, but through cooperation and hard work.
I lingered at the edge of the forest, watching them. Deep down, I was curious to know more about this place and its people. But another part of me, the part that had witnessed the bloodshed and violence, felt out of place. For now, I stayed in hiding, observing the peaceful rhythm of their lives from a distance.
While I was biding my time, I heard a rustling not far from me. There was a boy about 8 or 10 years old. And he ran back towards the village, his small figure disappearing between the trees, leaving me alone with my thoughts. It was clear that he had seen me, and I realized that the peaceful moment was coming to an end. I had two choices: leave now and avoid a possible confrontation, or stay and face the villagers.
I decided to stay. Running away now would only arouse suspicion, and if these people were anything like the ones I had encountered, they would find me again. Besides, the idea of interacting with more people - this time civilized people - intrigued me.
As I expected, a group of men soon emerged from the village and made their way towards me. Their footsteps were confident and determined. They were farmers, perhaps hunters - certainly not soldiers, but men who knew the land and how to defend it. I could see the tools and weapons they carried with them, crude but effective: axes, spears, and long hunting knives that were probably used more for chopping wood or skinning animals than for combat.
As they approached, one of them stepped forward, separating from the group. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and held himself with the confidence of a man accustomed to leading. His face was weathered and his skin rough from years spent outdoors. A thick graying beard framed his chin, and his gaze, though sharp, was calm and shrewd. He was dressed in simple clothes: a woolen tunic and leather boots, with a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders, probably to protect him from the cold.
His intense gaze met mine, studying me, assessing me as he stopped a few paces ahead of the group. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but I could tell he was ready to signal his men if things went badly.
He spoke, his voice deep and steady, his words crisp and clear. "Who are you? Why have you come here? And are you alone?"
For a moment I was struck by the realization that I understood him perfectly. The same thing had happened before with bandits, but I hadn't questioned it then. How was it that I could communicate so easily in this world? I put that question aside for later, now was not the time to dwell on it.
Taking a breath, I met his gaze. I had no reason to lie. "I'm a traveler," I said. "I come from far away. I will not harm you or your people, and yes, I am alone.
The man's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was weighing my words. Behind him, the other villagers shifted restlessly from foot to foot, watching and waiting for his decision. I could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken question hanging between us: Would they welcome me, or would they treat me as a threat?
The man's face remained stony as he listened to my answer. It was clear that my words could not dispel his suspicions. After a long pause, he spoke in a firm tone that left no room for negotiation. "I cannot trust you," he said, and there was a sense of responsibility in his voice. "You have seen our settlement. If you are a scout, you could be here on someone else's errand. We cannot risk letting you go. I am forced to tie you up."
His gaze grew harder, and he asked: "Will you resist?"
I shook my head. "No, I will not resist."
He nodded to his men, who immediately stepped forward and pinned my hands behind my back. Rough ropes dug into my wrists, but I made no move to free myself. As they tightened the knots, I could feel the eyes of the villagers on me from afar. Fear mingled with curiosity, evident in their furtive glances and whispered conversations.
The men led me to the center of the village, to a wide square where the villagers were gathered. My presence caused an anxious hum among the inhabitants. Women clutched their children to them, casting wary glances, while the older men stood with their arms crossed over their chests, talking in low voices. There was no warmth in their faces, only a cold calculation of what to do with the stranger who had wandered into their midst.
As we entered the square, the tall man who had confronted me earlier called for attention. "Gather around," he said. - A stranger appeared in our village.
A small crowd formed, and the murmuring grew louder. They looked at me with varying expressions of wariness, interest, and outright suspicion. A tall man gestured for me to sit in the center of the square, and the villagers surrounded him, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to hear every word.
The first to speak was an older man with a thin, graying beard and a shrewd gaze. He stepped forward, resting his hands on a long wooden staff. "Where are you from?" - He asked. "And why do you roam these counties?"
"I come from far away," I replied calmly, though my hands were tied. "I am merely a traveler, nothing more. I have crossed the desert and the snowy region, and I have no evil intentions."
