Damian

I blinked my eyes open, greeted by the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, casting silvery beams that were creating patterns on the worn wooden floor. My head throbbed like a war drum that felt like a band of dwarves had taken residence in my skull, clanking their hammers against the walls of my mind. I slowly blinked away the remaining haze of sleep, and my eyes darted around the cramped quarters of our shared room, struggling to gather my fragmented thoughts.

Memories danced just out of reach, teasing me. What had I done to end up here? I rubbed my temples, trying to conjure up something - anything - but came up empty-handed. I was a ghost in a strange body, the punchline to a joke I didn't even know I was telling.

Just as I began to resign to the headache that threatened to split my skull, the door creaked open, and in walked Misha. His messy brown hair hung in wild disarray, framing his eyes that seemed perpetually wide with concern. He sighed wistfully as he stood there, his gaze settling on the floor with a mixture of fascination and something else - a crimson flush was blooming across his cheeks like spring flowers after a long winter, and instantly I forgot my own headache

I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's got you looking like a tomato, Misha?" I mused, leaning back against the headboard, amused by his sudden redness.

"Damian!" Misha squeaked, nearly jumping out of his skin as if I had set off a firecracker right next to him. "Y-you scared me!" he stammered, backing up as if he feared I would strike him again with my startling presence. "I thought you were still asleep!"

I chuckled, enjoying my inadvertent ability to startle him. "Though I can't recall why I woke up with a headache, I'm glad to know it's good for making my friends fluster."

Misha huffed, crossing his arms defensively. The blush on his cheeks deepening. "I-I'm not flustered by anything!" he stammered, obviously flustered. He swatted at my teasing expression, which was an ineffective gesture, and he threw his hands up in exasperation when he saw my grin.

I snickered at his unimpressed glare, reveling in the fleeting moment of levity, before my curiosity rediscovered its sharpness. "Really, though. Why the blush?"

With a reluctant sigh, Misha shuffled over to the adjacent bed. He sat down gingerly, his shoulders slumping as if they carried the weight of the world. "Um, I met someone outside..." he murmured, his words barely above a whisper.

My interest piqued, and I leaned closer, a grin playing on my lips. "Someone?" I asked teasingly. "Is this a crush I hear about?"

Misha huffed indignantly, glaring at me like a cat cornered but apprehensive. "It's not like that! I-" He hesitated, his face scrunching up like he had bitten into something sour. "This person is just - really enticing."

I leaned back, adopting an over-exaggerated thoughtful expression. "So, you do have a crush then?" I teased, loving the way his irritation was painted across his features.

"I told you it's not that, stupid!" he protested. "It's just... complicated!"

"Oh, come now, it can't be that complicated," I said, barely suppressing my laughter.

Misha, visibly torn between mortification and irritation, paused to gather his thoughts. "He's staying in the room across from ours..." He spoke softly, almost sheepishly. "And he's... astonishingly beautiful."

"Ah! So it is a crush," I replied, drawing out the syllables playfully, bringing another groan from my fretful friend.

"I said it's not-"

"So what's his name? Are you going to ask him out on a date?" I interrupted, and before I knew it, a pillow launched in my direction, and I ducked, laughing uncontrollably as I threw my hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! Just tell me their name!"

His eyes darted away, staring at the empty floorboards as if they held the answers to all of life's mysteries. "I'm not sure I should tell you," he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"Ah, come on! You know I thrive on your melodramatic emotions! It's delightful watching you squirm," I replied, relishing the moment.

Misha crossed his arms defiantly, a frown on his face that was impossible to take seriously. "His name is Enaeya," he finally admitted, as though the name itself was precious, hard-won from his lips. "I bumped into Enaeya when I was-"

"Enaeya... " I repeated, a chill ran down my spine at the name, and the world around me turned hazy. Images danced in the recess of my mind - soft silken hair, skin like porcelain illuminated by the sun, laughter that sang in the air. I recalled seeing Enaeya with a little girl, her tiny hand clasped in his delicate fingers, a picture of serenity and beauty. I had been entranced, mesmerized by the person wearing beauty like folks wear subtle yet striking robes.

