The night moon pierced through the canopy of towering palms, its faint golden light casting long shadows across the unfamiliar landscape. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against jagged rocks echoed in the distance, mingling with the cries of seabirds circling above.

The first thing I felt was the weight of my eyelids. Heavy. Reluctant. Like they were glued shut. When I finally managed to peel them open, the world greeted me as a blurry mess of silver and black—moonlight spilling across everything, stars scattered above like tiny holes in a dark fabric. I squinted, my head pounding with every pulse of my heartbeat.

It was like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the inside of my skull. My temples throbbed, and every small movement sent a sharp ache radiating through my brain. I groaned softly, barely recognizing the sound as my own.

The sand beneath me was cold and damp, sticking to my face and arms. Not soft, warm sand like on a tropical beach, but cold, damp, and gritty—like someone had dumped a bag of wet dirt on me. My head throbbed, my throat burned, and somewhere nearby, something croaked. Loudly. A frog? No. Bigger than a frog. Definitely not a sound I wanted to investigate right now.

I blinked, my eyes gritty and dry, and the night sky came into focus. The stars were impossibly bright, scattered like shards of broken glass against an inky black backdrop. I squinted, trying to remember how I'd gotten here, but my mind felt like a blank, foggy slate. No memories. No answers. Just this strange island under a strange sky.

When I turned my head, I saw him—a figure sprawled in the sand a few feet away.

He was flat on his back, arms splayed out like he'd just given up on life. His shirt was torn, his hair plastered to his forehead in wet clumps, and he had this awkward way of groaning like he wasn't sure if he was in pain or just annoyed. I stared at him for a long moment, debating whether to poke him or... quietly leave. Maybe he was dangerous. Or worse, annoying.

My heart thudded in my chest as I watched him slowly come to life, his fingers twitching before he raised a hand to his forehead, groaning again.

"Ugh..." His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper, and for some stupid reason, I flinched, like he'd shouted.

He blinked a few times, squinting against the pale moonlight, then turned his head toward me. Our eyes met, and for a long, awkward moment, neither of us said anything.

"Uh... hi?" he croaked, his voice rough and uncertain.

"Hi," I managed, my own voice rasping as if I hadn't used it in years.

We sat there, side by side in the damp sand, not saying much, not even looking at each other. The only sounds were the waves curling onto the shore and retreating, the faint rustle of the wind through the distant trees, and the occasional croak of some unseen creature in the dark.

I kept my arms wrapped tightly around my knees, staring blankly ahead, but my thoughts were a mess. Should I say something? Should he? Did he think I was as useless in this situation as I felt?

I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands dangling loosely in front of him. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't figure out how to start. His jaw tensed, and his foot tapped nervously against the sand.

Maybe he was waiting for me to speak first.

"So..." My voice sounded thin and unsure like it might break if I tried to say too much at once. He turned his head slightly, and the weight of his gaze made me feel even more awkward. "What do we... uh... do now?"

He blinked at me, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. "I don't know," he said finally, dragging the words out like they hurt to say. "Do you have... any ideas?"

"Not really." I glanced back toward the dark line of trees looming behind us. They looked like giant shadows, shifting and swaying with every gust of wind. "I guess... we should, um... check out what's on the island?"

He didn't respond right away, just rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Yeah. That would be better than sitting here all night."

"Right," I said, even though sitting here all night felt like a much safer option than wandering around this creepy island with someone I'd known for all of ten minutes.

Eventually, he stood up, brushing sand off his jeans, though it didn't do much good. "Okay, well... let's, uh... do this, I guess?" His voice pitched up at the end like he wasn't convinced it was a good idea.

I stood up too, wobbling slightly as my legs adjusted. "Yeah..."

We both stood there for a moment longer, neither of us taking the first step toward the trees.

"You want to lead?" I asked, half-joking, though part of me really hoped he'd say yes.

He gave me a faint, sheepish smile. "Uh... sure. But... stick close, okay?"

"Don't worry," I muttered, hugging my arms to my chest as I fell into step behind him. "I'm not planning on getting eaten by... whatever's out there."

