The two moons cast a silvery glow in the darkness, one about half the size of the other. As confused as he was, he knew that Earth had only one moon. Gaping like a fool, he wondered if he was finally going crazy. Hallucinations were possible with head injuries, but even so, it didn't explain his smaller body and the rags he was wearing. It didn't explain being in the center of a nuclear explosion and then finding himself in some disgusting alley. What made things even worse was that he couldn't remember things. Knowledge including famous locations and people, famous events, famous dates, scientific progress, and cultural and societal development still existed, but every time he tried to remember his past before the nuclear detonation, it felt like he was walking into a dark fog. He couldn't remember if he had a lover or family, much less his own name. Everything from suddenly having amnesia to dreaming sped through his mind, but what existed before him was too real to ignore. Glancing down at his rough, childish hands, his thoughts sped up again, trying to come up with a reason, any reason to stave off the madness he felt.

Grabbing his head with his hands, he massaged his temples, smearing the mud already caked in his dark, black hair. He tried to control his breathing, forcing it to slow down as he tried to rationalize what was happening. In the darkness behind his closed eyes, he found some solace, but the brief respite passed when he sensed something solidifying in his mind. Flashes of more intense pain seared his mind, as the dark fog began gathering together. Memories, vague and bizarre at first, then familiar began to fill his mind. They had nothing to do with Earth, and how real they seemed made him more and more scared. It was having a glove perfectly fit over one's hand, only to realize the glove was their skin... a part of them. He didn't want to accept it, but as the memories merged with him, he realized he had always been this boy with the scrawny body. The memories clearly and violently told him so. From the vague recollections as a toddler barely surviving to the mess that landed him brutalized in this back alley, he knew his past in this world was real.

However, he also knew that he had two pasts: his current life that could remember large parts of and another that was nothing more than knowledge accumulated on earth. The more the dark haze solidified in his mind, the closer he came to understanding his predicament. He was alive, but this was a second life of some kind, one that he had already been living for 11 winters. He was no longer on the Earth from his memories. The name of this world, known to all its inhabitants, was Azara. There were many meanings to the name, but he knew that the name itself was possibly older than human civilization on Earth.

This was his world, and now deep inside of him, this truth solidified dispelling the shock of seeing the two moons. The memories a fragmented past that had briefly overwhelmed him slowly receded to the back of his mind. While he couldn't remember much about who he had been, he still remembered Earth for a reason. He remembered it's skies, its people, its history, and what was probably the beginning of its last days. Though he felt only a flicker of connection to that world, there was still part of him that refused to allow the last moment of his past life to fade away into oblivion. He had died, because he had been weak when compared to the horrors the world brought forth. It was no different to why he was left to die in this place... in this life. He was still weak, but he was still alive. He was still an orphan, but he was alive. That was enough for now.

As his eyes opened, anyone nearby would have been surprised at the determination etched into them. The gaunt, narrow face was relaxed, as though at peace finally, and even the small figure's breathing was not labored. Almost whispering, he slowly spoke in what he knew was the trade language, reintroducing himself to this world... no, to his home, Azara. “My name is Val.”