Awakened in a Realm of Magic and Blood

It Seems You’ve Lost Your Senses

He had to sleep in the hut for the day and on an empty stomach.

The decision wasn’t really his. His body had reached its limit long before his pride did. Hunger gnawed at him relentlessly, each dull ache in his stomach a reminder of how far he had fallen in a single day. The thin mat beneath him offered no comfort, the cold seeping through the warped wooden floor and settling into his bones. Every time he shifted, pain flared somewhere new, forcing him to remain still.

The hut was quiet, but not peaceful. Outside, faint sounds drifted in—footsteps, murmured voices, occasional laughter that felt cruel simply because it did not belong to him. Andrew lay there staring into the darkness, his thoughts restless, his mind replaying fragments of memories that refused to connect. A life of wealth. A moment of terror. A world that no longer made sense.

Sleep came not as relief, but as surrender.

The next morning,

Andrew woke up choking on dust.

Not because he had inhaled it, but because his chest felt too tight, as if the air itself refused to settle properly in his lungs. He sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it. Pain flared across his ribs, sharp enough to make his vision blur.

“—Idiot! Don’t breathe like that!”

A familiar but unexpected voice snapped near his ear.

Andrew winced and turned his head slightly. The movement sent a dull ache through his neck, and he groaned despite himself.

“Oh? You can still groan?” the voice continued. “Good. That means you’re not dead. I already told them you’re too stubborn to die.”

Andrew forced his eyes open.

The first thing he saw was a round face hovering above him, framed by messy hair and an expression that hovered between irritation and relief. The boy’s cheeks were chubby, his nose slightly crooked, and his eyes bright despite the dim interior of the hut.

“…You’re awake,” the boy said, exhaling loudly. “Finally.”

Andrew stared at him.

The hut was the same one he had woken up in earlier. Cracked walls. A leaking roof. The smell of old wood and damp cloth. Sunlight filtered in weakly through the gaps.

But this boy… this boy was new.

“Who are you?” Andrew asked.

The reaction was immediate.

The chubby boy froze.

Then his face twisted in disbelief.

“…Hah?”

He stared at Andrew for a long second, then laughed. Not nervously. Not awkwardly. He laughed like someone who had just heard the dumbest joke in the world.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “Those wicked guys really did it this time.”

Andrew frowned. “Did what?”

The boy leaned back on his heels and sighed dramatically. “They finally beat whatever sense you had left right out of your head.”

Andrew’s lips pressed together.

“So,” the boy continued, pointing at him, “you’re telling me you don’t know who I am?”

“I don’t,” Andrew replied calmly.

The boy clicked his tongue. “Tragic. Absolutely tragic. My only friend has lost his memory.”

Friend.

The word struck something deep.

Andrew felt a faint pressure behind his eyes. A sensation like a memory trying—and failing—to surface.

“You don’t look surprised,” Andrew said carefully.

“Oh, I’m surprised,” the boy replied. “Just not shocked. You did take a kick to the head earlier.”

“…I did?”

“Yes,” the boy said flatly. “Several. Repeatedly. With enthusiasm.”

Andrew closed his eyes briefly.

That explained the pounding in his skull.

The boy stood up and dusted off his pants. “Name’s Eli. And before you embarrass yourself further, yes, you know me. Or at least you used to.”

Andrew opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Eli crouched down beside him and poked his shoulder. “Say something.”

Andrew hesitated. “Eli.”

Eli’s face lit up. “See? You remember!”

“No,” Andrew said. “You just told me.”

Eli’s smile dropped.

“…Oh.”

He studied Andrew’s face closely now, leaning in until their noses were almost touching.

“Blink twice if you’re joking.”

Andrew didn’t blink.

Eli straightened slowly. “This is bad.”

“I already figured that out,” Andrew said dryly.

Eli rubbed his face with both hands. “I leave you alone for half a day and now you don’t even know who I am. I swear, Andrew, if you start asking what Ashwake House is, I might cry.”

Andrew stiffened. “Ashwake House?”

Eli stared at him.

“…You’re joking,” Eli said weakly.

Andrew said nothing.

Eli sank down onto the floor beside him with a thud. “You’re not joking.”

Silence filled the hut.

Then Eli let out a short, humorless laugh. “Great. Just great. Of all the people to lose their memory, it had to be you.”

Andrew turned his head slightly. “Why?”

Eli glanced at him. “Because you were already miserable before.”

Andrew didn’t respond.

Eli sighed and picked up a small wooden bowl from beside the wall. “Here. Eat.”

Andrew accepted it without comment. The contents were thin and barely warm, but his stomach twisted painfully at the smell. He drank slowly, ignoring the strange looks Eli kept giving him.

“You collapsed after they were done with you,” Eli said casually, like he was talking about the weather. “I thought you were gone for sure.”

Andrew’s grip tightened on the bowl. “Who beat me?”

Eli snorted. “Who do you think? The same idiots who think owning a little strength makes them kings.”

A flicker of anger passed through Andrew’s eyes.

Eli noticed. “Oh? That look’s familiar. At least they didn’t beat that out of you.”

Andrew finished the porridge and handed the bowl back. “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Everything.”

Eli sighed like someone who had expected this. “Fine. But don’t blame me when your head starts hurting again.”

He leaned back against the wall and began talking.

This was Blackmere City. A place where people were divided not by kindness or effort, but by ability. Some awakened powers—elements, enhanced bodies, strange talents. Others didn’t.

Ashwake House was where the unwanted ended up.

“If you’re strong, you get noticed,” Eli said. “If you’re weak, you survive if you’re lucky.”

Andrew listened quietly.

“And you?” Andrew asked. “Do you have an ability?”

Eli laughed. “Me? No. If I did, do you think I’d still be here?”

Andrew nodded slowly.

As Eli talked, fragments of memory surfaced. Two boys sharing food. Whispered plans of escaping. A nickname whispered in the dark.

Round rock.

Andrew clenched his fist.

Eli glanced at him. “You okay?”

“I was thinking,” Andrew said carefully, “about the Andrew you knew.”

Eli scoffed. “You are the Andrew I know.”

Andrew met his gaze. “Even if I don’t remember?”

Eli studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “Memory or not, you’re still you. Just… broken a little more than usual.”

Andrew almost smiled.

Eli stood and stretched. “Rest. I’ll bring food later. And don’t worry.”

“About what?”

Eli grinned. “I’ll remind you of who you are. Again. And again. Until it sticks.”

He pulled the curtain aside and paused. “And Andrew?”

“Yes?”

Eli’s expression softened. “Those guys didn’t take everything from you. Not yet.”

Then he left.

Andrew lay back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

A world of power. A broken body. A friend who refused to give up on him.

This isn’t my world, Andrew thought.

But slowly, undeniably, it was becoming his battlefield.