We stopped in front of a massive wooden door, reinforced with bands of rusted iron. The nobleman pivoted toward me, his face losing all trace of his previous amusement. He straightened to his full height, crushing me with his natural authority.
"Listen to me very carefully," he said in a low but razor-sharp voice. "I won't repeat myself twice."
He paused, fixing me with an intensity that froze my blood. A strange sensation ran down my spine. Given this man's grave air, I suddenly understood this wasn't a simple walk. The game I'd fallen into was beyond comprehension. It was a chess match where I knew neither the rules nor the players, and worst of all, I still couldn't remember who I was. I was a blind pawn.
I pushed these parasitic thoughts away and nodded, ready to record every word.
"Good, listen young man. Behind this door is the South Tavern of the kingdom. I believe the Chief told you about this area when you were in the cave."
The Chief...
I frowned, surprised to hear this detail that resonated in me like a distant bell. I searched through the mists of my recent memory. The image of Kenis, his face weathered by the blue neons of the cave, rose to the surface.
"Oh yes..." I said slowly. "You mean the man who was in the cave? The one who found me?"
The man scratched his beard thoughtfully, a half-smile reappearing briefly.
"Well, at least that's good news. Let's say your memory isn't totally damaged. It's a start."
He immediately became serious again, his index finger rising to emphasize the importance of his words:
"OK. As I was saying, here we are in the south quarter. It's the intestine of the kingdom. This place is unstable, not to say explosive. Misery rules here as master, and it makes men bad. Here, people are hostile, suspicious, and they don't like newcomers, especially those who look like... that."
He gestured vaguely at my rags before continuing:
"That's why, once inside, you'll have to become a shadow. Be discreet. Silent. Don't speak to anyone. Be as neutral as possible and, above all, avoid meeting their eyes. One look too many here is an invitation to duel."
Courage, or perhaps recklessness, pushed me to ask:
"Why?"
He sighed, annoyed by my naivety.
"Don't ask questions. You'll understand very quickly from the smell of blood. Once inside, if you greet people and they don't respond—which will happen—don't stop. Just follow me until I take you somewhere safe. Is that clear?"
I'd barely had time to murmur a weak "OK" when he'd already grabbed the iron handle.
"Good. Let's go in."
Grriiiii...
The hinges creaked sinisterly, and the door opened onto another world.
I was instantly assaulted. This wasn't a simple inn—it was a den, an anthill of vice. The place was immense, drowned in semi-darkness pierced by the flickering light of greasy torches and smoky oil lamps. The air was thick, saturated with a sickening mixture of cold tobacco, spilled beer, rancid sweat, and grilled meat.
It was a "Court of Miracles" nightmare version. Dozens of men and women filled the room. At the east table, a group of individuals with faces marked by deep scars looked like highway robbers or faithless mercenaries. They counted dirty gold coins while drinking straight from the pitcher. To the west, dealers exchanged small leather pouches for dubious vials. Everything here reeked of organized crime, illegality, and despair.
The hubbub was deafening: bursts of coarse laughter, curses, the sound of mugs clashing together.
We moved forward. I stuck to my guide's heels, doing my best to make myself invisible, not to break the survival rules he'd just laid out for me. I stared at the back of his noble jacket, refusing to look elsewhere.
But chaos attracts the eye.
Suddenly, a dull sound—Thud! Smack!—drew my attention to my right. I couldn't help but turn my head.
The scene froze me. A massive man sat straddling another, much frailer one, and was beating him with frightening method. Each punch produced a sinister crack. The victim wasn't moving anymore, but the attacker continued.
Around them, the spectators didn't try to intervene. On the contrary. They laughed. They applauded. It was a show for them, a distraction like any other.
I looked away, my stomach turning. Oh my God... I thought, panic gripping my throat. Where have you brought me? Into what circle of hell have I fallen? And why, damn it, can I still not remember anything?
My guide hadn't stopped. He cut through the crowd like Moses parting the waters, his aura of nobility acting as an invisible shield. No one dared approach him. He headed toward a worm-eaten wooden staircase that creaked with every step.
