My head. My fucking head. It feels like it’s splitting into a million pieces. Endless bewildering thoughts and feelings run through my head all at once and there’s an extremely strong urge inside me to bash my skull against the cave wall to end it all.

Countless unrecognizable voices echo inside my head, calling me by unfamiliar names but it’s so unbelievably close to feeling familiar. It feels like I’ve forgotten so many things but I can’t quite remember what it is I’ve forgotten. Maybe if I hear these voices a few dozen more times those unfamiliar feelings will become clearer. Sitting up on my pile of rags, bright sunlight filters into my cave and I try to shield my eyes from it with my hands.

Why are my hands covered in filth and why are they so small? Confused, I reach into the pile of rags I’m sitting on, grabbing the comb that’s hidden at the very bottom and start getting my hair in order. Gisella always told me to make myself presentable no matter what type of company I’m keeping and I guess her words always stuck with me even if my current company is a band of dregs. I wonder what she’s doing now. I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. Why does it feel like my hair grew to shoulder length overnight?

Getting on my feet, I feel a bit lightheaded before realizing my body is sore all over. Did I get in a fight last night? Is that why my head is all hazy? Gods, my nose feels horrendous. Is it broken? There’s two dry trails of blood under my nose that are crusted over with flakes of hardened blood.

It must’ve been Hawthorne, that old bastard. He’s the only one down here that’s good enough to knock me out. I’ll take care of him one day. There’s no one better in this whole fucking world at biding their time than me. My patience is boundless and I even forced myself to wait for years before getting my dignity back. In the end, not only did I get mine back but I also gained the strength to take the dignity of others.

Straightening my body out, I stretch my back out and a series of cracks ring out as I take a moment to enjoy the sensation. After cracking my neck and my knuckles, I head out of my cave to get the boys ready for the breakfast brawl. It’s still a little early judging by the chill in the air but we might as well get ourselves set up for the ensuing fight. But I only take six steps out of my cave before my body freezes in place.

Seeing the horrifically mutilated body a dozen or so feet in front of my cave sends my mind into a daze. I can’t believe what I’m seeing and I immediately rush over to it to check if what I’m seeing is real. I reach out a trembling hand to touch the body’s hand and when I feel something solid, my hand violently recoils in horror as I fall backwards, flailing on the ground to get away from it. My heart starts racing and I almost hyperventilate until an agonizing pain pierces through my head. I collapse to the ground and all I can do is curl myself into the fetal position as I hold my head with both hands.

Moments pass by as the only sounds I can hear are my own quiet sobs as tears trail down both sides of my face and wet the dirt under me. What is happening to me? What was I doing just now? Sitting up, my head is still throbbing but I’m no longer terrified of looking at the body anymore. Why did I think I was seeing my own corpse just then?

The unbearable pain is one thing but I’m more afraid that I’m losing my mind. Did I really think I was the man with the scarred face a few moments ago? Thinking back on it, everything seems so surreal. It wasn’t like my body was being controlled or anything like that but rather I really was the scarred man. It all seemed so natural, so realistic. I don’t know what’s happening to me.

But what am I supposed to do? I couldn’t tell anyone when we were still together and now I can’t tell them at all even if I wanted to. I couldn’t tell Wraine, I couldn’t tell Bertrand, and I couldn’t tell Derriv anything about what was happening to me. I didn’t want them to look at me any differently. I didn’t want them to see me as a freak.

It’s one thing if I’m having nightmares and I wake up screaming occasionally because there were those types of people in Candle who had the same problem as I did. Hell, Bertrand would sometimes wake up in a frenzy and hack his wooden furniture into pieces with his sword before he calmed down and regained his bearing. But it’s a whole other thing to think I’ve somehow stolen the memories of the people I’ve killed and that I’m slowly starting to lose myself, becoming them in the process. One can be explained by trauma and the other can’t be explained at all. Ever since I was a kid, I had to learn the hard way that the fish that leapt the highest out of the river were also the first to be caught.

Admittedly, I have told people about the city in my dreams before. It’s just that I wish I never did because I don’t want to remember those times. I thought it was something unique and interesting that only I knew and I wanted to share it with the other kids in Abermock. But when the things I was sharing made their way to the adults, I started getting odd looks from the parents and their kids would stop playing with me, keeping me at arm’s length instead. I became an outcast. I learned at a very young age that sticking out like that in such a small village by expounding strange dreams gave me the stigma of being strange myself.

