The world narrowed to the space between the three of them: the blood-covered boy, the kind-eyed girl, and the slavering beast.
At the sound of the girl's voice, the wolf-like creature had frozen, its green eyes flicking between its prey and the new arrival. A low, uncertain growl rumbled in its chest. The boy stood paralyzed, his body still thrumming with the cold, instinctual energy that had guided his escape. He wanted to shout, to push the girl behind him, to do something, but his limbs were locked.
The girl, however, did not scream. Her initial shock melted into a swift, practical calm. Her eyes hardened as she looked past the boy at the creature. She didn't back away. Instead, she took a single, deliberate step forward, placing herself slightly in front of the boy, her basket of herbs held loosely in one hand.
"Shoo!" she commanded, her voice firm, echoing in the small clearing. "Be gone, Grimalkin! You know the rules. This close to Sunhaven, you are the trespasser."
The beast—the 'Grimalkin'—took a half-step back, its ears flattening against its skull. It seemed confused by her lack of fear. It sniffed the air, catching the scent of the herbs in her basket—something sharp and pungent—and let out a whine. The girl held her ground, her gaze unwavering.
After a tense moment that stretched into an eternity, the Grimalkin snarled one last time, then turned and slunk back into the shadows of the thicket, its form disappearing into the dappled gloom.
The silence it left behind was deafening.
The boy's legs gave out, and he crumpled to his knees, the adrenaline draining from his body as quickly as it had come, leaving him trembling and hollow. He stared at the ground, the image of the girl facing down the monster burned into his mind.
"Hey," her voice was soft again, a gentle contrast to the authority she'd wielded moments before. "It's alright. It's gone."
He felt a hand, gentle but firm, on his shoulder. The touch was so foreign, so unexpected, that he flinched violently, scrambling back a few feet on the mossy ground. The memory of cold metal on his wrist flashed again, so brief it was more a feeling than an image.
The girl withdrew her hand quickly, her expression pained. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She knelt down, keeping a respectful distance. "My name is Elara. I'm a sister from the Sunhaven Orphanage, just beyond these woods. Can you tell me your name?"
He looked up at her, at Elara. Her face was open, honest. There was no malice there, only a deep and genuine concern. He wanted to answer her. He truly did. He opened his mouth, searching the empty vault of his memory for a label, a title, anything that belonged to him.
Nothing.
A tear, hot and frustrating, escaped and traced a clean path through the grime and dried blood on his cheek. He shook his head, a tiny, helpless motion.
"I... I don't know," he whispered, the confession feeling like a failure. "I don't remember anything."
Elara's eyes softened further, filling with a sadness that seemed too old for her young face. "Oh, you poor soul," she murmured. "The blood... is it yours? Are you hurt?"
He looked down at himself again, patting his chest and arms. "I don't... I don't think so. It doesn't feel like it's mine." The statement was absurd, but it was the only truth he had.
Elara nodded slowly, thinking. "Alright. Well, the first thing is to get you cleaned up and somewhere safe. You can't stay out here." She offered a small, reassuring smile. "Will you come with me? To Sunhaven? It's a warm place, with food and a soft bed. No Grimalkin, I promise."
The offer was a lifeline thrown into his sea of confusion. Go with a stranger? To an unknown place? Every primal instinct should have screamed at him to run, to hide. But the cold, analytical part of him—the part that had outmaneuvered the beast—was silent. And the part of him that was just a scared, lost boy was desperately lonely. He looked into Elara's eyes and saw no deception, only sanctuary.
He gave a small, hesitant nod.
"Good," she said, her smile warming. She stood up and shouldered her basket. "Let's get you out of this forest."
As they began to walk, Elara kept a careful, non-threatening distance, but she talked, her voice a steady, calming stream. She pointed out harmless, fluffy-tailed squirrels and named the trees—the sturdy oaks and the whispering willows that marked the forest's edge. She explained that the orphanage was home to a dozen other children, all lost and found in their own ways. She spoke of the world in simple, foundational terms—of the human kingdom of Liora they lived in, of the great city of Govana to the east, of the currencies of gold, silver, and bronze used there.
He listened, rapt, his curiosity, a bright and new sensation, momentarily overpowering his fear. This was his first lesson. This was the world being painted onto the blank canvas of his mind.
"But you need a name," Elara said gently after a while, as the trees began to thin. "Everyone needs a name. It's the first gift you give yourself." She looked at him, studying his face as they walked. "You need a name. Something strong, but kind. Like you."
He looked at her, puzzled. Like him? How could she know what he was like?
She stopped walking, and he stopped with her. They were at the very edge of the forest. Before them lay rolling hills, and in the distance, he could see a large, warm-looking stone building with a smoking chimney, surrounded by a wooden fence. Sunhaven.
Elara turned to him, her gaze focusing on his eyes. The late afternoon sun caught them fully, and she gasped softly, a smile gracing her lips.
"The rim of your eyes," she whispered. "In the light... they have a rim of the purest gold I've ever seen." Her smile widened with decision. "Rimo. How about Rimo?"
He repeated the word silently. Rimo. It felt... strange on his tongue. But it also felt solid. Real. It was a sound he could attach to himself. It was the first piece of his new identity.
"Rimo," he said aloud, testing the weight of it. It wasn't a memory, but it was a promise.
Elara beamed. "Welcome, Rimo."
As they approached the wooden gates of the orphanage, the sound of shouting and playful laughter from within grew louder. Rimo felt a fresh wave of anxiety, his steps faltering. So many people. So many unknowns.
Elara placed a reassuring hand on the gate. "It's going to be alright. Just stay close to—"
The gate burst open before she could finish.
A boy their age stood there, panting slightly, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. He was tall, with a mop of unruly dark hair and eyes as dark as the forest shadows. His confidence was a physical force, a stark contrast to Rimo's trembling uncertainty.
"Elara! You're back!" the boy exclaimed. Then his dark eyes landed on Rimo, taking in the bloodied, tattered clothes, the pale face, the uncertain posture. His grin widened, not with malice, but with unabashed curiosity.
"And who's the scarecrow?"