We climbed, leaving the lion's den behind us. The air became a bit more breathable upstairs, although the smell of mold permeated the walls. We walked along a narrow corridor with many closed doors, behind which murmurs and sighs could be heard.
Finally, he stopped in front of the last door in the corridor. He pulled a black iron key from his pocket and opened it.
"Listen," he said, turning toward me. "This will be your new room. It's basic, I know, but it's temporary. You'll stay here until I come to get you."
He saw my hesitation and raised his hand to cut off any protest.
"Don't thank me. This is a strict order Chief Kenis gave me. Outside, you're a target. Here, you're safe. A knife blade in the belly is much more uncomfortable than the boredom of waiting in this room, believe me. Rest, you need it."
He stepped back, preparing to close the door and leave me alone with my demons.
The panic of abandonment seized me. I couldn't let him leave like that. Not without knowing. I moved forward suddenly and put my hand on the door panel.
"Wait a moment, sir!"
He froze, surprised by my boldness. He looked at me, one eyebrow raised, waiting for the rest.
"Yes? I'm listening."
I was frozen, searching for my words. The language I spoke instinctively suddenly seemed complex, treacherous. I was afraid of formulating badly, of offending him, but the need to know was stronger than anything. I took a deep breath to calm the trembling in my voice.
"Uh... Sir..."
I plunged my gaze into his, seeking an ounce of truth.
"I'd like to know... Who is this person? Not Chief Kenis... But the person who saved me first? Who found me and brought me to the cave?"
The nobleman froze, and for the first time, I saw a shadow pass through his clear eyes.
The man planted his gaze in mine with new intensity, an intensity that seemed to want to probe the depths of my skull.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked, his low voice vibrating with suspicious curiosity. "Why this obsession with your savior when you should worry about your survival?"
The question floated in the corridor's stale air. I felt my hands become clammy. It was a trap question, perhaps. But I only had the truth to offer. I gathered my courage, lifted my chin, and answered:
"It's important to me. It's vital. Maybe seeing their face or hearing their name would help me stitch the pieces together. Maybe it would trigger something... a memory of what happened before the cave."
A silence stretched. The man observed me for another moment, weighing my sincerity. A glimmer of compassion finally crossed his aristocratic mask, even though he kept that unbridgeable professional distance.
"We'll talk about it later," he decided. "This is neither the place nor the time. Right now, you need to rest. Your body is standing by miracle."
He searched in his inner pocket and pulled out a brass key, heavy and cold.
"By the way, I almost forgot. Here's the key to your room. Keep it safe."
He handed me the key, which I grasped hesitantly.
"Have a good evening, I'll contact you later. Oh, and one last thing: I had spare clothes prepared in the wardrobe. Get rid of those rags, you attract too much attention. You can change, take your time... but be ready."
He made as if to leave, then turned around, index finger raised in warning:
"And above all, be awake very early tomorrow. Standing in front of your bed, ready to go."
I frowned, anxiety rising a notch.
"Tomorrow? What do you mean? What's happening tomorrow?"
"Hey," he cut me off sharply. "Just do what I told you. No questions. See you tomorrow, the man who remembers nothing..."
With these cutting words, he turned on his heel. The sound of his boots faded on the corridor's creaking floor, leaving me alone facing door number 7.
I slid the key into the lock. Click-clack. The mechanism, well-oiled, turned without effort. I pushed the wooden panel. It was a modest door, rustic, that blended perfectly with the dilapidated aspect of the corridor. I expected to find a pallet, a flea-infested straw mattress.
But when I crossed the threshold, I remained speechless.
The interior had nothing to do with the exterior. It was another world. The room was vast, spacious, bathed in soft light from oil lamps with polished glass. The air was fresh, deliciously aerated, chasing away the nauseating smells of the tavern below. The walls, far from being leprous, were covered with varnished woodwork, magnificent and warm.
