The days went by in a blur. James had no sense of time, as his body was far too tired to even move out of bed. He only watched as his caretaker brought him food or medicine. He didn't recognize her, not like the woman he had seen that one night, but he found something familiar about her voice. James had heard it before, perhaps sometime before he found himself.

"Are you feeling better?" said his caretaker, her hands stirring some leaves into his tea. The steam rose and twisted from the cup with the scent of mint and horcus leaf. James didn't know how he recognized the name. It was just something he knew.

"Who are you?" James muttered a question. "Why am I here?"

"You're talking," the young woman said, surprise clear in her voice. She stopped her stirring, eyes glancing at James with worry. She seemed vaguely familiar. "Do you know your name?"

"Of course…" James forced himself to shift upright, his body aching as he turned his head. Now that his left eye was looking at her, he got a better view of his caretaker. She sat at his bedside, light brown hair tied into a braid that ran down her back. She wore a modest maroon dress, its hem reaching her collarbone and her skirt flowing down to her ankles. Above her green eyes, resting on her head, was a thin silver band. It was similar to the ones that Jarls wore, yet it didn't seem to scream the same amount of respect and attention. It was a subtle silver instead of brazen gold, with little engravings and no gems. It was fit for the wife of a Jarl.

'How do I know this?' James thought as he took the cup of tea the woman was holding out. He took a tentative sip, the bitter tea bringing warmth to his body. He ignored the taste as he drank, his thirst too great to ignore. Once done, he let out an exasperated breath.

"James. James… Holter. That's my full name," he said softly, his grip on the cup tightening. "Now, tell me who you are and where I am."

"I am Emma Villtur," the woman answered. "Wife of Lukas Villtur. You are currently in the Villtur Keep, stationed on the island of Turstead."

James blinked at that, his mind scrambling to try and find sense in those names. Villtur called out to him, but none of the others did. He winced at the thought of remembering, his hand instinctively going for his bandaged eye.

'What is happening to me? Why can't I remember anything?'

He paused to allow an answer, expecting someone to chime in. Yet there was nothing, only the deafening silence that filled the room. James did not know why he expected an answer. He only felt a tightening sense of dread at the realization that he was alone in his mind. Just what was happening?

"James, do you recall anything other than your name?" Emma asked, voice soft and almost comforting. Yet when James turned to look at her, he felt the opposite. For some reason, he expected there to be someone else. Someone who he cared for more than this person.

'Dahlia.'

The name of the woman he supposedly cared for. The one he needed to get back to.

"I need to go to Yorktown," James said suddenly. "I… I need to go back as soon as I can." Without allowing Emma to speak, James swung his feet out of the bed, his body straining as he tried to stand. In his effort, he only managed a couple of desperate steps. It was after his third step that his legs began to give out. James fell to the ground with a heavy thud, his arm colliding with the wooden floor.

"Hey!" Emma called as she hurried to pick him up. James couldn't even gather the strength to resist as the woman dragged him back to the bed. "You're still in recovery! You must rest for now until that fever of yours passes."

"I can't wait any longer. I need to go back," James said, exertion clear in his voice as he sat back on his bed. Now that he was sitting upright, he could see the bandages that wrapped around his side and arms. The one by his side was bleeding through the white gauze.

'Must've ripped open stitches,' James realized.

"Delphine's mercy, you've reopened your wound," Emma cursed as she turned away from James. "I'll have to stitch this back up again."

"Can't you just give me something for the pain?" James said with managed breaths. He was doing his best not to move too much.

"Are you asking for a health potion? No. Not when you have that fever. The concoction will do nothing but advance the sickness," Emma explained as she headed to the door. "Stay put. I will be back soon."

"Health potion?" James mumbled as the Jarl's wife left the room. "What, like in video games?"

The image of the classic glass bottle appeared in his mind, complete with cork and red liquid. For a moment, he thought he was getting punked. Of course, the pain made him doubt it. Not even a minute later, Emma returned with what looked like a leather satchel of items. She sat near his bedside, hands digging into the satchel. She brought out some twine and needle, setting them on the nightstand with nonchalance. Before James could ask her anything, Emma handed him a small copper vial.

"Moon Dust extract mixed with some water," Emma said. "No healing properties, but it should ease the pain a little."

James eyed the vial, its top sealed by a cork. As he debated on drinking it, Emma began to undo his bandages.

"Hey!" he exclaimed with a wince.

"I have to stitch your wound back together," Emma said sternly as she unwrapped the dirty gauze. "The only other healer is in town, and I'd rather not risk your wounds getting infected while we wait for him. So stay still and drink that vial."

James frowned at that but decided not to resist. He only watched as Emma finally pulled off the final layer of bandages, revealing the wound that had opened. It bled little but enough to stain his entire left side. James winced in pain as Emma began to clean it, her hand patting a cotton pad against the bloody wound. He looked at the copper vial in his hand, which almost beckoned for him to drink it.