But I also learned people tend to forget a lot of things over time. As long as I kept my mouth shut about my dreams, then everyone in the village eventually forgot the nonsense I was spouting and everything would go back to normal. Back to the status quo. I didn’t want to lose my place in Candle by telling them I thought I was going crazy. I’ve seen where the people others have deemed crazy go and I didn’t want that happening to me.

Midriver has a few madhouses where anyone who is deemed mentally unfit go and those places are horrid. I once had to walk by one of them while I was on an errand with Olin to pick up repair supplies for the compound and the hysterical screaming that came from that place as the patients bashed their heads against the iron bar windows was horrifying. That very night, I walked into the compound’s pantry and poured ale down my throat until I blacked out and despite the awful hangovers the next morning, that became my mandatory nightly ritual to keep the nightmares away. I kept what was really happening to me close to my chest and explained away my night terrors as my guilt from all the people I’ve killed. That worked well enough and nobody asked me about it again but I did notice people would sometimes give me pitiful looks when they didn’t think I saw them.

But with what just happened, this is already out of my control. Maybe it would have been better for me to open up about it. It’s too late now though. After sitting on my ass for about 15 minutes, contemplating my life, the pain subsided and I got back up.

It looks like more people have woken up now and most of them are congregating at the center of the bottom level where the wooden box dropped me off last night. The box isn’t there anymore, however, people are still gathering around that area. It also seems I was right about the lack of ramps in this place because I see people climbing down the walls from the first or second level to the bottom level. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone that lives on the third level and above. I wonder why that is.

Not knowing what to do really, I go ahead and follow everyone to the center of the bottom level. Looks like that midnight dance from last night worked its wonders because no one is willing to make eye contact with me. People even run away from me if I get close to them and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Everyone’s dressed pretty similarly to me, wearing dirty linen rags that droop down with how baggy they are.

When everyone’s gathered at the center around where the wooden box landed last night, they all stand there silently without any talking whatsoever. They all look around nervously as if they’re afraid that the person standing beside them will suddenly attack them out of nowhere. Most noticeably, of course, is they’re all terrified of me and that makes me smile. I count about 50 people in total with both men and women mixed in with the majority of them being men. They are all around the same age, some in their 20’s, some in their 30’s, and all of them are skin and bones. Seeing how even the scarred man’s underlings were the same as these people, perhaps only the scarred man was able to eat well down here.

There’s a noticeable group among the entire gathering that sticks out to me. There’s about a dozen of them and they’re hugged together pretty closely as they stand there solemnly. I noticed them in the first place because they kept sending me fearful glances and when I looked back, I recognized them as the ones who attacked me from last night. Giving them a bright smile, I wave my fingers at them with a somewhat seductive flair. All of them instantly turn their heads away from me and my smile only grows wider. I’ll be sure to return the warm welcome you gave me last night just like I did for your boss.

There’s a bit of a commotion as the gathering on the opposite side of me spreads apart to let an older man and a little girl through. The man looks much older than everyone else here and even from this distance, I can spot a few spots of gray on his otherwise dark brown hair and his matching full beard. His brown eyes seem to inspect me for a moment before he looks away. I didn’t notice immediately but it looks like he walks with a bit of a limp in his left leg that only really shows when he puts his full weight on it. He’s not incredibly thin like the rest of the people here and his arms especially seem pretty thick. There’s numerous faded scars on his hands and arms which makes me think he’s no stranger to a brawl.

The little girl trailing right behind him is much younger than everyone else here and she can’t be older than 10 winters. She has long, silver hair that could use a serious wash and her deep blue eyes remind me of Ilya’s. I hope Ilya and the others got away from the city safely. She looks a little slim for her age but she’s better off than most of the other people here. I do wonder how she got here of all places.

Before long, a high pitched whistle sounds from above that echoes throughout The Pit. Looking up, the wooden box from last night is slowly descending and everyone gathered below it tenses up. Looking around, they’re all eyeing each other venomously but no one’s making a move just yet. I think I have an idea of what all the bullshit the scarred man was spouting last night was about.

When the box lands on the ground and the dust settles, I can see a linen sack inside filled with what seems to be bread as well as a barrel of water. No one makes a move and instead they all turn to stare at me. Ahh, what a marvelous effect that midnight dance had. Maybe I’ll give them an encore tonight if they’re good boys and girls. Smiling at them, I step up to the wooden box but the group from last night step up as well, seemingly contesting my right to feast first.

One of them with most of his front teeth missing shouts angrily, “Just because you killed Corbin doesn’t mean you’re the new top dog down here. You’ll have to get past us first.”

Giving him my prettiest smile, I responded, “Gladly.”