On my left, a built-in bookshelf, filled with books with ancient leather bindings, rose to the ceiling. A massive wooden table, finely carved, stood near a window with closed shutters. It was discreet, intellectual luxury, almost royal.
I walked around the room, my bare feet sinking into a thick carpet. I ran my hand over the back of a velvet armchair, incredulous. I watched every corner, every shadow.
Why? The question looped. Why offer such a miniature palace to an amnesiac vagabond? Why was this nobleman doing all this for an unknown person like me? Was it a gilded prison? Or was I someone important without knowing it?
I let myself fall heavily on the sofa. The soft comfort enveloped me, and my aching muscles relaxed instantly. I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to dive backward. I looked for the wedding, the white lace, the woman's face... but nothing came. Just blackness and fatigue.
I sighed, rubbing my face.
"Ah, maybe with time, these memories will come back," I murmured to reassure myself.
I got up with difficulty. The smell of my own body—sweat, dried blood, damp cave—suddenly caught in my throat. I needed to wash myself. To purify myself.
I pushed the adjacent door. The bathroom was a small marvel of ingenuity. The setting was modest but decorated with colorful tiles that caught the light. The white porcelain sink sparkled. There was running water, a complex plumbing system that I seemed to recognize instinctively. Everything was equipped, complete, perfect. Fluffy towels were folded on a shelf.
I entered the shower. I turned the copper faucet. Water gushed out, scalding, beneficial.
As soon as the hot liquid hit my bruised shoulders, a shiver ran through me. I closed my eyes, letting the water stream over my face, washing away the physical grime and trying to soothe the mental chaos. Steam rose, creating a white, warm cocoon around me.
And suddenly, it was no longer shower steam.
Flash.
The sound of water changed. It was no longer the powerful jet of plumbing, but the gentle lapping of a bath.
I was no longer alone. I saw myself, immersed in a large wooden bathtub, surrounded by candles. Beside me was this woman. The same one. From the wedding. My memory still refused to give me her name, but my heart was racing.
We were against each other, my skin against hers, in absolute intimacy. The water was perfumed with essential oils, a scent of lavender and hope. Her hands gently soaped my shoulders, and I felt her warm breath on my neck.
She was so happy. Her face radiated pure joy, almost blinding. She turned her head toward me, her eyes sparkling with mischief and love, and her voice, crystalline, echoed in my head as if she were there, with me in the shower:
"But... you really want to make this place a home, don't you?" she murmured. "You did well to choose this city. The city of Zarel is truly magnificent... Here, we have all the opportunities to grow. And especially..."
She took my hand and gently placed it on her flat belly.
"...to be able to properly welcome our future child."
BAM!
I jumped violently, almost slipping on the wet ceramic. The memory evaporated instantly, chased away by the shock of revelation. My heart pounded wildly, resonating against my eardrums louder than the sound of water.
"Zarel!" I panted, water streaming over my dazed face. "Zarel City!"
I repeated this name like an incantation. Finally! Finally, I'd found a tangible lead! It was no longer just blurry images—it was a name, a geographical place. I'd solved a mystery! And... a child? Was I going to be a father? Or was I already?
This thought made me dizzy, but also gave me new, fierce energy. I couldn't stay there stewing. I had to write down this name, I had to find a map, I had to know where Zarel was in relation to this cursed citadel.
I cut the water abruptly.
I got out of the cabin, soaked, grabbing a towel on the fly that I wrapped around my waist with feverish gestures. I didn't even take time to dry myself properly. I had to return to the living room, search this library, find something that would connect me to this memory.
I threw open the bathroom door, steam escaping behind me like a cloud. I took a quick step toward the center of the room, eyes riveted on the desk in the distance.
But I never reached it.
Suddenly, my body hit something supple but solid. I crashed headlong into a silhouette advancing toward me in the muffled silence of the room, without me noticing.
I stepped back under the impact, almost losing my towel, and looked up, ready to apologize or defend myself.
Time froze. My breath caught completely in my throat, transforming my cry of surprise into stunned silence.
Before me stood...
---