'Cold.'
The familiar feeling of bitter cold droplets falling from the sky, melting to water as it met with warm skin and raced downward in streams.
'I can almost hear the clink of a village smithy's hammer. It feels like each collide is trying to remind me of my past.'
'But... who am I? I have no memories—no history.'
Darkness.
'I cannot see. Yet I recognize.
His mind shuffled, blindly observing himself.
'Male. My body is weak and brittle, ready to fall beyond disrepair.'
'And my hair, black and dyed with faint strokes of red like dried blood caught in thread.'
Clink.
'I hear it again.'
'It sounds like distant laughter as a forge spat sparks from a hammer's rage.'
Rage.
'Somehow, that feels more familiar than the nostalgic sounds from the shards of memory that try to creep in during the night.'
Night.
Just the same, a darkness that veils my eyes against a light that flickers through the gaps. It comforts me in its arms, embracing me like a mother.'
A clink again.
'That sound, it's getting louder—no, closer. It's pulling me toward it...'
'It wants me to remember my name...'
Again.
'But what is my name?'
And again.
They're building up into a roaring symphony now.
Metal on metal, fire against iron, loathsome against depraved.
'I recognize it now.'
'I don't know why or how, but I can tell this is a forge that hungers through ancient wrath.'
'Hunger to create.'
A Crucible of Names.
It's preparing a name that would fit the vessel.
BANG!
'My vessel.'
The hammer held by fate slammed down one last time against the anvil's cold and cruel surface.
Everything paused in that final strike, inviting reverent silence to flood the void.
No more waves of shattered memories torn from a lost soul.
No more familiar feeling of snowfall melting against skin.
The forge fell silent. Its heat lingered, yet the flame and sparks were absent.
'Inside of it... something... something is stirring.'
Unfamiliar runes etched into blackened iron of destiny that spoke naught.
'A name.'
One to be burdened and hammered into being. An alloy of fate itself, still needing the carbon of a vessel, it was brittle. It had to be tempered.
The runes escaped the forge's embrace, floating toward the boy and wrapping around his head like chains, locking away centuries of snow and sin beneath bitter skin.
'Magnificent. Beautiful. Otherworldly. How can one even describe these runes?'
Each symbol was a scar against the ribs of time itself. Drawn from fury, cooled in silence, and quenched by shadow.
'Reidnott.'
Each rune echoed in his head and branded against his skin in ruthless strokes.
'I... I am Reidno—'
The name split into his tongue and cutting him off, it felt like molten lava, seething and burning.
Hisssssss
Sounds of steam rose from his mouth—the evidence of his brand as the searing heat of the forge extinguished in a breath.
***
Against a poorly cobbled path, a young boy lay in rest, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths.
The sounds of footsteps shuffled awkwardly around, some avoiding the boy, others in the distance.
"The fes—Yule!"
"Vol—trad—oute."
Voices, too, moved unevenly, shaky breaths seeking shelter behind lips.
People were moving with intent. Their every step and bound was rushed, and their hands carried various necessities and goods.
"Come on Myrkvi! The Yule rite is starting in your honor!" A playful young adult spoke enthusiastically, his voice distant and detached from a body behind a veil of black, but it was directed at Reidnott.
"What?"
And there, on the boy, two eyelids parted, fluttering open gently, like a butterfly stretching its wings for the first time.
The world before them, bright and blinding, spun for a moment before settling to click into place.
His lungs sucked air like it was their first, violent and hungry. And coughed out the warmth of a forge. The air was foreign in his marrow.
"Where am I?"
The stones he rested on were cold against his back as if they had been cradling him in his sleep for hours.
"I said get up! We're moving camps," the same voice came again as it gripped onto Reidnott's shoulder, pulling him upward, "get a move on, or be left behind. It's your choice."
"Uofph—easy... take it easy! I'm up, alright?" Reidnott raised his arms in surrender, now standing straight with sleep still hanging from his eyes.
Shaking off the dirt from his rear and straightening his roughed-up white tunic, Reidnott scanned his surroundings.
