The cold, damp air of the dungeon pressed against Changra's skin like a second layer of clothing. He sat in the center of the dimly lit cell, his wrists and ankles bound by glowing golden chains. The faint hum of magic emanating from them matched the rhythmic drip of water from the stone ceiling above.
He blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to the flickering torchlight on the walls. Everything felt wrong. His body was heavy, his thoughts sluggish, like a fog had settled over his mind. The only thing that cut through the haze was a single name, repeating in his head like a mantra: Jane.
"Jane…" he murmured, the word foreign on his tongue but achingly familiar in his heart. He clung to it like a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to any sense of reality.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing louder as they approached. Changra turned his head toward the barred door of the cell, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't struggle against the chains, didn't call out. He let the sound approach, the unfamiliar surroundings making him feel like an observer in someone else's life.
The heavy door creaked open, revealing Elara Windwhisper, her expression a mixture of caution and authority. Her sharp green eyes studied him from beneath her hood, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger as she stepped inside. Behind her, Merrick lingered in the shadows, his face weary but watchful.
"You're awake," Elara said, her voice cool and detached. She moved closer, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. "Good. I was starting to think we'd have to keep you unconscious forever."
Changra didn't respond immediately. His gaze shifted to the chains around his wrists, the golden runes glowing faintly in the dim light. He flexed his fingers experimentally, feeling the resistance of the magic binding him.
"Do you remember anything?" Merrick's voice came from the doorway, low and measured. His silhouette loomed just outside the torchlight, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Changra hesitated, the fog in his mind swirling as he tried to grasp at fragments of memory. But there was nothing—only the name. "Jane," he said finally, his voice rough and uncertain. "I… I remember Jane."
Elara's expression didn't change, but a flicker of something—pity? doubt?—crossed her eyes. She crouched in front of him, her gaze piercing. "That's it? Just a name?"
Changra nodded slowly, his brow furrowing. "I don't know who she is. I just… I know her name. That's all."
Elara exhaled sharply, standing and turning to Merrick. "He's too unstable," she said, her voice low but firm. "The eye, the dagger—whatever's happened to him, it's not safe to let him out of here."
"I'm right here," Changra said, his voice soft but laced with frustration. He met her gaze, his blue eye glinting faintly in the torchlight while his crimson one pulsed with an unnatural glow. "You can talk to me. You don't have to talk about me like I'm some… thing."
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing. Merrick stepped forward, his boots heavy against the stone floor. "We're not trying to make this harder on you," he said, his tone measured. "But you have to understand—after what happened, we can't take any chances."
"What… happened?" Changra asked, his voice trembling. He leaned forward slightly, the chains around his wrists clinking softly. "I don't remember anything."
Elara crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "You don't remember the fight with Envy? The dagger? The way you—"
"Elara," Merrick interrupted, his tone sharp. He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Enough."
She huffed but stepped back, her posture tense as she glared at Changra. "Fine," she muttered. "But don't expect me to trust him anytime soon."
Merrick crouched beside Changra, his gaze steady. "We'll figure this out," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But you need to be honest with us. If anything comes back to you, anything at all, you tell us. Understood?"
Changra nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. The weight of the chains felt heavier now, pressing down on him like a physical manifestation of the confusion and guilt swirling in his chest.
"Jane…" he murmured again, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer. He closed his eyes, clinging to it, hoping it would anchor him, guide him through the fog.
Elara turned on her heel, heading toward the door. "We'll give him some time," she said over her shoulder, her tone clipped. "But don't let your guard down, Merrick. That eye of his is a ticking time bomb."
Merrick nodded, rising to his feet as he followed her. "We'll be back," he said to Changra before the heavy door creaked shut behind them.
Changra sat in silence, the faint glow of the chains casting shadows on the cold stone walls. His head dropped, his fingers twitching against the restraints as the name echoed in his mind. Jane… Jane…
The fog in his thoughts swirled again, flashes of crimson light and distorted voices rising briefly before fading. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he fought to hold onto the one thing that felt real.
"I'll figure this out," he whispered to himself, the words barely audible in the stillness. "I'll remember. I have to."
Changra sat alone in the cold, damp cell, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. His head throbbed with the strain of trying to remember—anything beyond that single name. He closed his eyes, the faint flicker of torchlight still dancing behind his eyelids.
Jane… Who are you?
He racked his mind, grasping at shadows and fragments, but there was nothing. No faces, no places, just the void where his memories should have been. The harder he tried, the more the silence in his mind grew deafening, like a vast, empty abyss that swallowed every thought.
