Of Blood and Darkness

Roman Beginnings

He did not know where he came from, nor what he was. He knew how to speak, to read, to write. He knew how to function as a human being. But his memories, his experiences, they eluded him. It was a curtain he could not unveil. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope, all his memories jumbled. He remembered fighting a lion, walking on a beach, and jumping through the branches of a tree.

He looked out of the window of the bus, he could see the hills rolling by, and the stars in the night sky. He knew this place was important, he remembered that. The tunnel–which the conductor confirmed to be the Caldecott Tunnell–had an eerie brightness to it. By the looks of it, no one else seemed to notice that.

He got off at the tunnel, and the bus drove off, leaving him alone in the night. His ears perked up when faint whispers reached him.

He followed the voice, getting off the road and heading to the side of the tunnel. He could see it now, a door on the side of the tunnel. He could see two guards on either side of the door.

They wore a bizarre mix of plumed Roman helmets, breastplates, scabbards, blue jeans, purple T-shirts, and white athletic shoes. the entrance. The guard on the right was a guy with, curiously, a can of soda in his hand. The one on the left was a stocky guy with a bow and quiver on his back. Both kids held long wooden staffs with iron spear tips.

Purple, He thought, It's supposed to be orange.

He paused, and looked down at his own clothes. He was wearing a mix of black and red, with some golden accessories. Then again, I'm not wearing orange either.

One of the guards lazily pointed at him, saying something to his colleague.

Well, no second guessing myself now.

The other guard nocked an arrow, and let it lose. He raised his arms up on instinct, and a wall of darkness rose from his shadow. The arrow clanged harmlessly off of it.

The wall disappeared once he dropped his arms. He stared at them like they were not his own.

"What in the cinnamon toast fu-"

"State your name and reference!" A somewhat squeaky voice said, it sounded scared and guilty at the same time.

He looked up at the guards, a conflicted expression on his face, "Cyru-no...Steensen."

"Steensen?" The guy who shot him repeated.

"Valen," he said, "I think?"

"Which is it, Steensen or Valen?"

"Both,"

"Valen Steensen?"

He snapped his fingers, "Yes! That's it!"

"Do you not remember your name?" The shooter asked.

Valen shrugged, "My memories are kinda jumbled right now."

"And your reference?" The soda drinking guard asked.

"Reference?" Valen echoed.

"A letter from someone vouching for you," he said "Did Lupa not tell you that?"

"Lupa?"

"..."

"..."

"How did he even find this place?" The stocky guard asked.

His companion shrugged in reply.

"What should we do?"

"Take him to Reyna, She'll know what to do." He said, "I'll keep watch in the meanwhile."