The sun had nearly vanished beyond the horizon, painting the sky in rich shades of crimson. The group had only just caught their breath and tended to the wounded before it was time to set up camp. The road was far from ideal for that, and at that moment, Astar remembered the cliff he had found just before the battle with the abyssal—and he told them about it.

  Before they left, Zunar carved the core from the monster’s corpse—fist-sized—and the others helped drag the body off the road. Astar said nothing. All he wanted now was to get to a city. He had no interest in claiming the spoils or stirring up internal conflict with those who had become his guides and sources of information.

  Each step along the winding path felt heavier than the last, especially for those barely staying on their feet due to injuries. But ahead, their goal came into view: a high cliff, perfectly suited for a camp.

  “There it is,” Astar said simply, pointing to the spot.

  The cliff arched into a natural semicircle, forming a protective wall at their back, while the gentle slope provided a wide view of the area. It was an ideal place to rest.

  Lukaris scanned the terrain and grinned, clearly approving the choice.

  “Great spot,” he said with a note of praise, his voice still lighthearted despite everything they’d endured.

  “This is where we stop,” Zunar ordered, his voice still authoritative despite his weariness. “You all know the drill. Archers—take the high ground. Wounded—against the cliff. Light the fires and set the moonstones for illumination.”

  The warriors moved swiftly and efficiently, placing glowing crystals around the perimeter, lighting fires, and organizing supplies. Their actions were precise, clearly the result of long experience traveling and surviving on the road.

  Astar stood off to the side, observing, not moving. He felt out of place, unsure what to do with himself. No one asked him to help, and he didn’t volunteer. His place in the group still felt uncertain—on one hand, they were beginning to trust him, but on the other, he remained a stranger.

  It was a good moment to replenish his abyssia. Astar excused himself, claiming he needed to relieve himself, and quickly absorbed one of the small cores he’d gathered earlier. He knew better than to take risks—keeping his strength steady was crucial.

  Some time later, with the camp nearly finished, Astar returned. Lukaris and Sirael approached him almost immediately.

  “Perfect timing,” Lukaris said with a wry smile, holding out two bowls. “Here. Nothing fancy, but packed with useful stuff.”

  One bowl held a thick soup, the other a dark wine. Astar took them slowly, slightly caught off guard. It had been so long since he’d had anything resembling a proper meal, he momentarily froze. And wine? He hadn’t even dreamed of alcohol.

  He’d only been in this world for a few months, but it felt like years. His life on Earth—with its comforts and civilization—now seemed like a dream. The aroma of real food, rich with spices, and the wine’s scent were enough to jolt him from the daze he’d been living in.

  “Thanks,” he said, not immediately sure what else to say.

  “No need to thank us,” Sirael added warmly. “It’s just food. Nothing gourmet.”

  Holding the precious bowls, Astar slowly sat on a log serving as a bench. The moment the soup’s scent hit his nose, he froze. The spices, the herbs—so unfamiliar and rich, he almost thought he was dreaming.

  He meant to say something else, but saliva betrayed him, pooling in his mouth as hunger surged. The bowl rose to his lips without hesitation, and he took his first sip. The world seemed to vanish.

  The soup was hot, perfectly seasoned, its depth of flavor spreading through his body, restoring strength.

  “This… this is divine!” he blurted out, staring into the bowl as though it held a sacred treasure.

  Lukaris burst out laughing at his reaction.

  “You act like it’s your first time eating!”

  “Honestly? Since I woke up in that cave, I haven’t eaten anything remotely decent,” Astar replied, looking up. “After surviving in that forest, this really does taste like food for the gods.”

  The mood warmed immediately. Sirael and Lukaris both looked pleased. The warriors, finally allowing themselves to relax, began eating as well. Those who were uninjured stood and kept watch as they ate. The wounded ate slowly near the cliff. For the first time in ages, Astar felt a strange sense of comfort.

  “I’d forgotten how good normal food could taste… By Earth’s standards, this probably isn’t even close to restaurant quality… but right now, this soup might be the best meal I’ve ever had,” he thought to himself.

  He was so absorbed that he nearly forgot about the second bowl—the one with wine. His gaze drifted to it, and he swallowed instinctively.

  Lukaris noticed and smiled even wider. He raised his bowl with both hands, as if to make a toast. His gaze swept across the camp, pausing briefly on Sirael, who sat nearby watching with a faint smile.

