— “We need to search you. Do you have any weapons or dangerous items on you?” the younger guard asked, having regained his composure.

  I shook my head “no” and raised my hands, signaling my consent.

  The dreamy giant—Pole—stepped forward and patted me down. After he finished, both gatekeepers visibly relaxed.

  — “Sorry about this,” the young one said, far more talkative now than before the search. “Normally, showing any kind of document would be enough to get you through—but these are uneasy times. There are more rinki around lately. Some folks have heard howls and screams at night, and others even claim they saw a troop of horsemen riding through.”

  He studied me carefully.

  — “So—you’ve lost your memory. No weapons, no money, no papers… and I doubt you’re eager to go back outside, are you? What are we to do with you?”

  — “What about sending him to old Brin?” the big guard offered again.

  — “Brin? Hmm… maybe. But first, to the elder. Pole, can you take him?”

  — “You’ll manage alone?”

  — “Sure. We’ve already locked the gates.”

  — “Got it.” Pole turned to me. “Alright, let’s go… Wait—what’s your name, by the way?”

  I just shrugged, bewildered.

  We walked slowly, giving me time to take in the settlement.

  Small, earth-hugging houses lined the paths. Tired-looking people occasionally ducked inside—likely heading to dinner and bed.

  We reached the elder’s house in under five minutes.

  Pole knocked loudly and called out:

  — “Sven! A stranger’s come, wants to stay in the village! Come out and decide where to put him!”

  From the slightly elevated cottage came shuffling and rustling.

  After a moment, an old voice called back:

  — “Bring him in. We’ll talk here.”

  Inside, the house had three rooms. At its center sat an old man at a thick, rough-hewn table—so massive it looked less like furniture and more like a tree stump someone had forgotten to uproot before building the house around it.

  Sven was beardless, with a full head of silver hair. His eyes held a glint of shrewdness and deep experience.

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  — “And who’s this you’ve brought me, eh?”

  — “He was running from rinki. Me and Rick let him in. He didn’t say a word, but we figured out he’s got no money, no weapons, and remembers nothing—not even his own name. Poor soul. So I brought him to you to decide.”

  — “Is that so?” Sven peered at me with mild skepticism.

  I nodded, then pointed to my throat and shook my head again.

  — “We thought—maybe send him to old Brin? She used to take in travelers. And honestly, there’s nowhere else to put him.”

  — “Brin, you say?” The elder’s eyes warmed slightly. “Not a bad idea at all. Take him to her, then return to your post. By the way—how are things in the fields? Anything strange?”

  — “Quiet. Aside from our silent guest here, all’s been peaceful.”

  “That’s your idea of a joke?!” I thought, rolling my mental eyes.

  — “Good. Off you go, then,” Sven dismissed us.

  We left and walked another five or seven minutes to a two-story building near the high wooden walls, set apart from the rest of the village.

  The structure looked sturdy—but carried an air of quiet neglect.

  Pole knocked loudly again, but this time didn’t shout. He just waited.

  The door opened silently, and from the dark doorway, a pair of yellowish eyes stared out.

  — “What do you want?” The voice was calm, but tinged with gloom.

  — “Greetings, Granny Brin. The elder says to let this lad stay with you for now. Any questions about payment—you take them up with him.”

  Pole turned to me. “This used to be an inn, but there aren’t many travelers these days, so it’s... well, you see how it is. Granny might seem odd, but she’s kind-hearted. Good luck.”

  He gave my shoulder a firm pat—and vanished toward the gates without a backward glance.

  “Well… I’m already dead. So no point worrying. Probably.”

  I looked at the inn’s open doorway. The yellow-eyed woman had disappeared, but the door remained ajar. Darkness waited inside.

  I stepped in and looked around as best as the dim light allowed.

  The ground floor was a large common room—part dining hall, part tavern—with several tables and a small counter near the stairs. Behind it, those yellow eyes gleamed again.

  — “Here’s the key to the corner room,” she said, placing a thick iron key on the counter. “You’ll eat and stay on credit for now. If you’ve got questions, find me.”

  And just like that, she vanished into the shadows.

  Not bothering to ask how, I went upstairs and straight into my assigned room.

  It had a single narrow window casting faint light over bare essentials: a bed, a chair, and a wooden chest in the corner.

  The mattress looked stuffed with straw, topped with a thick grey blanket.

  Still fully dressed, I lay down immediately.

  I felt no fatigue, no aches, no tension—but the act itself brought a strange calm.

  Finally, a safe place.

  My first night under a roof—no one trying to impale me, burn me, or eat me.

  I’d say that’s a fine end to a very long day.

  Don’t you agree, Living?