The sensation was fleeting yet sharp—a sudden and terrifying void where my past should have been. A beautiful face I once loved... now just grains of sand slipping through my fingers.
All I had left was my name: Clark.
This oblivion was nothing like sleep; it was drowning. I had just broken the surface, gasping for air. My head throbbed with a dull ache. I wore rusty armor, heavy and cold. I forced my eyes open to a small campsite—and the first thing I saw was him. A man. Something deep in my gut twisted with unease.
He sat beside a faint fire, staring at the stars. A cold breeze rustled through the trees, but it couldn't mask the pungent smell hanging in the air: blood. Beside me lay a corpse—mutilated, unrecognizable. Friend or foe? I didn't know.
The man glanced toward me. His voice was disturbingly calm:
"Don't bother reaching for that sword. I didn't kill him. Found him like this with an empty bottle."
Ignoring the dizziness, I pushed myself up, my hand still gripping the sword's hilt. My voice came out as a harsh rasp:
"Who are you? What is this place?"
He didn't even flinch:
"Name's Jin. I woke up in a field of corpses. You were the only other thing still breathing. So I dragged you here."
He paused, his cool demeanor cracking for a moment:
"I was hoping you'd have answers. About me. About any of this."
His words froze me:
"What do you mean, 'about you'?"
He looked down, weighed down by the words:
"I don't know. I've lost... everything. All I have left is instinct. The need to survive. That's it."
I hesitated, then slowly sat near the fire, keeping my distance:
"I don't trust you. But... I'm in the same damned situation. I don't know who I am either."
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