  “To new friends,” he said solemnly, tilting his head toward Astar.

  The gesture felt familiar, like something he’d seen back on Earth. Maybe it was a local version of clinking glasses. Astar paused for a moment, then quickly set his soup aside, lifted the wine in the same manner, and tapped his bowl lightly against Lukaris’s.

  “To new friends,” he echoed, a little unsure.

  Sirael raised her bowl as well, and their cups met with a soft clink.

  “Forgive my brother. He loves his drink so much, he couldn’t let you finish eating in peace,” she said with a gentle, teasing smile.

  “Sis, don’t exaggerate! I saw the way he looked at the wine! His mind may have forgotten, but his body remembers, ha!” Lukaris added with a wink, then downed his wine.

  That moment seemed to erase the last barriers between them. Even Astar could feel the tension, which had gripped him since the moment they met, begin to melt away.

  The other warriors didn’t join the toast—they were still tending the perimeter, bandaging wounds, or inspecting their gear. But now and then, their eyes would wander toward the strange newcomer calmly drinking wine with their lords, as if he’d always belonged there.

  Astar took a cautious sip. The wine was dry, slightly tart, but surprisingly deep in flavor. Warmth spread through him, easing the last traces of exhaustion and pain.

  “Damn… this is really good too,” he admitted, licking his lips and gazing into the bowl like it held some kind of magical relic.

  “Now I’m certain you’ve been living wild,” Lukaris laughed. “Every part of our rations is a new revelation for you.”

  “Well, considering I’ve been living on berries, roots, and mystery meat… yeah, this is basically a king’s feast,” Astar replied with a smirk.

  The casual exchange between them made the atmosphere in the camp completely shift—now it was warm, even cheerful.

  “They may be open, but they’re definitely not ordinary folks… If they’ve got escorts and people treat them with such respect, they must be some kind of rich kids? Sirael did say they were from a merchant house…” Astar mused, glancing at the two horned figures who, in this moment, felt more like companions than dignitaries.

  Several minutes passed as they continued chatting about mundane topics—wine, how often they encountered abyssals, how long their journey would last. The conversation flowed easily, and Astar began to feel just a bit more at ease.

  But soon his gaze lingered on Lukaris and Sirael. The features of their faces, their horns, the color of their skin—all of it once again drew his attention. The question he had long tried to push aside finally burst forth. He knew he had to take advantage of their kindness and learn more about the world he had found himself in. Or rather, the world he had originally belonged to.

  “Um... Forgive me if this is rude,” he began, glancing away, then forced himself to look straight at Lukaris. “But I have to ask. Why do I look so different from you? I mean physically. We’re clearly not from the same… uh… species, right?”

  The question caused a brief pause. Lukaris raised an eyebrow, then chuckled as if the question didn’t surprise him at all. Sirael glanced at her brother before turning to Astar, her expression growing more sympathetic.

  “You’re right,” she said calmly. “Lukaris and I are Noxuli. Our race lives to the north of human lands.”

  “Noxuli?” Astar repeated, trying to lock the unfamiliar word into memory.

  “Yes,” Lukaris answered, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “We come from desert lands. Our cities lie beneath the sands, in vast underground oases. It’s cooler down there, safer, and there are fewer abyssals…”

  “Oases? Underground?” Astar asked, surprised.

  “Exactly,” Sirael confirmed. “Our civilization adapted long ago to harsh conditions. Sandstorms, scorching sun, and the lack of water forced us to seek refuge beneath the surface. That’s where we built our cities. They’re protected from most weather, and they’re easier to defend against abyssals. Though we still rely on the Church of Memoria and their temples to create protective barriers. Abyssals come in all forms, and some of them can tunnel their way into our oases.”

  “And…” Astar hesitated, unsure how to phrase the next question. “How are you connected to human lands at all?”

  Lukaris smirked and waved a hand dismissively.

  “Mostly through borders and trade. Our goods are valued far beyond our territories, just as yours are. Both our races are clever enough to be useful in all sorts of crafts. Besides, we rely on the Order of Wanderings and Trade to maintain logistics. And from Noxuli lands, the most efficient route to the Order runs through Human territory.”