The silence returned as we walked, broken only by the crunch of sand underfoot and the occasional rustle from the forest ahead. Every now and then, he glanced back at me, as if checking to make sure I hadn't disappeared or bolted. I didn't say anything, but each glance only made the air between us feel thicker with unspoken tension.

It wasn't until we reached the edge of the trees, where the shadows grew darker and the sounds of the forest louder, that he finally broke the silence.

"Hey, so... what's your name, by the way?"

I stopped, blinking at him in surprise. For a moment, my mind went blank at the question. What's my name? But then, a name appeared in my mind. "Lancelot Pherishore. You?"

"Galahad Hansen." He scratched the back of his head, his face almost apologetic. "Sorry. Probably should've asked that earlier."

"It's fine," I said, the corner of my mouth twitching upward despite myself.

The jungle air grew thicker the deeper we walked, every sound amplified in the oppressive quiet. The chirping insects seemed louder, the rustling of leaves sharper, as though the entire forest was alive and watching us. I stayed close to Galahad, my nerves prickling with every step. He wasn't saying much—just pushing aside vines and branches as we made our way through the trees—but I could tell he was just as tense as I was.

And then we saw it.

The clearing opened up like a wound in the dense jungle, the trees parting to reveal a small patch of moonlit ground. At the center was a grave—an actual grave, complete with a crude wooden cross sticking up from the earth. The sight stopped me in my tracks.

But what made my breath hitch wasn't the grave itself. It was the man standing in front of it.

He was tall and lean, his figure framed by the pale light of the moon. His back was to us, hands clasped behind him as if in quiet reverence. He wore a loose, weathered shirt and pants that looked as though they'd seen years of wear, the fabric a bit stained, but it was definitely better than our clothes. His head was tilted slightly as if he were staring down at the grave, but there was no movement—no shifting, no fidgeting. He stood unnervingly still, like a statue carved into the night.

Galahad stopped beside me, his arm brushing mine. I glanced at him, but he didn't look back—his eyes were fixed on the man, his jaw clenched.

"Is he... praying?" I whispered though I wasn't sure why I was whispering. The man hadn't even turned around.

Galahad shook his head, his voice low. "I don't know."

We stayed frozen for what felt like minutes, the air between us thick with tension. And then, slowly, the man turned his head.

The motion was deliberate, almost too slow like he wanted to make sure we saw him before he fully faced us. When his eyes met mine, I felt my stomach drop.

He looked... ordinary. His face was pale but calm, his expression neutral, almost serene. His brown eyes, though—they were sharp, cold as if they could see straight through me. He looked at me first, then at Galahad, his gaze lingering on us both for an uncomfortably long moment.

"Been waiting for you," he said finally, his voice low and gravelly.

I stiffened beside Galahad. "What do you mean, waiting?"

The man's gaze shifted between us, studying our faces like he was piecing together a puzzle. His lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke again, his voice measured, deliberate.

"You're one of those who woke up the latest," he said, his tone heavy with something I couldn't quite place—disappointment, maybe, or resignation.

Galahad's brows furrowed, his annoyance breaking through the tension. "I don't understand. Explain. What is this place?" His voice was sharp, louder than it needed to be, but I could hear the frustration in it.

The man's lips twitched into a faint, almost pitying smile. "This is an island," he said calmly, "in the Bronze Sea."

Galahad threw his hands up, exhaling sharply. "Yeah, great. That's super specific. What does that mean? Where is the Bronze Sea? Why are we here?"

The man didn't respond right away. He turned back to the grave, his hands clasping behind his back again. His silence felt intentional, almost as though he wanted to let the weight of the moment settle on us.

I took a shaky step forward, my voice barely above a whisper. "Whose grave is that?" I asked, nodding toward the cross sticking out of the earth.

For the first time, his composure wavered. His shoulders stiffened slightly, and when he turned to face me, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—grief, maybe, or something darker. "It's my friend's," he said softly. "Tucker."

The name lingered in the air, heavy and unfamiliar. I swallowed, my throat dry. "What... what happened to him?"