"-we were actually talking about stuff like the-"

"Does this Enaeya have hair that's soft and fine as silk?" I interrupted, feeling the gravity of the moment.

Misha blinked, then nodded slowly, clearly confused by my intensity. "Y-Yes, that's exactly it. How did you-"

"And smooth skin that just screams beauty?" I cut in again, urgency weaving through my words.

"Yes..." He frowned, studying me as if I'd suddenly sprouted horns. "How do you - do you know him?"

"I don't know him. Not exactly. I just..." I hesitated, struggling to articulate the flurry of emotions that whipped through me, and unsure of what revelation my thoughts were leading to. What did I know? I had witnessed Enaeya's beauty from afar, but it was the connection I felt, brief as it was, that made my heart thump against my ribcage like a war drum.

"I saw him. Once, when we were walking around the city. He had a little girl with him," I said, my voice losing some of its buoyant tone. "I was... entranced..." I murmured, almost to myself, recalling the way Enaeya had smiled, casting the day in warm hues even as shadows chattered around the edges.

"You were?" Misha's voice, filled with surprise and incredulity, nudged me back into the present.

"Like a lost fool wandering the streets until he stumbled into sunlight," I replied, the corners of my mouth quirking up.

Misha's eyes widened, his excitement palpable. "So you understand! You see why I'm so..." He trailed off, his cheeks still pink as he fidgeted in place.

"Why you're so flustered about a beautiful man, yes. I get it." I leaned back again, allowing a small, smug smile to weave through my features. "Now the question is whether you'll do anything about it. It seems you have a beautiful man on your doorstep."

Misha turned a deeper shade of crimson, breaking some imaginary barrier of embarrassment. "Do you expect me to just approach him? What am I supposed to say? 'Hello, handsome stranger. I, too, am a nervous wreck?'"

I couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "Hey, you're a shaman's apprentice. You possess wisdom and charm. Just let that shine through!"

"Charm?" He scoffed. "I think that's your department."

"So, what's stopping you? What's he like?" I pressed, fighting actual excitement for my friend's sake.

Misha hesitated. "He's kind... genuine. When we spoke briefly, he made me feel..." he sighed, pausing as if choosing the right words. "He made me feel... comfortable." There was a rare spark in Misha's eyes as he spoke, a glimmer of something enchanted.

A grin danced across my lips at his words. "If I had known that my dear friend would become smitten by such beauty, I would've asked the god of love to bless you with requited romance." I gestured dramatically, and Misha rolled his eyes, though I could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

Just as I was about to articulate a brilliant philosophical point about the benefits of having a romantic life, a sharp knock interrupted the moment. Misha's eyes widened, and in an instant, he sprang to his feet as if propelled by an unseen force.

"That must be food!" he exclaimed, giddy with anticipation, before rushing to the door. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush as he swung the door open to reveal a lanky worker with a platter brimming with delicacies.

As the innworker entered, the warm, delectable scent of cooked meats and baked goods wafted through the air, invigorating my senses. The worker placed a beautifully arranged platter on the nearby table before thanking Misha for his order and leaving as quickly as he came. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the enticing aroma coaxing me to join Misha by the table.

The scents wafted over to me, a tantalizing blend that shimmied through my senses. I sat up, the weight of my own cravings pulling me toward the table like a moth drawn to a flame. "Alright, what culinary delight did you conjure up for us tonight?" I asked, my curiosity piqued as I plopped down into a chair by the table.

"Two pandemain, a muscadine, a caudle, and a blawmanger," Misha said, settling himself the adjacent chair as he rubbed his hands together, eyes alight with excitement. "The blawmanger and the muscadine wine are for you."