  Sirael nodded and added, “As I mentioned before, we come from a small merchant house. Not as wealthy as the great clans, but not as poor as commoners. Our father sent us to the Order for training so we could become capable administrators. That’s the real reason we’re passing through your lands.”

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  Astar fell silent, trying to organize the new information in his head.

  “So... this Order is made up of Humans and Noxuli?” he asked for clarification.

  “No,” Sirael replied with a smile. Her voice was steady, but carried a quiet pride for the place they were heading. “The Order of Wanderings and Trade is a massive, independent territory. It brings together representatives of all races. Anyone capable of trading, building, or exploring tries to migrate to the Order’s lands.”

  Astar gave a small nod, letting the words sink in. After all, he had seen many different beings back in the mine. Clearly, this world had more than just Humans and Noxuli.

  “Guess remembering everything won’t be easy...” he said at last, giving a faint smile. “You said all races… Are there others like us, but different?” Astar deliberately worded the question strangely.

  Sirael looked at him, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. Lukaris, on the other hand, leaned back and stared at the few stars peeking through the leaves above, as if weighing his response.

  “If you want to understand who the ‘others’ are,” Sirael began, her gaze shifting to the campfire, “then we need to start from the beginning.”

  “Very beginning,” Lukaris confirmed with a casual nod. “We live in a world we call Mnemoris.”

  “Mnemoris?” Astar echoed, hearing the name for the first time. Still, it wasn’t hard to see the connection—mnemarchs, memoria… everything seemed somehow tied to memory or the soul in this world.

  “That’s right,” Sirael nodded. “It’s a vast continent, surrounded by an endless ocean. Many races live here, each with their own traits, traditions, and territories.”

  She paused, as if giving Astar a moment to process what he’d heard.

  “Humans and Noxuli are just two of the nine sentient races that inhabit this world. You could roughly divide Mnemoris into the northern, central, and southern regions,” she continued. “The north is home to us, Humans, Necromans, and Imps. In the central part of the continent live the Myconids, Stonekin, Lizardfolk, and Elementals. Also, in the western part of the central region lies an enormous peninsula entirely ruled by the Church of Memoria.”

  "What about the south..." Lukaris picked up the thread. "Half of it is occupied by the Order of Wanderings and Trade, and below that lies the Forbidden Dead Wastes—land cursed by abyssia, where no one is allowed to set foot. It’s guarded by a massive barrier, constructed and maintained by the Church of Memoria."

  At that moment, Sirael seemed to remember something and added, "There’s also a cursed region on the western coast of the northern part of the continent. It’s protected by a similar barrier. The Western Ocean is extremely dangerous and tainted with abyssia. Almost no ships sail there, and there are no trade routes."

  Hearing this, and piecing together all the information he’d heard so far, Astar tried to form a mental image of the map, but geography in this world was still difficult for him to grasp.

  Noticing how Astar was struggling to imagine everything they had described, Lukaris chuckled and waved toward Zunar.

  "Zunar, toss me the world map!" he called out loudly, not hiding his satisfied grin.

  Zunar, who was inspecting the camp at the time, raised his head and, without a word, tossed a scroll toward Lukaris. He caught it deftly, unrolled it, and handed it to Astar.

  "Here, take a look. It’s a simple map, it doesn’t show all the cities or zone names, but it should help you get your bearings. Welcome to Mnemoris," he added with light irony, pointing at the parchment.

  Astar took the map carefully, as if it were something sacred. The thin rustle of parchment broke the silence, and the firelight highlighted the details on its surface—lines, symbols, and inscriptions. He leaned in closer to examine the image, and for a moment, his breath caught. This continent looked like nothing from Earth. It was long, its length nearly twice its width.

  "Now I get why they explained the geography by longitude..." Astar thought.

  His gaze first landed on dark splotches that stood out like wounds on the landscape. These areas, though clearly marked, looked foreign and ominous. Astar recalled Sirael’s words—lands cursed by abyssia. One of those zones occupied the northwestern coastline, clinging to the shore like a shadow. Another, much larger, stretched across the southern part of the continent, ending abruptly where it collided with a barrier drawn like a wall of temples lined along the border.

  "The barrier," he remembered.

  His fingers drifted northward, toward the region labeled "Noxuli." This territory covered the northeastern portion of the continent.

  Beneath it, he noticed the designation "Humans." His gaze caught on a winding river that cut straight across Human lands—from west to east—like a thread stitching together the sea in the northern heart of the continent with the Eastern Ocean.