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with what looked like mild surprise like he wasn't expecting the question. "So," he said slowly, "you don't remember either."

My stomach tightened, a cold shiver running down my spine. The way he said it—it wasn't a question. It was a statement, and it felt like an accusation.

Galahad stepped forward then, his impatience flaring. "Remember what?" he asked, his tone hard, almost annoyed.

The man's eyes flicked to Galahad, his expression unreadable. "Everything," he said simply. "Why you're here. Why any of us are here."

Galahad took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself, though his furrowed brows and clenched fists betrayed the storm still brewing beneath the surface. "You should explain everything to us," he said firmly, his voice quieter now but still tense.

The man, unfazed, regarded us with a calm that felt almost eerie. "We escaped from a place that was performing magic experiments on us for the past few years," he said bluntly, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "Tucker was with us, but they killed him while we were running."

The revelation hit like a crashing wave. My breath caught in my throat, and I took an involuntary step back, my mind racing to make sense of what I'd just heard. Magic experiments? Tucker was killed? I took a glance at Galahad, but he seemed just as stunned, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words.

"What—" I began, my voice trembling, but the man raised a hand to cut me off.

"Anyways," he said, his tone almost dismissive, "we're free now. That's what matters." He turned his sharp gaze on us, his expression softening just slightly. "You still remember how to use magic, right?"

Galahad hesitated, his eyes narrowing as if searching his own mind for an answer. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "I... I think so."

The man gave a small, approving nod. "Good. Whenever you're ready, you can take one of the rowboats down by the shore and go wherever you want." He gestured vaguely toward the trees behind him as if the rowboats were just waiting for us on the other side of the jungle. "I'm going to stay here for a bit."

I blinked at him, still trying to process everything. "Where should we go?" I asked, my voice quiet but urgent.

The man turned his gaze to the horizon, where the moon cast a silver glow over the sea. "Probably... Redwake," he said thoughtfully. "It's a port to the east of here. It's a good place to start if you want to get your memories back." He paused, then glanced back at us with a faint smile. "We'll see each other again someday. Until then, farewell."

Still visibly unsettled by everything that had been said, Galahad took a step forward, his voice rising with urgency. "Wait, your name?" he called out.

The man stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to us. For a moment, it seemed like he might not respond. Then, without turning around, he said, "Morden."

I opened my mouth to speak, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Oh, and our names are—" I began, but Morden interrupted me mid-sentence.

"Don't waste your time," he said lightly, though there was a firmness to his tone. "I remember your names."

With that, he walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the jungle as the sound of his footsteps faded into the still night.

Galahad and I stood there in stunned silence, the weight of Morden's words pressing down on us like a physical force. The mention of magic, experiments, and a mysterious port called Redwake swirled in my mind, none of it making sense. Yet, disturbingly, deep down, it all felt strangely familiar—like a fragmented dream I couldn't quite grasp.

Finally, Galahad exhaled sharply, breaking the silence as he ran a hand through his hair. "This is insane," he muttered, glancing at me.

He stopped in the middle of the clearing, rubbing the back of his neck before turning to me. "But if what Morden said is true, we have magic. We should at least try, right?"

I hesitated, staring at my hands as if they held some hidden secret. Magic? The very idea sounded absurd, yet, after everything that had happened, part of me couldn't dismiss it entirely. There was a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, like a flicker of something waiting to be released. "I guess we should," I said, my voice uncertain.

Galahad looked around, then grabbed a thick stick from the ground, gripping it tightly as if it might somehow help. "Alright," he said, exhaling sharply. "Let's just... try something simple. I don't even know how to start, though. Do we say a spell or something?"

I shrugged, feeling just as clueless. "Maybe it's instinctual?"

He frowned, then extended his free hand, his fingers curling slightly. For a moment, nothing happened. He glanced at me, embarrassed, but then, his hand glowing faintly with a strange red light. Slowly, the gas began to form, swirling in the air with an unnatural, crimson mist. It was small at first, barely more than a wisp, but as it began to expand, Galahad's eyes widened in realization.