"Fanciest meal I've had in ages," I grinned, my heart lightening at the thought of the sweet muscadine wine and the silky texture of the blawmanger. I reached for the muscadine, letting the nectar drip from the goblet and caressing my taste buds with its richness. "Damn, this is heavenly!"

Misha wasted no time digging into his food, tearing apart a piece of pandemain and dipping it into the caudle. I watched him, an amused grin spreading across my face. "So," I started, struggling to hold back laughter, "How old are you now, oh, ancient one?"

His cheeks flushed slightly as he swallowed, "Nineteen."

I couldn't resist the opportunity to jab at him a bit. "Misha, were you aware that caudle is typically a drink for mothers who just gave birth?" I chuckled before continuing, "I hope you're not planning on telling a flock of mystical birthing stories tonight."

Misha's expression shifted to one of irritation, as if I had just summoned a swarm of sarcasm from the depths of the unseen. "Just because it's popular for women who have just given birth doesn't mean I can't enjoy it!" he retorted as he took another dip of the pandemain, his brows furrowing as he tried to maintain his composure. He looked angry, though his indignation was somewhat undermined by the blush creeping across his cheeks.

"Apologies, my friend. You sound just like your short-tempered master." I couldn't help the snicker that escaped me when Misha glared at me, though his eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter.

"I'm not angry, just... hungry," he replied, stuffing more pandemain into his mouth.

"So you're hangry, then?" I replied, a sparkle of mischief igniting in my chest.

Misha paused mid-bite, his brow scrunching in confusion. "Yes, that's what I said. I'm hungry."

I leaned slightly back, shaking my head. "Nope, not that. I meant hangry, with an 'A'." I said, taking another generous sip of muscadine, reveling in the taste.

"What does that even mean?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow, perplexed.

"Hangry," I explained, my laughter bubbling to the surface, "Is a clever concoction of 'hungry' and 'angry.' You're so hungry that it's making you angry."

"Hangry. Hmph." He rolled his eyes dramatically as if I had just described the intricacies of a particularly dull potion. "Yes, I'm hangry!"

Laughter bubbled uncontrollably from my lips. Misha threw a piece of pandemain bread at me with a hint of playfulness. "You're impossible, you know that?" he sighed, shaking his head.

I chuckled, digging into my own plate, "And yet you keep me around."

We both fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of chewing and clattering plates. Misha was entirely focused on his two pandemain, exuding a kind of intense concentration that made me wonder if he had a secret rivalry with food.

"By the way," Misha broke the silence, wiping a crumb from his chin, "How did you know about the caudle?"

"It was in a newspaper I glanced at in the lobby," I replied, taking another sip of my muscadine and feeling both elated and guilty that I had enough clarity to follow the threads of humor and friendship that seemed to weave between us. "Under the section discussing local traditions and celebrations."

He nodded, visibly relieved to know that my memory wasn't a complete void when it came to random facts. "You really should read more," he said, his tone a mix of concern and gentle encouragement.

"Why read those boring stuff when I can have charming conversations with witty companions like you?" I winked at him, and he groaned again but couldn't hide the slight smile creeping onto his face.

We chewed on our meals in good-natured silence for a moment, the flow of food leading to a natural pause. Misha dipped another piece of pandemain into the caudle, his face a mix of delight and concentration, his focus entirely lost in the flavors. It was heartening to see him less fretted for once, and I took a moment to bask in the camaraderie.

I sank into the plush chair, the lamplight casting flickering shadows on the walls, giving the space a warm glow. The tantalizing scent of muscadine wine, blawmanger, and fresh bread wafted from the table, filling my stomach with anticipation. I took a generous bite, savoring the flavors, when I noticed Misha shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his worried face catching the glimmers of candlelight. He bit his lip, a frown forming as he stared intently at his plate, then his anxious voice broke through the comfortable silence.

"Damian, do you remember what happened back at Mienna's greenhouse?" he asked, his messy brown hair bobbing slightly as he leaned forward, worry creasing his brow. “I can’t shake the feeling that something went wrong back there.”