His hand twitched at his side, the faintest sensation pulling at him. He looked down instinctively, his fingers brushing the air as though reaching for something unseen. A hum, soft but persistent, resonated faintly in his ears. It was distant yet familiar, like a forgotten melody.
His hand moved again, searching for the source, but there was nothing there. Just the chains, the cold stone floor, and the void in his mind.
"Where…" he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Where is it?"
The hum grew louder, vibrating through his skull. It wasn't a sound—it was a feeling, an ache deep within him. His fingers curled into a fist, his breathing quickening as the ache turned to pain. The hum became sharper, its pitch rising like a blade slicing through his thoughts.
And then, his head erupted in agony.
Changra screamed, the sound ripping through the stillness of the dungeon. It wasn't a cry of frustration or anger—it was raw, primal, filled with the kind of pain that seemed to echo from his very soul. The chains around his wrists glowed brighter, their magic flaring as if reacting to his distress.
The hum turned into a roar, a deafening cacophony that drowned out everything else. Changra clawed at his head, his nails digging into his scalp as he doubled over. His voice echoed off the stone walls, growing louder and louder until it felt as if the entire world could hear him.
"Changra!" A voice, panicked and desperate, cut through the noise.
The sound was like a lifeline, pulling him back from the brink. His screams faltered, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as the pain began to subside. He looked up, his vision blurred with tears, and saw her.
Jane.
She was standing in the doorway, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her eyes were wide with fear, her hands gripping the bars so tightly her knuckles were white. "Changra," she said again, her voice trembling. "What's happening? Are you okay?"
He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. His throat felt raw, his body trembling as he leaned back against the cold stone wall. The hum had faded now, replaced by the faint sound of his own ragged breathing.
Jane pushed the door open, rushing into the cell despite the golden chains still binding him. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly as if she wasn't sure where to touch, what to do. "Talk to me," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please, say something."
Changra blinked, his vision clearing enough to focus on her face. For a moment, the warmth of her presence cut through the fog in his mind, anchoring him. He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "Jane…"
She let out a shaky breath, relief flooding her features. "I'm here," she said softly, her hands finally settling on his shoulders. "I'm right here."
But the hum lingered at the edge of his awareness, faint but insistent, like a shadow he couldn't shake. And though he didn't understand it, though he couldn't remember anything beyond her name, he knew one thing for certain.
The dagger wasn't gone. Not completely.
Changra's breathing slowed as the pain ebbed, his body still trembling from the aftermath. Jane stayed close, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, her presence steady despite the chaos.
"Changra," she said softly, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and worry. "What happened? Are you okay?"
He shook his head slowly, his gaze dropping to the stone floor. "I… I don't know," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Everything's… empty. I don't remember anything, Jane. Nothing but your name."
Her lips parted, but no words came at first. She tightened her grip on his shoulders, her brow furrowing as she searched his face for some glimmer of recognition. "Nothing?" she repeated, her voice breaking. "You don't remember… me?"
Changra's gaze lifted to meet hers, his blue eye soft with regret while the crimson one glinted faintly in the dim light. "I want to," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I should. But it's all just… gone."
Jane's eyes filled with tears, but she quickly wiped them away, forcing a shaky smile. "It's okay," she said, though her voice wavered. "We'll figure it out. I'll help you remember."
He hesitated, his chest tightening as her words stirred something faint, something just out of reach. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling. "I mean… what are we to each other?"
Jane's smile faltered, and she looked away for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was soft but filled with quiet determination. "We're friends," she said. "You're… you're important to me, Changra. You've always been."
Her words struck something deep within him, a warmth that felt both comforting and foreign. "Friends," he repeated, his gaze lowering. "I don't feel like I deserve that."
Jane opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, cutting her off. She turned toward the door just as Merrick entered, his expression weary but focused.
"How's he doing?" Merrick asked, his gaze flicking to Changra.
Jane hesitated, glancing back at Changra before replying. "He doesn't remember anything. Just my name."
Merrick nodded slowly, his expression darkening. "I thought as much." He stepped closer, crossing his arms as he looked down at Changra. "Maybe this will help."
Changra frowned, his gaze shifting to Merrick as the older man crouched in front of him. Merrick's eyes were steady, his tone calm but heavy as he spoke. "Tessa. Liora. Callen. Do those names mean anything to you?"
Changra's brow furrowed, the names stirring something faint but ungraspable. He shook his head slowly. "No," he said, his voice quiet. "Should they?"
Jane's face fell, her hands dropping to her lap as she looked away, tears brimming in her eyes again. Merrick's jaw tightened, his voice growing sharper. "They were your friends. People who fought alongside you. People who died for you."
Changra flinched at the words, his gaze dropping. "I… I don't remember them," he said, his voice trembling. "I don't even remember me."