Herds of people darting around, pushing past each other without care to collect themselves. Everyone was in a rush to pack up and leave, going as far as ignoring and forgetting unnecessities.
"What's going on?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, turning to face the voice that had brought him to his feet.
There, he saw a tall blonde man with deep blue eyes, his hair braided into ropes and tied ruggedly at their ends. He wore the same clothes as Reidnott, even the same footwraps.
"What do you mean, 'what is going on'? Do you forget that fast?!" The blonde giant stared at him with a hawk's eye, disappointment and annoyance pulled at his eyebrows making them twitch.
His arms unfurled from a crossed resting position to point, his finger aimed at a distant mountain, "A scout saw an obsidian dread moving in our direction from North..."
He switched his finger to his middle one, turning to point toward a section of the forest where the trees rose impossibly higher, "so we're moving South, deeper into the forest."
"As you know, we don't have any dreamers with us at the moment. So unless you're ready to put up a fight and die alone, I suggest you join the rest of the crew."
With that, the blonde man walked away, crossing his arms back into their resting position and leaving Reidnott to think.
'Dreads and dreamers... I can't make sense of what a dreamer is... someone who sleeps? And a dread is some kind of enemy?'
Reidnott furrowed his brows and pressed his thumb to his temple to think.
'Guess that last part is redundant since we're fleeing from it... But how dangerous is it that all these people don't dare to face it together?'
'...'
"Let's find out another day," He muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disapproval, "I'm rather keen on not dying day one."
Reidnott jogged to catch up with the blonde giant that had invited him, following behind and tuning into the passing conversations.
"Isn't deeper into the forest dangerous? Most people don't come back alive, or even sane at the very least."
"Do you want to face the dread then? Plus, we're already deep in, and nothing has jumped us so far."
"Why did I agree to come..."
The people rushing were an unhealthy blend of angry, confused, and scared. Their minds corrupt with urgency.
"I heard the Tree of Life was in the middle of this place!"
"That's just dumb... we'd be able to see it from here if anything of the sort was there."
"What? You're dumb!"
"What if the fog comes, and we get lost in the world of fairies?"
"Haha! Fairies don't exist, big guy!"
The people who were ready to leave were significantly more friendly. Small phrases of banter tossed around the ambiance as if untouched by the situation.
Some pieces Reidnott held onto, but most of it just seemed to be idle chatter.
A girl called out from atop a wagon, her voice sharp and amused. "Mitchel! You got Reidnott awake."
"I'm surprised you didn't come back with his dead body." Her frame was smaller but confident. Like a cultist greeting her peers, she wore the same clothing as Reidnott, waving over the blonde giant.
Turning to face Reidnott for a second with an annoyed look, Mitchel looked up at them and rested his face. "Yeah, yeah. Agnes, get down from there and get your little brother sorted..."
"Oh knock off, he's not my brother!" Agnes jumped down from the wagon, her hair dancing in threads, the sight burned into Reidnott's mind.
Pitched in half black on the right and half white on the left, she was an exotic sight with a slender but strong build.
Poomf—her feet planted, catching her as she crouched down in her landing to not lose her balance.
"Alright, Mitch, I'll take over then. Go make sure everything is alright." Straightening herself, she shooed off Mitchel, sending him walking toward the front of the wagon with his arms crossed.
Mitchel followed her instructions delightfully, clearly not wanting to stay around Reidnott, whom he always acted begrudgingly toward.
"And check up with Thyra!" She shouted, cupping her hands into a funnel around her mouth and raising herself as she spoke in case her voice didn't make it high enough.
'Mitchel and Agnes... a strange pair. Are they my companions here?'
"Hey, Anges—" Reidnott cautiously raised his hand toward the girl but was quickly cut off.
Agnes' face crumpled a little. Looking like an older sister who had to do her brother's chores, sounded cold and frustrated. "And you! Why were you sleeping during the pack down?! We had to do everything without you!"
Reidnott retreated his hand and lowered his head in submission. "My apologie—"
"Do you have any idea how worried we were as well? What if you were left behind, you couldn't look after yourself." Agnes lectured him, furrowing her brow and her cheeks curving downward.