In the end, he submitted to it. James' hands shook a little as he pulled the cork off, revealing the milky liquid within. He took a deep breath, hesitating a little before he drank it. The taste filled his mouth like a glass of sweetened milk, the taste of cinnamon prominent. For a moment, the taste brought him a feeling of warmth and a sense of nostalgia, like a mother's love mixed with the memories of childhood. Not that James could recall anything of it.

The pain was brushed aside not even a second later, his body growing warm as he relaxed. It was as if James had been in constant discomfort for decades, and all of it was washed away by the concoction. For a minute straight, James embraced this feeling of tranquility. He didn't even notice Emma's words until she shook him slightly.

"Stitches are done," she said, cleaning her hands in the nearby wash bin. James blinked at that, and the moment of peace disappeared. His pain came back, not in force, but in the sense of an aching that grew more annoying by the second. He looked down at his side, where new bandages were wrapped around him. How much time had passed?

"I assume this is your first time taking Moon Dust?" Emma asked as she dried her hands. "I can tell by the way your eyes were staring at nothing. Even when they weren't looking at anything remotely interesting, they were still full of awe and wonder."

"I never had it," James confirmed with a mumble. "But… I know that you can be addicted to it. That it turns your brain to mush. That's why alchemists use it sparingly and why some make it so you get potion sickness from drinking too much."

Emma tilted her head at that, confusion clear in her expression. "How do you know this?

"Someone told me this before. A friend," James said. He creased his brow as he thought. Who did tell him this? He knew it was someone close to him. It wasn't Dahlia. It was…

"Ugh!" James winced as a pain flashed through his head. The cloudiness comfort from the Moon Dust remnants was cleared away in a second, elevating his senses and bringing back the ringing pains from his wounds. Still, James came out of it with a name.

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"Seamus," James said, out of breath as he recalled the young man. "Seamus told me at some point."

"Seamus? As in Seamus Halvorson?" Emma asked slowly. Why… Why did Emma seem so familiar?

'There's something about her…'

"Yes. I think so?" James rubbed at the side of his head, confusion settling in. He brushed aside Emma's strangeness and focused on the conversation.

He couldn't recall what Seamus looked like, but the name was familiar. It all frustrated him how such facts alluded from his mind as if he wasn't allowed to know them. It felt like he did know what Seamus looked like. He knew they were friends and that they had a history. Yet no memory or recollection came forth. For some reason, he could not drudge it up from the recesses of his mind. It was like the memories were locked away.

"Emma," James said softly, yet his voice had a hint of harshness. "Tell me what is happening. Why can't I remember anything? Why am I here?"

Emma hesitated at that, eyes downcast as she tried to formulate an answer. There was something about her that reminded James of someone. Someone else…

"I… I am not to–"

"Damn it!" James cursed. "Just tell me!"

"James," a voice interrupted him, making both the injured man and caretaker freeze in their spots. James turned to the speaker, who turned out to be the woman who had kept watch on him the other day. Seeing her in the light of day, something in James' mind clicked, and a name made itself present in the back of his thoughts.

"Naomi," James muttered. "That's your name, right?"

Naomi blinked in surprise, her only eye watching him with clear surprise. "Did you manage to regain your memories?"

"No… Just a couple names," James admitted. He winced as another flash of pain flared within his skull, his hand instantly moving to the side of his head. "Can you please tell me what's going on?"

Naomi hesitated at the question, the expression bringing a sense of dread within James. Just what the hell had happened to him?

"When you're better," Naomi said finally. "We'll talk more when you're better."

"What? You can't be serious!" James exclaimed. He held himself back from leaving the bed to confront Naomi. It wouldn't do him any good to reopen wounds at the moment. "Dammit! Tell me what's happening!"

Naomi did not answer. Instead, she simply turned around and left the room, leaving James alone with just Emma to keep him company. Soon enough, however, she would leave him too. James just sat there in the bed, with no one to talk to and give him answers.

He was alone, and for some reason, it terrified him even more.

Lukas strolled around his keep, hands clasped behind his back. He had little to do that day, his duties all revolving around making sure Jarl Holter was able to recover in time. Other than that, the Jarl of the Boar Clan had very little to do. In fact, most of his more repetitive tasks were handled by bookkeepers and appointed mayors, with his involvement in his clan being next to nil overall.

Lukas inherited most of it. After the death of his father, most of the Boar Clan's responsibilities went unchanged. After all, they were handled by men hired by the late Jarl. Well, except for the menial labor. That was the biggest change after Lukas' takeover.

Who knew banning the practice of slavery would bring a small-scale war and division between an age-old clan? Lukas did, and he prepared for it when the time came. Old Jarl Villtur was a man who had built his legacy on the backs of slaves, and his use of them was seen as just. After all, they were just captured enemies and criminals. People who didn't deserve to be treated as human. A lifetime in bondage was better than death, they said.

Lukas did not agree with that. He saw death as a worthy end, especially if one were to fall in battle. Slavery was a cowardly practice, no matter who was master and servant. Lukas had always looked down on it, his disdain well-known throughout Valenfrost.