The older man's eyes narrowed as he considered my words. - No one travels these lands for nothing. Drachma is not a place people come to without a purpose. Why are you really here?
Before I could answer, a woman's voice cut through the air. - He could have been a spy," she said, standing at the edge of the circle. She was younger, but her tone was commanding. - Or a scout for the bandits, looking for weaknesses. We can't trust his word.
Several men nodded in agreement, and I felt a growing distrust. The tall man who had tied me up was silent, watching the scene unfold with an impenetrable expression.
Another villager, a burly man with a scar on his cheek, spoke up. "Perhaps he works for neighboring towns or settlements. There has been tension in the border towns lately. Perhaps he's here to find information."
I shook my head, trying to remain calm despite the accusations against the building. "I'm not a spy," I said firmly. "I don't belong to any city or army. I've been wandering alone for days now, and all I want to do is walk toward something without purpose."
Finally the tall man spoke again, and his voice cut through the noise. - What about your weapon? - He asked, keeping his eyes on the sword that still hung at my side. - A traveler without purpose does not carry such a blade. His words caused a stir in the crowd. Whispers were heard again, some casting glances at my sword as if it confirmed their suspicions. "I carry it for protection," I replied firmly. "The wilderness and the snow are relentless. There are bandits and wild beasts here... I needed it to survive."
- Bandits, you say? - An elderly man with a staff asked skeptically. "And yet there are no signs of a struggle on you. No sign that you've been in any real danger."
I fell silent, realizing they wouldn't believe the truth - that my body had healed almost instantly, leaving no trace of injury. I didn't have a convincing answer to their suspicions.
"Who's to say he's not lying to us?" - The burly man added. - 'He could have killed those bandits himself and taken their belongings.
- That's enough,' the tall man interrupted him. He looked straight at me. - You say you have no intention of harming us. But we need proof. Until we are sure of your intentions, you will remain here under guard.
A few of the villagers murmured something in agreement, and I realized that the decision had already been made. It was impossible to change their minds yet.
"Let him stay, but keep an eye on him," suggested the woman who had spoken earlier. - 'If he's telling the truth, we'll know soon enough. And if he's not, we'll deal with him.
I was led to a small, dilapidated building on the outskirts of the settlement. From the smell and the rusty chains hanging from the walls, it had once been a stable or a cattle pen. The roof had sagged slightly, and the wooden beams creaked under their own weight. When they locked the door behind me, I looked around and realized the place hadn't been used in a long time. Soon after, whispering began. The villagers passing by stopped briefly to look at the building and talked quietly, curiosity taking over.
"Do you think he's dangerous?" - muttered one voice.
Another replied, "He must be. Why else would they lock him up like that? A wanderer doesn't just appear out of nowhere, especially here.
"He looks different... Did you see his eyes? And the sword..." - The third added, falling silent as if afraid to say more.
In every conversation there was a new thread of suspicion, speculation, and fear. Most assumed I was a threat, that I was a stranger with unknown motives. Few, if any, were willing to consider my claims that I was simply a traveler. As day turned to night, the village fell into a quiet rhythm. Though I had no need for sleep, the long hours of silence reminded me of past imprisonments - of being trapped in far worse places. Compared to the abyss beyond the gate, it was almost peaceful here. The chill of the night was creeping in, but it didn't bother me. I sat in silence and waited. The passage of time, which might have thrown others out of sorts, was now only a minor inconvenience.
Morning came without incident, though I could hear the village coming to life, life was returning to normal. Shortly after sunrise, an old man with a cane approached, who I now assumed was the village elder. He stood in front of the building for a long time, just watching me through the gaps in the weathered wood. His gaze was hard, though not without a glimmer of thoughtfulness. He said nothing, as if weighing his own opinion and the words of the villagers.
Finally, without a word, he turned and walked away.
The next two days passed in much the same way. They gave me neither food nor water, evidently hoping that hunger or thirst would weaken me, make me more pliable. But it was all in vain. My body didn't need food the way theirs did, and though I felt the lack of food, it was more of an inconvenience than a real problem. The villagers, however, kept their distance, whispering amongst themselves and wondering how long I could last without breaking down.
