As Lavos walks, he scratches the back of his head and lowers his gaze, a twinge of guilt pulling at him.
"What a poor girl..." he mutters. "Damn it... I feel bad for walking away after calling myself her friend."
The road is quiet but alive, filled with people chatting, trading, laughing—living. Lavos watches them from the edge of the crowd, their joy feeling strangely distant, like a language he's never learned.
Then, a spark flickers in his mind.
"Wait a minute... How old am I?"
He stops for a moment, confused.
"How do I even look? Are my eyes really that scary?"
More questions pour in like a flood—rushing, wild, suffocating.
"Where am I from? Who am I really? Why can't I remember anything?"
He clutches his head as a pulse of unease spreads through his chest. The village, the people, even the sunlight suddenly feel too loud.
He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
"I need answers... but from where?"
Suddenly, Lavos's thoughts spiral out of control. Panic crawls beneath his skin.
His eyes dart to a nearby villager—a man casually passing by—and without thinking, Lavos lunges forward and clings to him, gripping his tunic tightly.
"Tell me!" he pleads, his voice trembling. "How do I look like?! Please...tell me what you see!"
The villager stumbles back, wide-eyed. "I-I don't know what you're talking about!"
Lavos grabs the man by the shoulders, shaking him. "What do you mean you don't know?! Can't you see my face?! Just look at me!"
Fear flashes across the man's eyes. He doesn't answer.
Lavos pauses, suddenly realizing the stillness around him. He looks around.
Dozens of eyes. Staring. Whispering.
The village has gone quiet.
Then the man shouts, voice shaking with fear. "Please! Someone...help me!"
In an instant, armored footsteps thunder against the dirt. A guard rushes in and shoves Lavos away, forcing him off the man. Lavos stumbles and nearly falls, breath ragged, confusion clouding his vision.
"Back away!" the guard barks, stepping protectively in front of the villager. "What's wrong with you, boy?!"
Lavos's hands tremble as he stares down at them—like they don't belong to him. Like he doesn't belong here.
He's surrounded now.
And more lost than ever.
Lavos breathes in sharply, his chest rising and falling as he tries to calm the storm inside him. His eyes lower, avoiding the gazes drilling into him.
"I... I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I don't know what just happened to me."
He turns to the frightened villager, guilt etched deep into his expression. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to scare you."
The villager, still shaken, nods hesitantly before stepping back, distancing himself without a word.
The guard, eyes narrowed, watches every twitch in Lavos's posture. "What happened here?"
He scans Lavos from head to toe—bandages, unstable stance, disheveled clothes.
"You look like you just walked out of a hospital," the guard continues, voice firm but not unkind. "Is something wrong with you? What was the purpose of your actions?"
And in that moment, Lavos is no longer sure what the right answer even is.
"I... I don't know how I look like," Lavos murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet the man's eyes. A subtle flush of embarrassment creeps across his cheeks, and his fingers twitch at his sides as if searching for something to hold onto—something to ground him.
The guard blinks, then arches an eyebrow in confusion. "You... don't know how you look like?" he repeats, his voice tinged with disbelief. He leans in slightly, inspecting Lavos as though trying to piece together a riddle that shouldn't exist.
There's a pause—thick, uncomfortable, stretching long enough to hear the wind rustle through the distant trees.
Then, all at once, the guard's expression shifts. His eyes widen a fraction. Recognition dawns across his face, as though a long-forgotten memory has just clawed its way back to the surface.
"Ahh… Now I get it," he says, his tone slower now, laced with something bordering on awe. "I've heard about this... a couple of weeks ago." His voice drops lower, the words carrying weight. "Someone emerged from the Cursed Forest..."
He takes a careful step closer, his eyes locking onto Lavos's.
"Alive."
Lavos mutters to himself, eyes wide in disbelief. 'W-Weeks ago?! I've been sleeping all that time?!'
The guard catches the look of shock on Lavos's face and raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What's surprising you, kid?" he asks, a knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Then he chuckles—low, rough, almost amused by the whole thing. "So it really was you…" he says, more to himself than to Lavos, but there's no mistaking the glimmer of recognition in his eyes.
Lavos snaps out of his daze like a thread yanked taut. "Huh? Oh… yeah, I came out of a forest," he says awkwardly, the words tumbling out in a half-truth, like he's still catching up to the present. He pauses, hesitates, then scratches the back of his head with a sheepish look.
"So, uhh… how can I see how I look like?"
The guard exhales in a tired sigh, rubbing his forehead as if this is the strangest conversation he's had in years. "You can see yourself through mirrors," he replies flatly, gesturing vaguely toward the nearby houses. "Just look for one. I believe every house around here has one, unless someone's managed to break all theirs in a drunken rage."
He squints at Lavos again, as if trying to see beyond the boy's face—beyond his confusion. "Though in your case… I wouldn't be surprised if you've never seen one before."
Lavos opens his mouth to speak, but a light touch on his shoulder stops the words before they form. He flinches slightly—his body still not used to unexpected contact.
"E-Excuse me," comes a gentle, uncertain voice from behind.
Lavos turns, half expecting another soldier, but instead finds a man standing there in plain, worn clothing—the kind dyed by sun and labor, the kind farmers wear without a second thought. His hands are calloused, and his posture carries the humility of someone more comfortable with soil than strangers.
The man quickly averts his eyes and closes them, as if ashamed of his own interruption. "I-I'm sorry to barge in like that," he stammers, voice thick with nervous sincerity. "I couldn't help myself… I noticed you might be in need of some help."
Before Lavos can respond, the guard's head snaps toward the man with a blink of recognition.
"Gregory?" the guard says, surprised but with a tone of familiarity.
The farmer—Gregory—nods sheepishly without meeting the guard's eyes. "Yes, sir," he replies, still standing awkwardly, hands folded in front of him like he's not sure where to place them.
The guard lets out a soft chuckle, then claps Lavos on the back. "You're in luck, kid," he says with a smirk, eyes gleaming. "Gregory here's one of the kindest souls this town's got. And if he's offering help, you're damn well better off than you were five minutes ago."
Lavos blinks between the two of them, the weight of the day pressing in around his confusion. But something about Gregory's humble demeanor, his hesitant kindness, feels… grounding.
The guard adjusts his belt and turns to leave, his tone light but final. "Alright, I'll leave everything to you, Gregory," he says, offering a parting nod.
Then, with a casual wave over his shoulder, he adds, "Goodbye…"
And just like that, he walks off, his boots crunching against the dirt path until his figure disappears into the slow drift of the afternoon haze.
Lavos watches him go for a moment, then shifts his gaze back to Gregory. His eyes fix on the farmer now—quietly studying him, as if trying to decide whether this man is truly as kind as he seems or simply another piece of the strange world he's woken up in.
Gregory notices and offers a soft smile, the kind that carries no expectation. "So… what's your name?" he asks, voice gentle, careful not to startle him.
"Lavos," comes the reply—barely above a whisper. "My name is Lavos." He speaks while looking directly into Gregory's eyes, his voice steady despite the chaos swimming beneath the surface.
Gregory tilts his head, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. "Lavos? That's certainly a foreign name," he muses aloud, the unfamiliar syllables turning over in his mouth like a riddle he's never heard before.
But then, without missing a beat, his face brightens. Whatever confusion he felt is swept away by simple warmth.
"Well, regardless," Gregory says with a chuckle, "let's go to my house! I'll tell you everything about this town on the way."
He turns and gestures for Lavos to follow, his movements relaxed and inviting—like someone who's done this a thousand times, offering shelter to a stranger who doesn't yet know they've found something close to home.
Lavos hesitates for a moment… then takes the first step after him.