My eyes darted upward, a spoonful of blawmanger hovering near my mouth. I strained to conjure the images of that time, but the details were shrouded in fog. "Uh… not really," I admitted, shaking my head as I chewed. A moment ticked by, and I squinted at Misha. "Do you know what happened?”

Misha's gaze dropped to the table, the distant look in his brown eyes suggesting he was rummaging through his own recollections. "After we helped the doctors with the victims of that strange illness, I lost track of you! I was worried sick!" His voice trembled slightly, adding urgency to his words. The young apprentice wrung his hands together. "I spent hours looking for you and found you unconscious in the greenhouse!"

I could almost see the words tangling in Misha’s mind. He was like an environmentally cautious squirrel, always worried about the worst. I leaned back in my chair, feigning nonchalance. “We must’ve just lost track of time. You know how the greenhouse is — it feels like a world unto itself.”

His expressive brown eyes widened. “But I even checked that greenhouse! It was empty when I looked!”

A frown creased my brow, confusion swirling like autumn leaves. “You mean to tell me you looked for me in the place I was later found unconscious? That’s strange, even for us.”

“I thought so too!” Misha was now practically gnawing at his fingernails. “What happened back there? Maybe it was Mienna's doing.”

“Mienna...” I scratched my chin, trying to untangle the haze surrounding my memory. The elven sorceress with her silky brunette hair, her purple eyes captivating yet mysteriously unsettling. “I remember Mienna,” I said slowly. "After we met her, there was a commotion outside. People started convulsing. We ran to find out what was happening. You—"

"Volunteered to help with the doctors," Misha interjected, his eyes widening as if the answer was just beyond our reach. "But then… That was the last time I saw you."

“But I can’t recall anything after I watched you help the victim. It’s like I fell asleep in the middle of a nightmare.” I leaned back, letting frustration wash over me. “Maybe I just fainted?”

Misha chewed on his fingernail nervously. “Or maybe it was Mienna’s doing.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You think she… what? Cast a spell on me?”

“Who knows?” Misha's tone was half-observational, half-defensive. “You didn’t have any issues until you met her, right? Something strange must have happened.”

“True…” A series of thoughts and possibilities swirled in my mind. “I can only guess,” I replied, my thoughts clouding over. “It’s maddening to not remember. Perhaps I ran into her again? A second encounter, perhaps? But I honestly can't recall anything after we headed out to see what was happening in the city.”

Misha sighed, his shoulders drooping under the weight of uncertainty. “We should return to my master and report everything. She’ll know what to do.”

“Back to that dreary, foggy forest?” I whined, gesturing dramatically, earning a fleeting smile from Misha. "I was not made for muck and mire. Liriendel is far better, Misha! Look at this place—”

“Damian,” Misha rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “The forest isn’t that bad, you know. It’s where I learned everything!”

“No, Misha, think about the squirrel that swiped my bread while I was busy enjoying the tranquility!” I pointedly recalled, feeling a mixture of annoyance and humor surfacing. "That rodent is a master criminal. Nothing is safe in your master’s forest."

“That was just one time!” He protested, a hint of laughter creeping into his voice.

I leaned closer, my voice lowering conspiratorially. “A one-time thing? Remember when I left my clothes outside to dry? Some critter chewed a hole in my shirt! And that boar that decided I was its next best target during my outdoor exercise! Don’t even get me started on that.” My eye twitched at the memory; it had been a rather brutish encounter.

Misha grimaced, covering his mouth with his hand. “You have really had it rough, haven’t you?”

“Brutal training too, if you ask me,” I added, a hint of theatrics in my tone. “Eunora doesn’t pull punches, let me tell you. It’s like she thinks I’m made of metal or something.”

He offered me a sympathetic smile, tilting his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Damian.”

