Darkness.
That was the first thing he felt. Not just around him, but inside his head also. He felt like his mind was a hollow cave.
"Ugh…" he groaned, as he felt the excruciating pain so intensely, he wanted to slam his head into the nearest wall.
Looking up, he saw the faint blue lanterns flickering on cold stone walls where shadows twisted like drunk snakes dancing to no music.
"Urgh," he sniffed. The air smelled like damp earth, stale incense, and… coppery metal… blood?
A wave of nausea slammed into him. "Fuck…" he muttered as he grabbed his forehead. His fingers brushed over a small bump.
"Did I fall? Was I mugged?"
He looked around the room—stone walls, no windows, a single rusty iron door.
A jolt of panic surged through him.
His head filled with countless questions.
'Wait… wait…what's my name... Who… the fuck… am I..?'
'What am I doing here...'
All these questions echoed in his mind like a gunshot.
He dug deeper—anything, a name, a memory, even some embarrassing childhood trauma—but there was nothing but emptiness…
"Ah… fuck this," he tried to stand up, and something fell from him—a small leather pouch, half open, revealing dozens of shining metal coins.
His brows knitted in a frown as he reached out with trembling fingers and picked one coin. The moment his skin touched the cool metal, a jolt shot up his arm and everything ceased for a second in his mind, then images flashed before his eyes.
A woman's gentle laugh. The taste of herbal tea. Rain hammering a stone roof—then pain. Sharp. Piercing. Like a sword had been driven straight into his chest.
"Aaagh!" he gasped, dropping the coin as he grabbed his head.
He heaved heavily.
'That...felt real. What was that… a memory?'
His hands shook as he grabbed the pouch and peered inside. Dozens of coins glimmered under the lantern light. Each coin was slightly larger than a bottle cap, crafted from metal so polished, etched with different runes, shimmering with a soft golden light.
He picked up another coin, bracing himself for the mental bitch-slap.
This time, warmth spread through his chest. He saw blurry images—a moonlit blade dripping with blood, sand crunching under heavy boots, rage boiling so hot it felt like it could melt bone.
The coin dropped. His breath became ragged, and his heart was beating so fast that it could burst out anytime.
'Okay. Breathe...breathe Focus.'
'Whoever he was, he had these coins. They were his, right?'
He searched his pockets to see if he had anything else and found a small folded strip of paper.
He opened it…
Trust no one, Not even yourself.
Each memory has a price.
Buy back only what you need.
His pulse spiked.
'Trust no one… not even yourself?... What the hell does that mean?'
He frowned deeply, chest tightening with unease thought. 'Buy back? Did that mean these coins were… memories? Memories could be… bought?'
He looked back to the shimmering coins. They glowed faintly under the lantern light, runes like out of the world—like they were alive.
"Ugh… what is this bullshit," he muttered and raked his fingers through his tangled black hair.
His stomach growled, sharp and painful, reminding him that he was still human—alive, at least, even if his mind felt like a hollowed-out grave.
He stuffed the note back in his pocket and tied the pouch to his belt.
"Hah." His knees trembled.
In the mirror nailed to the stone wall, he caught sight of himself.
Sharp black eyes, sunken and shadowed. Jaw-length black tangled hair. A faint scar on his right eyebrow. His tanned skin showed old burn marks curling around his neck. But his expression was just blank like a clean slate.
He felt completely empty, as if someone had taken out his very soul. He ran his fingers across his face.
'Who… am I?'
A quiet growl escaped him as anger rose through his confusion.
'Whoever did this to me… they will pay.'
First, though, he needed answers.
He pushed open the door. Warm golden light poured into his eyes, which forced him to shield them. Voices drifted into his ears—chanting merchants, crying kids, and quiet sobbing.
He blinked rapidly, adjusting his vision to see the scene before him.
Rows of tents stretched out under a cavern ceiling lost in darkness, lanterns hanging like stars. Merchants in robes stood by trays filled with shimmering coins like his. People moved between the stalls with blank expressions on their faces and hollow eyes. The whole place reeked of desperation.
'Huh... memory market.' he thought.
He clutched the pouch tighter, and sweat broke out on his back as a cold shiver ran down his spine.
He didn't know his name.
He didn't know who he was.
But staring at the twisted market, one thing became clear:
This world ran on memories.
And if he wanted to survive…
He'd have to buy back his life—one coin at a time.