  Opposite the Humans and the Noxuli were lands occupied by two other races in the continent’s northwest. At the top were the Necromans, their territory slashed through as if to say: don’t go there. Beneath them was the smallest marked territory, labeled "Imps."

  Astar’s finger drifted further south, to the continent’s central-west. There, on a massive peninsula, lay the lands of the Church of Memoria. These were marked in white and decorated with temple symbols resembling spirals. The peninsula seemed isolated from the rest of the world—separate, but significant.

  His eyes slowly moved east of the Church. In the center of the continent was a massive mountain, dividing the lands of four races. To the left were the territories of the Myconids and Stonekin; to the right, those of the Lizardfolk and Elementals. Each name evoked an image, and Astar tried to fit them together.

  His finger dropped to the south... where the lands of the Order of Wanderings and Trade spread wide. This region was immense—touching rivers and mountains, neighboring other zones. But below it began the dead void, shaded the same ominous tone as the cursed lands of the northwest.

  He studied the map for a long time, his gaze wandering over the contours and symbols. He felt like he was looking at something far more than a piece of parchment. It was a new world—vast and intimidating.

  "Holy hell..." he muttered, glancing at Lukaris and Sirael. "Our world... it's way bigger than I ever imagined."

  Astar’s mind was now overflowing with questions. What did the other races look like? What were their relations like? What kind of politics shaped this world? And why did everyone mention the Church of Memoria so often? What exactly was it?

  But the question that escaped his lips was something else entirely:

  "What about the abyssals?" Astar asked, unable to ignore the fact that his technique, in some twisted way, tied him to those monsters. "Are they a race too?"

  Lukaris frowned, his expression growing serious.

  "Abyssals aren’t a race," he replied. "They’re more like a curse, a plague upon the body of Mnemoris. Their nature is still unknown, but they can corrupt any living being. They’re born of abyssia, and all that drives them is hunger and destruction. Some say these creatures devour the souls of the slain, preventing them from returning to the Source of Memoria. Others believe they consume memoria itself and then corrupt it within. No one knows the truth..."

  Sirael frowned, her eyes grave.

  "If memoria is the energy of creation and life, then abyssia is the energy of chaos and death. The world isn't in complete disorder only because of the Church of Memoria and their barriers. Only those whose souls were born from the Source of Memoria can pass through them."

  Astar grew thoughtful, his gaze fixed on the campfire. The world they were describing seemed both complex and frightening. But he was encouraged by Sirael’s final words. If what she said was true, he shouldn’t have any issues passing through the barrier.

  And just as that thought echoed in his mind, Astar’s eyes widened. He felt like an idiot.

  "What the hell, Astar!" he mentally yelled at himself. "We’ve been afraid this whole time, but I’ve already passed through a similar barrier! When we escaped the mine, I didn’t feel any problem! Wait, no… back then I hadn’t activated the Corruption Devouring Technique yet, and there was no abyssia inside me… Shit!" his surge of joy vanished just as quickly as it had risen.

  Everything Astar had gone through in recent months had been too stressful and terrifying. He had been so focused on surviving that certain facts had started to blur in his mind.

  Now that he finally felt safe, a wave of memories and thoughts he had suppressed began flooding back.

  "Do I have PTSD? Not that I really know what that means without a phone… Damn, the internet really gave an illusion of knowing everything. Without it, I’m not that smart," he thought with a tinge of self-deprecating humor.

  "Something wrong?" Lukaris asked, noticing Astar’s strange reaction.

  "Sorry, I’m just a little stunned, haha," he deflected. "So this world is enormous, and all I know is that it’s full of danger," he added with a slight smile.

  "Don’t worry, that’s normal. When my sister and I were sent for training, we were even more shocked. Though, to be fair, we were kids back then, haha!"

  Sirael immediately elbowed him sharply in the side. Lukaris let out a quiet "ow" and rubbed the spot, though he kept smiling as if he didn’t mind at all.

  "Lukaris, don’t tease him," she scolded, frowning. "Can’t you see he’s having a hard enough time?"

  Astar simply laughed, his eyes glinting. In that moment, he remembered his only friend, James — who also liked to tease him in a friendly way. Astar hadn’t thought of his friend in a long time, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt. Then again, he’d had a mountain of life-threatening issues to deal with. There hadn’t been any time for reflection since arriving in this world.