The acrid, metallic scent made my nose wrinkle, and I instinctively took a step back. "Poison..?"

For a moment, he was still, his gaze fixed on the vapor as it twisted in the air. His face shifted, almost imperceptibly, as if a silent alarm had gone off in his mind. Without saying a word, he quickly jerked his hand to the side, pulling it away from me. The red gas hung there for just a moment longer before he clenched his fist, dispelling the poison magic in a fluid motion. It dissolved into the air, leaving no trace of its presence.

There was a quiet tension in the space between us as he stood there, his hand still slightly shaking, his focus intense as he processed what had just happened. Finally, after a long pause, he looked at me, his expression serious.

"You should try your magic," he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with a quiet concern. He seemed deep in thought. "Just... be careful."

I watched him, feeling the gravity of the moment settle in. Galahad had acted swiftly, silently, almost instinctively, as if he'd already known what his magic was capable of.

As I focused on my hand, I could feel a strange warmth beginning to build in the center of my palm, like the air around it was thickening with heat. At first, it was subtle—just a flicker of warmth, like standing too close to a fire. But soon, the heat began to intensify, spreading through my fingers and making the air shimmer around them. The sensation was almost tangible as if the very air had become a little bit thicker, a little bit heavier.

The warmth condensed into a faint glow, starting small and almost inconspicuous, but growing steadily. It flickered in and out, like an unstable flame, rippling with energy just beneath the surface. The air around it seemed to warp, the temperature rising so quickly that I could feel my skin tingling from the intensity.

The orb grew slowly, pulsing with an inner light, as if the ball itself was breathing, its energy ebbing and flowing with every beat. The air around it shimmered, rippling with the heat that radiated outward. It was like a small sun contained in the palm of my hand, the temperature rising steadily as the ball began to grow brighter, and more solid.

Although I tried to keep it in the palm of my hand, its energy flickering as if it were struggling to stay alive. The warmth was still intense, but the glow began to soften, slowly fading.

Galahad, who had been watching silently, took a slow step forward, his expression unreadable. "Plasma?" he said, his voice quiet but with an edge of surprise. "You can have a lot of potential, honestly."

I gave him a sheepish smile, still feeling the heat that lingered in my hand, almost as if the air around me had been permanently altered. "Yeah... Same with you."

Once again, the silence between us grew as no one seemed to find any words to say. There was a strange comfort in the silence, yet it also felt like we were on the precipice of something we couldn't yet see. Each stroke of the oars seemed to take us deeper into that unknown, the boat gliding smoothly through the quiet night.

And then, just as the silence seemed almost unbearable, Galahad's voice cut through the quiet, low and steady, like a tether pulling me back to the present. "Redwake," he muttered, almost to himself, as if testing the name. "Morden said it was a port. A place to start over.

I nodded slowly, my mind still trying to process the fact that we were about to leave, to take the first step toward whatever was waiting for us on the other side of the sea. "I think it's our only choice."

The rowboat was waiting by the edge of the shore, the wooden hull bobbing gently with the motion of the water. It looked small, almost fragile in the dim light of the evening, but it was the only way off this island. The sky above us remained dark, the faintest hint of moonlight shone through the thickening clouds. The air had cooled slightly, and the sea breeze tugged at the edges of our clothes as we made our way toward the boat.

Galahad paused for a moment before stepping into the boat, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the first signs of twilight began to gather. "Do you think we'll find answers there?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty, though his tone was steady.

I hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "I don't know," I admitted, stepping into the boat in front of him. "But I hope we will find something to explain this whole... thing."

We both settled into the small boat, the wood creaking softly beneath us as the first few strokes of the oars dipped into the water. The motion was slow at first, almost tentative as if neither of us knew exactly what direction to take. But then, we found our rhythm, the water beginning to part smoothly beneath us as we rowed farther from the island.

The island slowly began to shrink in the distance, its silhouette fading into the twilight. As the boat drifted further into the darkened waters, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were leaving something behind—something important. But there was no turning back now.