By the third day, it was obvious that they were unsure of what to do next. Their strategy - if you can call it that - wasn't working.
In the afternoon, the door creaked open and the elder entered, this time accompanied by a group of men. Their faces were stern, but there was a slight look of confusion in their eyes. They surrounded me, scrutinizing me as if I were some unusual creature they didn't quite understand. I could feel their anxiety growing by the minute-my silence made them nervous. I said nothing, complained, or asked for food, water, or freedom, and this clearly bothered them.
The old man, leaning heavily on his cane, stepped forward. He had a calculating expression on his face, as if he were trying to penetrate my thoughts.
"You haven't eaten or drunk anything in days," he said in an even but testing voice. "No complaints. No words. Do you really expect us to believe you're an ordinary traveler?"
I looked him straight in the eye, calm and unperturbed. "I told you the truth. Whether you believe it or not is your choice, not mine."
He studied me for another moment, squinting. It was clear that he hadn't expected that answer, or, rather, that he'd expected something more-a show of weakness, perhaps, of desperation. But there was nothing for him to grab onto. Sighing heavily, the elder signaled to the men, and they all turned to leave, locking me inside again. Left alone, I sank into my thoughts. The rhythm of the confinement was almost soothing, by now I knew it well. The questions they asked, their suspicions, it all felt like echoes of past encounters. Time stretched slowly, and I didn't resist. Three more days passed, and I still sat in silence, feeling neither hungry nor thirsty, though I knew they were watching me.
On the sixth day they returned, and the same question hung in the air. "Are you ready to tell the truth?"
But my answer had not changed. "I have been telling you the truth from the beginning. It's up to you to accept it."
This time the expression on their faces changed. They were not satisfied with what I had said, but perhaps they were beginning to realize that they could get nothing more out of me. As they left, I noticed something unusual-a small plate of food and a jug of water standing at the entrance. It was a quiet offering, with no words of explanation, but the gesture itself spoke volumes.
The days turned into a rhythm very similar to the cycles I had encountered in the past, though this time there was food - one meal a day, always brought by the same villager. I ate out of necessity, not because I needed to, but because it was the easiest way to observe decorum. I could leave if I wanted to; the structure of the building was weak, and no one was watching over me all the time. But something made me stay-a desire to remember what it was like to live among people, to observe them, to see if their way of life could provide answers to the questions that kept running through my head.
I wanted to understand them. Maybe by understanding them, I would learn more about myself.
Time flowed slowly, the days merged into one. I felt that the villagers had grown accustomed to my presence. I was no longer such a mystery to them, or at least they didn't see me as an immediate threat. Then, one day, they let me out of the building without much ceremony. My hands were still bound, but now in front of me, allowing me more movement. This was progress.
The same man who had first spoken to me when they found me in the woods was assigned to me. By and large he wasn't anything special, just a regular hunter with a family. His wife was kind but cautious, keeping her distance, always watching. He had two children - a little boy, the same one who first spotted me in the woods, and an older son who looked to be about 15-17 years old. Both boys were curious, but they were held back by the subtle tension in the air.
I settled into their house, as modest as the rest of the village. It was strange to feel the warmth of home again, the quiet sounds of family life. The crackling fire, the quiet voices in the evenings, the quiet conversations between husband and wife. It was a life I hadn't been a part of for a long time.
In the meantime, I watched, listening to their conversations about hunting, the changing seasons, and local gossip. The hunter was cautious, but not cruel. He asked me questions here and there, checking my story, seeing if I had misspoken or said something new. But I tried to answer simply. I wasn't here to cause trouble. I didn't need to lie; the truth was strange enough as it was.
I could feel the lines between us slowly starting to blur, even if just a little. The family was no longer as afraid of me as they had been when I first arrived, though I could sense that their wariness still lingered. In the meantime, I would bide my time, observing, and perhaps learning.