Despite its lack of detail, the answer Liraeth gave to Tenth’s hopeful question was… comforting. It reassured him in a way he never expected. He was ready to learn of the man’s motives, of the purpose of his visit to the castle, of the traces of the tragedy that may have still been lurking in the charred halls and collapsed corridors. He was hoping to gain some hints to the events of the past few days, something that would cut through the haze that enveloped his memory, something his own search for survivors had regrettably missed.

Instead, he learned that Liraeth considered finding him a good thing.

The man didn’t really put it that way, but he said it counted for something, and whatever it counted for, it filled Tenth with the sense of purpose he so desperately lacked. His presence was wanted! Warmth spread through his chest, drawing a sigh out of him – not a smile, not yet, he didn’t know if he still remembered how to smile, but a sign of a feeling other than worry and pain, as foreign to him as the brightness of the sun and the sensation of wind on his exposed skin.

He didn’t mean to stare but couldn’t help a curious glance at the man when he removed his hood. The aquamarine caught his eye – a foreign, rare color, as beautiful as it was mysterious. It fit Liraeth well. 

Tenth looked away, turning his gaze to the setting sun instead, feeling foolish and ashamed, like he’d crossed a line just then. They walked in silence for a while. He was grateful for that.

“My head works fine,” he was quick to assure, his answer confident but his phrasing avoidant. It was the same logical loop that threw him off when Liraeth asked how he was feeling. His head didn’t feel fine, but it didn’t feel like he was ill or injured, either, so the easiest way to answer was with something else, something more important, something the other man would probably like to know first and foremost.

And Tenth’s head worked fine, even if the incessant buzzing in his ears was gradually turning painful.

“I can think now. I’m sorry.”

The memory of how he’d acted earlier made him wince. Liraeth had been so patient with him then. He hardly deserved it.

“I should tell you, I no longer hold the title you call me by,” he confessed, his head hanging low in growing shame. “I called myself a knight, but I don’t have the right to, after what I’d done.”

His fists clenched, nails digging into the skin of his palms, drawing blood. He spoke with conviction and – deep, deep below it – with anger, with relentless fury directed at no one but himself.

“When the tragedy struck, my liege summoned me for a task. I’ve been trying to recall what it was for some time now, but I can’t, just as I can’t remember what it was that brought the castle down. Every time I try, it’s…”

He frowned, once again attempting to make sense of his memories, but there were gaps, blanks full of nothing, and they lit up in bright reds every time he dared disturb the stillness of ignorance. A short hiss of pain escaped him – the only hint of the agonizing headache that felt as though it was about to split his skull in two.

“…useless,” he finished the sentence with effort, taking a deep breath. “I know only that I failed – no, not failed – refused my task, and now my liege is dead. You’ve been… kind to me, but I fear that finding me counts for less than you’re hoping.”