The streets of Uvvvaek felt different now. They no longer whispered secrets or accused dogs of unpaid debts. Instead, the city seemed strangely quiet, like a predator watching its prey, waiting for the inevitable. It was as if the air had thickened in response to Ilyan's realization that something crucial was missing from his past — and that the search for a witness would be the key to unlocking everything.
As they wandered deeper into the city, Loup — who had been uncharacteristically silent for the past few hours — finally broke the stillness.
"So, who do we look for?" he asked, twirling in circles, his jester's bells jingling like a soundtrack to his madness. "A lost soul? A forgotten lover? Or perhaps, a misplaced document?"
Ashwen shot him a pointed look. "If you don't stop with the riddles, I'm going to start charging you for every word that makes no sense."
Loup put a hand over his chest in mock horror. "Mon dieu, what a cruel fate! Is it too much to ask for a little poetic flourishes?"
Ilyan sighed, trying to push the absurdity from his mind. "We need to find someone who remembers me... from before. Before all of this."
"Before what?" Loup asked, now genuinely curious. "Before you were dead, mon ami? Or before you got tangled in all this messy paperwork?"
"I don't know," Ilyan muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "That's the problem. I don't know who remembers me. Or if anyone does."
Ashwen fell into a thoughtful silence. Her brow furrowed, and her footsteps slowed. For a moment, she seemed distant, lost in some private contemplation. But when she spoke again, her voice was firm.
"There has to be someone. Someone who remembers. I mean, you had a life before this, right? You weren't just a blank slate when you died."
"I don't remember," Ilyan admitted, his voice soft. "And maybe that's the real problem. If I can't even remember who I was, how can I expect anyone else to?"
"Hold on," Ashwen said, halting in her tracks. "You're telling me that you don't even know who you were? Before this whole thing started?"
Ilyan stopped too, his mind trying to make sense of the pieces. "I… I don't know. It's like a gap. A void. I don't remember any details — no names, no faces. Not even a sense of where I was, what I was doing. It's all... erased."
Loup nodded sagely, though his eyes twinkled with something far too mischievous. "Ah, mon ami, the void of your past is the true curse. But you know what they say — you can't erase a story. Even if the pages are blank, they'll eventually be filled. One way or another."
Ilyan's gaze softened. "You make it sound so easy."
"Well, life is a performance, non?" Loup grinned, spinning on his heel before skipping forward again, his tone brightening. "Now, how do we go about finding this elusive witness? Perhaps we go to a bar! A tavern! Somewhere where people have been forgetting things for centuries!"
Ashwen gave him a deadpan look. "You're ridiculous."
Loup shrugged, the movement light and carefree. "Ridiculousness is the essence of the human condition, my dear. But come now, let's find your witness!"
They didn't have to go far. The three of them entered a quiet alley, and there, tucked between two buildings, was a weathered tavern with an equally aged sign: The Half-Moon's Lament. It looked as if it had been in place for centuries, though Ilyan couldn't recall seeing it on any map. The wood creaked in protest as they entered, and the air inside was thick with the scent of stale ale and forgotten conversations.
The tavern's patrons were an eclectic mix of locals and travelers, each of them draped in mystery like a cloak. The bartender, an older woman with a face as worn as the tavern itself, looked up from behind the counter.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice raspy as if it had seen too many years of endless stories being told.
"We're looking for someone," Ilyan began, his voice uncertain. "Someone who remembers me. From... before."
The woman's eyes narrowed, as if assessing him. Then she nodded. "There are always people like you in places like this. Lost souls, or those looking for them." She leaned over the counter, her gaze intense. "Who are you trying to find?"
Ilyan hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't remember my name. I don't remember... anything."
The woman blinked, then sighed. "Of course, you don't." She wiped a glass with a rag, lost in thought. "There's a man. A regular here. Been coming for years. Might know something. He's not much for talking to strangers, but he's got a memory like a steel trap. If anyone remembers you, it's him."
Ilyan felt a flicker of hope. "Where can I find him?"
She pointed to a shadowed corner, where an old man sat, hunched over a drink. His beard was long and unkempt, and his clothes looked as if they'd been worn for decades. There was something about him, though, that seemed out of place in the dim room — something ancient.
Loup leaned toward Ilyan. "He looks fun. Maybe he's got some stories for us, hm?"
Ashwen's eyes narrowed. "Let's see if he even remembers his own name before we ask him for ours."
Ilyan hesitated but then nodded, walking toward the old man. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as they approached, and every step felt like it carried a weight of its own. He wasn't sure why, but this man — the one who might hold the key to his past — seemed somehow more than just a stranger. There was a pull in Ilyan's chest, as though he'd known this person for far longer than he could remember.
The old man looked up at them as they reached the table, his eyes sharp despite his age. He studied them for a long moment before speaking.
"You're looking for someone," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "But you won't find what you expect."
Ilyan blinked. "How do you know?"
The man chuckled softly. "I've seen enough lost souls in my time. You think you're looking for answers, but the truth... the truth is something that might just break you."
Ilyan's heart pounded in his chest, but he stayed calm. "I need to find my past," he said, his voice unwavering. "I need to know who I was."
The old man's eyes softened, and he leaned back in his chair. "Then you're going to need to dig deeper than you think. But be warned — some things are better left buried."
Ashwen raised an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."
Loup, who had been quietly observing, added, "Ominous is his specialty, no? It's in the job description."
The man gave a slow smile, but it was one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe. But you're not going to like the answers you find."
With that, the man gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Sit. We have much to discuss."