Feeling particularly comedic, I exaggeratedly clasped my hands to my heart, feigning sobs as I reached toward Misha’s plate, hunting for a piece of his bread. “Oh, the cruelty! And here I am starving!”

In a swift motion, Misha slapped my hand away with indignation. “Damian! Keep your paws off! Find your own food.”

I laughed, retreating with a grin. “Alright, alright! No need to bite my head off, brave apprentice.” I said chuckling, pleased to find that even in this uncertainty — surrounded by the mysteries of the past, the uncertainties of our future, and the whimsicality of our characters — I could still find humor.

“Misha,” I said, wiping a tear of laughter from my cheek, “The real horror would be if Mienna finds out we’re here, laughing without her. Imagine what she’d say!”

Misha’s expression turned serious again. “Maybe we shouldn’t joke about her. You know how unpredictable she can be.”

“True enough,” I conceded. “In her world, gentle smiles can conceal a heart that dances too close to the edge. But we’ll figure this out, right?” I could sense Misha’s apprehensions, but how could one navigate the quagmire of uncertainty without laughter?

As we ate, contentment mingled with the undercurrents of confusion. Liriendel was a sprawling elven city, its architecture a marvel of artistry, but there was something lurking beneath the surface, an unsettling tension that thrummed in the air around us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched, that shadows danced just beyond the reach of the lamplight.

“Damian?” Misha’s voice suddenly seemed smaller, hesitant.

“Yeah?”

“What if it really was Mienna?” He swallowed hard, the thought weighing on his mind as heavily as iron.

I chuckled nervously. “What’s that saying? ‘Keep your friends close, and your psychopathic sorceress closer?’”

Misha winced, biting his fingernails again. “You shouldn’t joke about that. She’s dangerous.”

“No arguments here.” I could feel the tension blossoming again in my stomach. “But she was also kind of… charming? Charming in a fiendish sort of way.”

“Damian!” Misha’s eyes widened. “That’s exactly the kind of thinking that gets people into trouble!”

“Relax, Misha. I doubt she’s after us,” I reassured, trying to quell his rising anxiety. “She’s probably busy plotting world domination or something equally cliché.” I laughed, but the fact that Mienna is probably capable of that is gut-wrenching.

A moment of silence engulfed us, until Misha spoke again. “About what happened this morning,” he began, “Do you think the attack is connected to the curse?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though the weight of his worry vibrated in the air. I smirked, my wit serving as my shield, my customary armor against the unknown.

“Worrying about attacks, curses, and all things dreary is my special talent,” I quipped lightly, trying to inject some humor into the tension permeating the room. “You know, Misha, if you keep wringing that bread, you might just bake a new loaf out of sheer anxiety.”

Misha shot me an annoyed glance, though a hint of amusement poked through his furrowed brow. His reactions always elicit a laugh from me. The urge to make fun of him was just too great to ignore.

“Sometimes I think I might be a prince in disguise,” I joked, twirling the fork between my fingers. “Or maybe the lost heir to a forgotten kingdom. What do you think, Misha?”

Misha, hunched over in his chair, his brow furrowed with concern. “You mean a lost heir with no memory of his past? Sounds a bit silly, doesn’t it?” He looked at me with those earnest eyes, like a worried puppy.

“Aw, come on! Everyone loves a good old amnesia trope!” I grinned, relishing the playful banter. “Just wait until I discover that I have magical powers or a fiendish enemy hunting me down. It’ll be all the rage.”

Just as Misha was about to retort — probably something about how my supposed ‘powers’ might involve a knack for getting into trouble — the door creaked open. In walked Ardoc, a mountain of a man whose burly figure filled the entrance. Scars crisscrossed his muscular arms like whispers of battles fought and won. Though his presence often intimidated those who didn’t know him, tonight, he appeared a tad tipsy, swaying slightly as he stepped in, and even though the weight of the world seemed to rest upon his shoulders, he wore a lopsided grin that softened his intimidating presence.