  "It’s fine, Sirael," he said with a grin. "That kind of humor doesn’t bother me. If anything, it feels nice. I get the sense that, before I lost my memory, I had a friend who liked to joke like that."

  His words came surprisingly easily — and sparked an even stronger reaction from Lukaris. The man sprang up, plopped down right next to Astar, and threw an arm around his shoulder.

  "Now that’s what I’m talking about!" he exclaimed with a pleased grin. "You know, I feel like we’re definitely going to be friends. You’ve got the same free soul as me."

  "Free soul?" Astar echoed with a smile.

  "Exactly!" Lukaris said confidently. "I can’t stand those stuck-up types who don’t know how to relax. Think about it — you woke up in a forest, with no memories, and instead of losing your mind, here you are, laughing like it’s no big deal!"

  "I don’t even need to imagine it," Astar replied with a laugh, gesturing toward his empty wine bowl. He truly felt like he was sitting next to a bizarre version of James — one with pointed ears, horns, and a tail.

  Sirael just shook her head, covering her face with a hand, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a faint smile.

  "I get the feeling you two are hitting it off way too fast…"

  Ignoring his sister’s remark, Lukaris splashed more wine into Astar’s bowl and declared proudly:

  "As soon as we get to the city, I’m taking you to a tavern! You should know, I’m pretty skilled when it comes to charming the ladies, haha!"

  "Are you sure we didn’t know each other before?" Astar asked with a grin, slinging an arm over Lukaris’s shoulders. "If you’re buying, I’m all in!"

  "At this rate, I won’t want to let you go! I’ll drag you along with us to the Order of Wanderings and Trade! How could I live peacefully, knowing my spirit brother is wandering the world alone?"

  "And who said I’m against it? I don’t remember a damn thing anyway," Astar replied cheerfully.

  With a mix of exasperation and amusement, Sirael stood up and walked over to Astar’s other side. She gently tugged on his hand, coaxing him to face her. There was a mix of reprimand and care in her expression.

  "Don’t listen to my brother’s nonsense," Sirael said sternly, frowning. "Or you’ll end up a drunkard and a womanizer who causes trouble for everyone."

  Lukaris, hearing that, threw his hands dramatically toward the sky as if he’d been unjustly accused of unspeakable sins.

  "Oh, my dear sister! How can you slander your beloved brother like this?" he exclaimed in a mock-hurt voice. "I’m not a womanizer — I’m simply someone who knows how to enjoy life!"

  "If that were true, I could sleep peacefully! Care to explain why we have to search for your 'free soul' in taverns and gutters in every city we visit?!" Sirael shot back, pulling Astar closer to her. "Now I also have to make sure you don’t drag anyone else into your little escapades!"

  Astar couldn’t help laughing as he watched the brother and sister trade jabs. The moment felt so light, so full of life, that he truly began to feel like a part of their world.

  "Honestly, I kind of like it," Astar admitted with a small smile. "It’s fun watching you two bicker."

  That clearly delighted Lukaris. His eyes lit up with genuine joy, and he once again threw an arm around Astar’s shoulder.

  "Exactly what I was saying! We’re like two peas in a pod!" he laughed, nodding toward his sister, who simply rolled her eyes. "If you’re anything like me, then your life is going to be just as easy!"

  "Easy?" Astar echoed with a smirk. "Did you see what I just went through?"

  "And did you see what I’ve been through?" Lukaris shot back with a sly wink. "Trust me, my friend — living with such a strict sister is no walk in the park! Besides, I have a rare and precious talent — I can find a reason to laugh in any situation. Took me a while to earn that one, you know!"

  Some of the warriors watching from nearby looked amused. They exchanged glances and, for the first time in what seemed like ages, allowed themselves to relax. On the road, their young lords were usually tense or focused, but now they looked… alive. As if something had shifted in their mood since Astar arrived. As if they were back home, not lost in the woods.

  "If this keeps up," one warrior whispered to another, "that guy will be part of the group in no time."

  "Who says he isn’t already?" the other replied with a soft smile.

  The camp gradually settled into a quiet evening. The sounds of the night forest grew more distinct, and a warm, almost homely atmosphere took over around the fire. For the first time in many months, Astar felt true comfort—the peace and freedom he had always loved and longed for.