The sea wind was really cold. It felt like it was cutting my skin. The waves were moving slowly. They were hitting the shore with a loud thud.
Dark clouds hung low over the water, blurring the horizon until it almost vanished. The sun was completely hidden, leaving a cold, bluish gray that made everything feel muted and tired.
Seabirds flew lower than usual. They circled once, twice.
On the beach, a man lay face down in the sand, limp and still.
His hair was the color of silver, his clothes all dark, a black cloak draped over his shoulders. Hunger drew the birds closer, and they began to peck at his coat.
Slowly, his eyes opened. He stared at the vast stretch of sand before him, then sat up with a start. The birds scattered at once.
"Hah… where the hell am I?!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from dryness.
His head was spinning around in circles. There were drops of sweat all, over his skin. A loud ringing noise was going on inside his head as his mind was trying to remember things and piece together memories.
"Dammit, I can't remember anything… except my name," he muttered, He pressed a hand against his forehead. "I'm-"
"Yeah. My name is Lucian Zhargrim."
He stretched both arms upward with a groan, then yawned in frustration. "Fuck, my head is killing me. Amnesia, huh? Great."
Through the mist, he saw the edge of the forest along the shore. A figure stood under the shade of a tree, watching him.
The man was handsome in a quiet way. Long black hair framed a face with sharp features and eyes that glowed a deep red. He wore a neat black kimono and a dark blue cloak.
The man stepped forward calmly.
He was smiling. His eyes were gently closed as he walked.
"Are you lost as well?" the stranger asked softly.
Lucian blinked, still trying to steady himself.
"Uhh… yeah. I guess I am. I woke up here and I can't remember anything. I think I have amnesia."
The man tilted his head slightly. "That is unfortunate."
"My ship was attacked," the man continued, voice smooth and even. "It was destroyed at sea. I must have drifted here after the wreckage."
Lucian's eyes widened. "W-What? Then… could I have been part of your crew?"
The stranger gave a faint hum of consideration. "It is possible." He paused, then added with a light tone, "Or perhaps you were the one who attacked us."
Lucian stiffened. "What? No, I… I don't think so. I mean, I don't even know where I'm from."
The man covered his lips with his right hand and let out a soft chuckle. "Fufufu. I was joking. It seems unlikely that you were our attacker."
Lucian exhaled. "Don't do that. My brain can't handle it right now."
The stranger opened his eyes briefly. They were indeed red, not merely reflecting light.
"I am Graham," he said. "Prince of Amura, from the continent of Magahara."
Lucian stared at him. "A prince?"
"Yes."
"And you're just… wandering around alone?"
Graham smiled again, closing his eyes once more. "Circumstances are rarely ideal."
He bowed slightly, a graceful yet relaxed gesture. "And you are?"
Lucian scratched the back of his head. "Well, I'm Lucian Zhargrim. That's all I've got."
Graham replied calmly. "In that sense, we share a common ground."
The air grew colder. The heavy clouds above finally surrendered.
A single drop of rain struck the stone near Lucian's foot.
"We should find shelter," Graham said. "Unless you prefer to rediscover your past while drenched."
Lucian snorted. "Yeah, let's not."
They entered the forest together, following a faint path that gradually became clearer beneath their steps. After some time, the trees parted to reveal a village.
It was unexpectedly prosperous.
The village sat neatly beneath the darkening sky. Curved roofs, the kind that rose at the corners in traditional Chinese style, layered like frozen waves. The eaves were carved with dragons and phoenixes painted in red and gold. Deep red wooden pillars supported two-story houses with latticed windows. Paper lanterns swung gently from porches.
The main street was paved with tightly set stones. A wooden cart that had been parked at the side was hurriedly pushed under cover. Stallkeepers pulled down their awnings and lifted their baskets. People who had been chatting moments before now moved with purpose. A mother hurried her child along, covering their heads with a thin cloth.
Rain thickened.
Graham glanced sideways at Lucian. "Do you have money?"
Lucian frowned. "Money?"
"It is a medium of exchange. Used to acquire necessities."
"Oh." Lucian rubbed his chin awkwardly. "Right. That sounds important. I don't think I have any.
"
"To be honest," Graham said evenly, "I do not possess local currency either. However, I have a small amount of gold. That should suffice."
Lucian stared at him. "You're really a prince, huh?"
They entered the nearest inn just before the rain turned into continuous heavy rain.
The scent of warm wood and faint incense greeted them. Graham placed several gold pieces on the counter. The innkeeper's eyes widened slightly, then he nodded and arranged a room for one week without hesitation.
"You're generous," Lucian muttered.
They were led upstairs by a servant carrying a lantern. The wooden staircase creaked softly beneath their steps. The corridor was dim, illuminated only by lanterns hanging at intervals along the ceiling.
Room 11.
Graham slid the door open and stepped inside.
The room was simple yet spacious. Two beds stood parallel to each other, covered in clean white blankets. A small wooden table rested between them.
Lucian sat heavily on one of the beds, testing its softness.
He looked up at Graham.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Lucian asked. "I'm a stranger. For all you know, I could actually be the one who destroyed your ship."
"We are in the same situation," he said, voice gentle.
Lucian narrowed his eyes slightly. "You trust people too easily."
"No, Not at all."
Lucian stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or feel uneasy.
Outside, the wind carried the scent of wet earth before the rain fully unleashed itself. Within moments, heavy droplets struck the rooftops in rhythmic waves. The once lively village fell into near silence, leaving only the sound of rain sweeping across the curved tiles like a thin veil drawn over a stage of prosperity.