"Mitchel especially. He pretends not to care, but I've seen the way he looks at you." She softened a little, her tone lowering to a small mutter.
'Interesting. So that big brute is closer connected to me than I thought. Have I taken some poor soul's body?'
Nott raised his head and offered a gentle smile, his eyes lowered yet still meeting with Agnes'. "I'm sorry for troubling you all. Can I help with anything?"
Agnes' jaw seemed to drop for a moment, shock and confusion painted across her. "Uh—Tuhh—Yeah? Are you okay though? Did you hit your head?"
Reidnott was a little surprised by her reaction, having hit his head? What gave her that assumption?
"Uhh... I'm fine, thanks? Is something wrong?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and scratching his head.
Agnes shook off the confusion and faced him, her composure returned wholly. "No.. Just expected your usual listless and effortless responses."
She turned and pointed to the back of the wagon she had been sitting on, a pile of sacks laid on the dirt beneath. "The last of our stuff is there. Unlike the unlucky others, we managed to keep everything since we didn't unpack anything we didn't need."
"I just need you to tie the rest up and secure it inside the wagon. Everything else is done." She turned the ends of her cheeks up and said in the same amused tone as earlier.
"I think I can do that for you..." Nott grinned, walking toward his task, "are you sure that's all though?"
Agnes paused for a moment, rubbing her chin like an old man lost in thought. "Yeah, that's about it. I'm gonna go to Thyra and let her know we're good to go then."
"Don't forget to lock the wagon up, the key is in the door!" She yelled out, jogging toward the front of the wagon.
"Right." The smile quickly left his face as Agnes left.
Kneeling down to the pile of sacks, he took a rope that sat tucked under the pile lazily and started to tie a knot while letting his mind wander.
Around him were small herds of people, each dressed the same as Nott and his companions: white tunic, roughed darker pants, and footwraps.
Tents of different colors, shapes, and sizes were being packed down, and small wooden shacks were being emptied of their contents.
'We look like pillagers.'
His mind jumped over baseless conclusions, questioning why these people were in the middle of a forest and why wooden shacks and lightly cobbled dirt paths were out here.
His fingers twisted and turned, making the rope in between them dance as he pondered.
'Am I kin of this world? Or of another?'
The experience in the forge and when he had awoken. It was like there was a life beyond this one that he had forgotten.
Had he merely forgotten? Or was it stolen from him, history melted away under the heat of the crucible and molded to fit this new body by the force of the hammer.
And his body, it belonged to someone that wasn't himself... he had merely taken it, or rather, was forced into it.
That forge he heard. The crucible that gave him his name. It didn't just give him a name but a life. One that didn't belong to him.
'Rest well, Reidnott. I hope your sleep was peaceful.'
Reidnott picked up the sacks by the rope he had tied and threw them up onto the back of the wagon.
"Uof—There we go." He grunted, climbing up to meet the sacks and move them inside the wagon.
He picked them up by the rope and carried them in through a thin doorway, reflexively hanging to one side to counter the weight he carried.
Inside the wagon were neatly stacked vegetable sacks, some wooden boxes nailed shut, and rigid crates with bruised fruits.
There were quills filled with arrows and a collection of daggers carefully sheathed and laid on their sides.
'So we're hunters and gatherers?
None of the items followed an order or consistency that told him he needed to follow an example, so he just threw his pile down by the vegetable sacks and left for the door, locking it and taking the key with him.
As Reidnott climbed out the back of the wagon, he saw the shabby houses empty, the stones in the dirt paths in front of them sat tiredly, and the fences made of logs and sticks sighing in relief of the humans leaving.
'This must be a checkpoint for migration then. A place to rest that is visited in the travel.'
No signs of names or ownership were to be found. Only lonely wooden shacks and the dying embers of exhausted campfires.
"Nott! You all done back there? The caravan is just about ready to leave." He heard Agnes' voice call from the front of the wagon.
'I guess it's time to go.'
Nott put on a smile and turned to face her voice. "Yeah! All done here, let's get going."