When he had taken over as Jarl, Lukas almost immediately had to fight off an attempt on his life. The assassins, paid for by the slavers on his lands, hadn't lasted long in a direct fight with him. Neither did the ones who tried to fell him in his own bed chambers. Those who wished to poison him also failed since Lukas never allowed anyone but Emma to prepare his meals.

The Jarl was careful for the first few months of his rule, his focus on making sure Villtur was strong enough to stand on its own feet without the cowardly slavers selling prisoners and capturing peasants on his lands. Of course, those men did not last. It was hard to bargain when one had their throats ripped out.

Jarl Lukas was not a kind man, but he wasn't one to enjoy cruel acts. No, his rule was fair and strong. Men would learn to fend and provide for themselves and their families, and soldiers under his command would learn the values of respect and honor. At least, as much honor as a Valenfrost native could learn.

"A leader should not ask of his people something that he himself is not willing to do."

Lukas recalled the journal, his lips moving as he recited the words. He stopped his walk, his eyes closing for a moment. He felt as if he was failing as a proper Jarl. Anger clouded his soul, and it was getting harder for Lukas to hold it. Especially when the Endeavor drew near. He can not afford to allow his emotions to take hold of him. Especially when the Villtur Clan's territory was slowly being pushed back.

Lukas had initially thought it to be that bastard Vladimir, but he disregarded the thought. Vulpesson's Jarl was in a treaty with him. To take territory from Lukas was a blatant call for war, one that the Fox Clan could not afford with the tournament around the corner. Lukas could only guess that it had something to do with the Marauders of North or raider parties.

'But what kind of raiders kill everything and take nothing?'

It perplexed Lukas. Just a month ago, Farengard went dark. The Jarl had recently gone to take a look and found a massacre. Everyone was dead, the town burnt to ruin, and the island's farms razed. Yet nothing was taken. The bodies all had their belongings despite how burned and mutilated they were. Farengard was simply attacked. Not even the Marauders did such things without looting or turning the island to complete ash. Something strange was about.

Lukas' clan was growing weaker, his soldiers dwindling with every raid and his territory losing ground to both rival clans and damned marauders. The Jarl knew that the upcoming Endeavor was his last chance to turn things around and bolster his standing. Before anyone could realize how exposed he was.

"I must stay vigilant and keep my vulnerabilities hidden," Lukas recited another quote from the journal, his whispers echoing in the small hallway.

"Talking to yourself?" a voice came from behind. Lukas raised an eyebrow and turned to see his associate standing nearby, her focus on the small pastry she held. "Someone might call that madness."

"It is a quote," Lukas said, almost defensively. "From a great man."

"Yorn Halvorson?" Naomi questioned as she took a bite. "He seems to be the talk of everyone around the north. A great man, a Jarl who united Valenfrost against a common enemy."

"Yes, I was talking about him," Lukas confirmed with a sigh. "Unfortunately, he was Valenfrost's only good man. Killed by a cursed fiend who wields the name of a Hero from the ages of myth."

"Figures," Naomi muttered. "It seems lately that all the greats are dying. Yorn Halvorson. Some notable Heralds. The last of Kords even."

"What do you need from me?" Lukas said sharply, his temper showing. "I know you are not here just to talk about men above our station."

Naomi narrowed her eyes at him. "It's about James. I heard from Emma that you're planning to tell him about Yorktown soon. It hasn't even been a week."

"He is getting better," Lukas said. "I am told that his fever is all but gone. We can feed him healing potions in a couple days. By then, he'll be ready."

"He needs time, fever or no fever," Naomi argued with gritted teeth. "We can't risk his mental state. For fuck's sake, Lukas, he lost nearly everyone on that ship. The other survivor can't even remember his own name! Telling James that his clan's fate hangs in the balance after what happened will break him!"

Lukas growled. "And tell me, what would happen if he finds out that they're wiped out? That once he gets over the death of his crewmates, he finds out everyone he ever cared about is gone as well?"

Naomi went silent, her stunned reaction telling Lukas she didn't think about that.

"We need him," Lukas continued. "To retake his ship and use those gate runes. For we have no other option. A journey from Turstead to Yorktown is at least three weeks' worth of travel. Three weeks we do not have!"

There was silence in the hallway, both Jarl and Outlander staring at each other. Finally, Naomi turned around, hands clenched into fists. After a second, she spoke. "I'll be the one to tell him. Please."

Lukas straightened himself, a deep sigh sounding out from him. "Fine. I think it is better that he hears this from you."

"What happens if it breaks him?" Naomi asked softly. She didn't say it with an accusing tone. It was clearly sympathy mixed with pity. "What do we do then?"

"I'm not sure myself," Lukas admitted solemnly. "If he falls into a pit of despair, there is little we can do to help. 'For strength to come, one must pick themselves up and press forth.'"

Naomi raised an eyebrow at that. "Another quote from Yorn?"

"In a sense," Lukas muttered. "They are words he learned from his closest friend, Einar Blyth."

"Press forth," Naomi echoed. "I feel as if I heard those words before."

"They are probably common," Lukas said with a shrug. He turned around and walked away, leaving Naomi to her grim duty.

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