The Echoes Of Souls

“Hey! Are you alive in there?”

Everett slowly lifted his head. He listened for a few seconds, to know where the voice was coming from. 

“Come on. Give me some sign that you're alive.”

Everett turned toward the iron bars.

A guard stood outside the cell, taking a better look at him. When Everett moved, surprise crossed the man's face before it turned into amusement.

“Ha! So, you're still alive.”

Everett said nothing.

The guard's smile faded.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded. “You were found in the Northern Wasteland without armor or a weapon, and you were half dead. Most men would be begging for water by now, but you've been lying there as if none of this concerns you.”

Everett barely listened. Questions were already crowding his mind. Where was he? Why did his entire body hurt? And why could he remember almost nothing?

The guard shook the bars.

“Are you deaf? Or do you think you’re too important to speak to me?”

Everett looked at him properly this time.

The guard was thin with a big armor hanging loosely from his body. He has a thick eyebrow, and there was a constant impatience in his expression that made him look even more unpleasant.

“Maybe you've forgotten who you're talking to,” 

“I'm Baston Cruelty.”

“Baston Cruelty.”

The words came slowly. They were the first Everett had spoken since waking.

Baston's face brightened.

“So you can speak after all.”

Before Everett could say anything else, another voice came from the darkness behind the guard.

“That's enough, Baston.”

Baston straightened.

A man arrived.

“Leave us. I am going to question him myself.”

Baston swallowed.

“Yes, Commander Hart.”

He hurried past the man without another word.

Everett watched him disappear before turning back.

The newcomer looked to be in his forty. He had a thick scar on his left cheek, with a brown hair curled around his ears and reached the back of his neck. A short beard covered his jaw. His eyes, however, were what Everett noticed most. They were so dark.

The man unlocked the cell and stepped inside.

“I am Darian Hart, Commander of the Sovereign's Guard.”

He stopped a few steps away.

“You crossed the Northern Wasteland and survived. That alone makes you suspicious. You were found beyond the northern border, badly injured and carrying nothing that could identify you.”

Darian paused.

“I was the one who found you.”

Everett searched his mind for some memory of the man or the place he was talking about.

Nothing came.

“We need to know who you are and how you reached that territory.”

Darian took another step toward him.

“But there is something else. Three days before you were found, someone attempted to breach the Sovereign's northern stronghold.”

Everett's eyes narrowed.

“The attack failed. The men responsible were captured, but one of them claimed an outsider had crossed the Northern Wasteland and entered Valdorian territory.”

Darian's gaze stayed on him.

“Then we found you.”

Everett stared at him.

“I don't understand.”

“You should,” Darian said. “Because this is no longer a case of simple trespassing.”

He paused before delivering the words.

“You are being held on suspicion of High Treason against the Sovereign.”

Everett said nothing.

He was being accused of crime he had never even heard before.

“You crossed a forbidden border, appeared near a military stronghold shortly before an attempted attack, and you cannot explain where you came from.” Darian continued.

“I am not sure of what you're talking about.”

“You think I will believe that?” 

“I don't know what the Northern Wasteland is. I don't know why I was there, and I don't know why you think I attacked your Sovereign.” Everett pushed himself upright.

Darian studied him.

“You remember nothing?”

Everett shook his head.

“I am not sure on how I got here.”

Darian remained silent. He had questioned hundreds of prisoners over the years. Men who were guilty usually exposed themselves away by talking too much, changing their stories.

Everett was doing none of it.

He looked genuinely lost.

“Then let's start with something simple.”

Darian held his gaze.

“Your name.”

Everett hesitated.

“My name is Everett Varek.”

Something changed in Darian's expression.

“Varek?”

Everett nodded.

“I'm from…”

The words vanished before he could finish them.

Darian waited.

Everett frowned, searching for anything that might come back to him.

“Ortea?”

Darian's expression changed at once.

“Ortea?”

Everett looked at him.

“What is Ortea?”

Neither man spoke.

Darian stared at him for several seconds. Whatever uncertainty had been in his eyes was gone now.

“You truly don't know.”

Everett shook his head.

Darian stepped back.

“I'll return.”

He walked out and locked the cell behind him.

Everett watched him leave.

“You'll remember eventually,” Darian called without looking back. “And when you do, I want you to tell me everything.”

After Everett could no longer hears his footsteps again, he lowered his head.

His name is the only thing he could remember. Everything else was gone.

There were moments, though, when something seemed to move at the edge of his memory. A figure passing through a storm. Blood staining white snow. The sensation of running, with something behind him that he could never quite see.

Every time he reached for it, the memory slipped away.

Above his cell, Veyrith continued with its ordinary life. The capital of Valdoria was crowded and noisy, while beneath its streets was a prison where people accused of serious crimes could remain hidden for weeks or months as they waited for judgment.

For Everett, the world outside might as well have disappeared.

Days passed, perhaps even weeks. Darian returned several times, but Everett never gave him the answers he wanted.

Then Baston started coming more often.

One evening, he asked.

“You're still pretending you don't remember?”

Everett remained against the wall.

“You know what I find interesting?” Baston continued. “Most men in your position spend their first few days begging for their lives. You haven't begged once.”

Everett looked at him.

“Should I?”

Baston's smile disappeared.

“That depends on how badly you want to keep breathing.”

His hand moved to the sword at his waist.

“They're keeping you alive because Commander Hart believes you know something. If he decides you're useless, nobody will care what happens to you.”

Baston slowly pulled the sword from its sheath, just enough for the blade to catch the dim light.

“Put it away.”

The voice came from behind him.

Baston froze.

Darian stood at the end of the corridor.

Baston immediately returned the sword to its sheath.

“Yes, Commander.”

Darian walked past him.

Baston followed without another word.

Everett watched them disappear.

Then, one day, footsteps approached his cell.

The first set was familiar: heavy, measured steps that belonged to Darian.

But someone else was with him.

Everett raised his head as the door opened.

Darian entered first and stepped aside.

“She’s here.”

A small figure entered the cell.

Everett stared.

She would be around thirteen at most. She wore a dark blue cloak. Her hair was brown.

She raised her head.

Her face was young and delicate.

Then Everett noticed the tattoos beneath her eyes.

Dark markings appeared at the, both sides of her face and stopped beneath the collar of her cloak.

Darian looked at Everett.

“Do you know who she is?”

Everett shook his head.

The girl said nothing.

She simply watched him.

Then she began walking toward him.

Darian did not stop her.

Instead, he stepped back.

Everett noticed the movement immediately.

Darian was the man who had silenced Baston with a single sentence, yet he was deliberately giving this little girl room to approach him.

She stopped in front of Everett.

Then she slowly extended one small hand toward him.

Her voice was soft, almost gentle.

“Give me your hand.”