“Evening, lads!” he greeted, swaying slightly as he stepped onto the creaking floor, the aroma of ale trailing him like an old companion.

“Ah, Ardoc!” I exclaimed, my grin widening. “Join us! Feast upon this delightful blawmanger we’ve been discussing — government-mandated gourmet slop, if you will.” I gestured toward the half-finished pot.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I’ve already eaten,” he said, dropping onto his bed with an exaggerated thump. A cloud of dust lifted from the straw mattress as he sank into its embrace.

Misha shot me a worried glance, anxiety etched on his face. “You’re back early, Ardoc. Did something happen with your friends?”

Ardoc’s gaze turned to Misha, his smile fading for a moment as he searched the younger man’s face with striking intensity. The usually playful banter between us seemed to evaporate in that moment, replaced by a tension that made me want to lean closer, to break the icy silence hanging in the air. Misha shifted in his seat, his hands tightening around the bread as if it might somehow ground him against the unease rising in the room.

“Two of them had to head home,” Ardoc finally replied, his voice low and reassuring, “So the rest of us wrapped up early.”

Misha nodded nervously, gathering his thoughts before finally stammering, “I-I hope you had a nice night?”

“Fun, actually,” came Ardoc’s warm reply, his smile disarming the tension as effectively as a soothing balm.

“That’s great!” Misha exclaimed with palpable relief, causing me to stifle a snicker. Observing the two interact was like watching a delicate flower blossom slowly, hesitantly.

I broke the moment by clapping lightly, a grin plastered across my face. “Look at you, Misha! Engaging in conversation with Ardoc like a true warrior! I’m proud!”

Misha’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of crimson, and he shot me a glare sharp enough to fell a tree. Ardoc chuckled, a deep rumble that filled the small room with warmth.

“What were you two discussing before I barged in?” Ardoc asked, leaning back against his bed with genuine curiosity.

I leaned back in my chair, a mock-seriousness dousing my playful demeanor. “Oh, just the minor detail of the recent attack in Liriendel. You know, casual topics for a spring evening.”

A shadow flickered across Ardoc's brow as he nodded. “A strange incident indeed. Those convulsions — I've never witnessed anything like it.”

“Neither have I,” I agreed, glancing over at Misha, who was gazing at Ardoc, worry still etched across his features. “I heard from a doctor that it might be a curse.”

“Y–yeah,” Misha added, his voice barely above a whisper. “But e–even the royal mages couldn’t pinpoint the source of the illness. Not a clue, nor a trace of who — or what — was behind it.”

Ardoc sat upright, as if the gravity of the topic pulled at him. “You know,” he began thoughtfully, “The innkeeper mentioned something that piqued my interest earlier.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What did he say?” I asked, leaning in eagerly, a familiar thrill coursing through me.

“Ever heard of the town called Elyslyn?” Ardoc asked, his eyes darting between us which glimmered with intensity, the kind that hinted at secrets waiting to unfurl.

I shook my head, while Misha, his brow furrowing further, responded, “I know of it. It’s one of the towns that got attacked by monsters not long ago.”

Ardoc continued, his expression turned serious. “The innkeeper said something strange. All the humans afflicted by this curse recently were survivors from that town — the only ones to experience such… disturbances.”

I froze in my seat, words dying in my throat. The chill of dread crept into my bones as Misha’s anxious fidgeting returned tenfold. “What do you mean?” Misha asked, understanding dawning on him with the pace of a slowly rising tide. “What did the people of Elyslyn do to warrant two attacks?”

“I don’t know,” Ardoc admitted slowly, his face shadowed by the flickering candlelight. “But it seems to me that something about Elyslyn… it connects the dots. The town could be a target — not just for monsters, but for whatever has spurred this curse into our midst.”

Silence cloaked us, growing thicker than the dust gathering in the corners of the dim room. I felt a mixture of fear and curiosity twisting in my gut as I contemplated my own forgotten past.

Did that cursed town hold secrets that tied me to its troubles?