Merrick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Jane, his expression softening slightly. "I thought it might jog something. I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," Jane interrupted, though her voice was strained. She stood abruptly, brushing past Merrick as she moved toward the door. "I just need a minute."
Merrick watched her go, his expression heavy with guilt. He turned back to Changra, his tone softer now. "You'll remember, kid. It's in there somewhere. You just need time."
Changra didn't respond. His hands tightened into fists, the golden chains around his wrists glowing faintly as he stared at the floor. The names echoed in his mind, but they were hollow, like distant whispers he couldn't reach.
Merrick sighed again, standing and heading toward the door. "I'll give you some space," he said, his tone quieter. "We'll figure this out."
As the door creaked shut behind him, Changra sat in the silence, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. The names—Tessa, Liora, Callen—swirled in his mind, blending with the single name he did know.
"Jane…" he murmured, his voice filled with quiet frustration. "Who am I?"
The silence of the dungeon weighed heavily on Changra, each passing second pressing down like an invisible hand. He sat motionless, staring at his bound wrists, the golden chains glinting faintly in the dim torchlight.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The names Merrick had said—Tessa, Liora, Callen—echoed in his mind, hollow and unrecognizable. His chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface.
Who am I? The thought consumed him, a spiral of anger and confusion twisting tighter with every moment. Why can't I remember anything? Why don't I know who they are?
The anger surged, his fists slamming against the stone floor with a dull thud. "Why?" he growled, his voice low and trembling. His blue eye glinted in the flickering light, while the crimson one pulsed faintly, a dark reminder of something he couldn't yet understand. "Why can't I remember anything?"
His breathing quickened, the weight of the chains and the void in his mind pushing him closer to the edge. The frustration turned inward, his nails digging deeper into his palms until the skin broke, tiny rivulets of blood pooling in his hands.
"Why?" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He slammed his fists against the floor again, the pain sharp but grounding. The sight of the blood only made the anger worse. He wanted to feel something—anything—that made sense.
The hum of the dagger returned faintly in the back of his mind, a sinister, familiar rhythm. His head throbbed, the noise fueling the spiral of frustration. He gritted his teeth, his voice rising in a pained cry. "What is wrong with me?!"
The sound of footsteps rushed down the corridor, and the cell door burst open. Jane stood there, her eyes wide with panic as she took in the scene—Changra kneeling on the ground, his fists bloodied, his breath ragged and uneven.
"Changra!" she called, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly as she tried to gauge what to do. "Hey, it's okay. Calm down. Please."
Her voice cut through the noise, a faint warmth in the chaos of his mind. Changra's breaths slowed slightly, the tension in his body easing as her presence wrapped around him like a shield. Her hands finally settled on his, her touch gentle as she tried to still his trembling fists.
But the moment her skin touched his, Changra flinched violently, pulling his hands away as if her touch had burned him. His body recoiled, his gaze snapping to hers, wide with something between fear and confusion.
Jane froze, her brow furrowing as she withdrew her hands slightly. "Changra…" she said softly, her voice tinged with hurt. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
But Changra didn't respond. His breathing quickened again, his gaze dropping to his hands, now smeared with blood. The warmth of her touch lingered faintly, stirring something deep within him—a memory, distant and fractured.
He squeezed his eyes shut as the memory clawed its way to the surface.
A hand. Cold, rough, gripping his arm tightly, pulling him toward a shadowed figure. A voice, low and angry, slurring its words. "You'll learn to behave, boy. One way or another."
Another hand, smaller but no less cruel, striking his cheek. Laughter followed, sharp and venomous. "You're worthless. Do you hear me? Worthless."
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Changra gasping for breath, his hands clutching his head. His voice trembled as he spoke, barely above a whisper. "They used to… they used to hit me."
Jane's heart broke at the words, her hands hovering uncertainly again. "Changra…" she said softly, her voice filled with quiet sorrow. "Who? Who hurt you?"
"I don't know," he said, his voice cracking. He pressed his palms to his temples, his crimson eye glowing faintly as he tried to hold himself together. "I don't know who they were. But I can feel it. I can feel their hands."
Jane reached out again, slower this time, her hand settling gently on his shoulder. Changra didn't flinch this time, though his body tensed under her touch. Her voice was soft, steady. "You're not there anymore. You're here. With me."
Her words pierced through the fog, grounding him just enough to take a shuddering breath. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though his hands still trembled.
"I don't know who I am," he whispered, his voice breaking. "But I don't want to be them."
Jane's grip on his shoulder tightened, her tears falling freely now as she leaned closer. "You're not them," she said firmly. "You're Changra. You're more than whatever they did to you. I promise."