It took some time before his heartbeat slowed down to a normal pace. The shivers had finally left, as had the hysteria. He felt tired and numb but his head was strangely clear as if he had pushed the tension he had felt into a room somewhere in his mind and locked the door. He didn’t think he had gone into shock. He was not paralyzed enough for that. And it worried him. Was he feeling anxious enough? Guilty enough? He had killed someone. Someone who tried to kill him. Not remembering any experience before that morning wasn’t helping with understanding whether what he had done and felt was too little or too much. He had no point of comparison for the person he used to be, for the morals he used to believe. He didn’t know what to think.
He stood up, aches making themselves known throughout his body. His fingertips were an ugly red as were his forearms. He had cuts all over his skin and his left ear and forehead had scabbed already. He looked at his right hand. That was probably his worst injury. His palm was cleanly stabbed through, flesh and bone a charred, bleeding mess at the center. He felt like he should be screaming. It hurt. It hurt most horribly. But it was a physical hurt. The pain was there, but distant somehow. As if he was receiving echoes of it, rather than the full sensation.
Moving past, he looked at his clothes. Somewhat burned, dirty with dust and blood, he felt a well of disgust come upon him. A bit surprised, he touched his cheek and felt the drying blood there. His lips pursed immediately. Disgust. That was the strongest emotion he had felt since the fear had been locked away.
Trying not think about it, he undressed, barely managing to pull his shirt above his head with only one hand. Naked, he could see that the blood from the cuts had seeped through his clothes, and crusted on his skin. Standing in front of the mirror, he saw himself as he had seen it this morning: unfamiliar. But there was more there now. He noticed more, as he compared himself with… with the humanoids in the hall. His skin, now blemished red, harsh sensitive skin at his burns, his white hair doing little to hide the dirt as it wetly clung to his neck and pointy ears, his eyes wide, bright green gazing back at his bruised face and beaten up body.
He looked away. He needed to bathe. The urge to get clean like an itch clawing under his skin. As if hearing his thoughts, a door appeared on the wall beside him, and he hurriedly walked toward until he stopped, hand hesitating above the handle.
Thoughts ran toward the last two humanoids still outside. What if this was…?
No. He forcefully shook his head and opened the door. Relief to find an empty, marbled room filled with steam overcame him. A pool full of clear water covered most of the white floor, and he made his way to it, slowly disturbing the water’s surface with his hands before pushing himself in.
His cuts stung but the warmth was too enticing, so lying against the pool wall, he closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.
A few minutes in, he started to feel drowsy enough to nap, but it likely was light-headedness from the blood loss. Lazily looking at his injured hand, the water certainly not helping, he wondered if the room would provide bandages for him if he asked nicely as well. Like a genie with unlimited wishes.
But, what was a genie?
His missing memories never failing to sour his mood, he rose from the pool and thought hard of his need for medical supplies. Nothing seemed to happen but when he turned back, he saw a stool, and a table that were not there before. Grabbing a towel, he mentally thanked the room as he dried himself, before sitting down on the newly provided furniture. On the table, there were about a dozen bottles of various sizes, shapes, and colors. Several rolls of cotton and a soft white material, and what appeared to be delicate cutting tools and scissors were placed beside them.
Ok, this was good, but he didn’t know what any of these things were. He took the closest bottle. It was long clear bottle with what appeared to be water inside it. He unclasped the cap and smelled it. He recognized the scent to be antiseptic, an alcohol of some kind, although he never had smelled such a scent before. Ignoring the insanity of him remembering nothing but somehow knowing things, he tried to focus, thinking maybe more knowledge would suddenly pop up in his mind.
Minutes later, as he wondered whether he should try one of the other bottles, two semi-transparent screens popped up in front of him.
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Skill [———] has ——- up!
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Skill [Observation] has ——- up!
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What the—? How could he understand so much? He had understood a few words before but now, now he could make out numbers and sentence structures. Thinking of how suddenly he had understood some of the humanoids’ words mid-conflict, he started to think on whether there was a mechanism of some sort that granted him knowledge at specific moments. Perhaps, when he reached certain requirements? Thinking of when he started to understand those people’s words, he had spent quite some time in their presence by then. Maybe the ‘learning’ happened after a certain amount of time? Or rather, he realized, after gaining experience.
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Skill [——– Thinking] has ——- up!
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The new screen was surprising but it confirmed his speculations. Looking back at the other two screens, instead of illegible characters, there was the word “EXP” written there.
In excitement, he started to think of ways he could facilitate this ‘learning,’ so that he could understand the language faster. How could he gain experience? With more words to familiarize himself, of course!
He took over the bottles, one by one, and started to carefully look through their labels or any engravings they had. However, once he finished, no new screens popped up, and neither did he find himself understanding any new words. Not allowing himself to dwell on the disappointment, he tried to figure out where he went wrong.
Seeing the words ‘Skill [——– Thinking]’ floating by, maybe he needed to be more proactive in his ‘learning.’ He read over the labels again, but this time he tried to identify separate sentences, punctuation, which words were nouns and which were likely verbs, and after a series of guesses, a new screen did pop up.
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Skill [Language ———–] has leveled up!
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Yes! Yes, he could ‘learn’! This could work! He looked over the bottle in his hand again, and he had never been so happy to see the word ‘Disinfectant’ stare back at him.
Looking at the blood staining the label though, he ruefully laughed. He needed to clean up before he could explore further. His cuts may have scabbed, but his hands and burns needed better care. He decided to experiment with a smaller cut on his knee first. He poured a few drops of disinfectant on it, and ignoring the sting he tried to clean the surrounding skin as well as he could. Taking some cream from a bottle labeled “Healing —–” he placed a bit over the cut. Feeling stupid as he waited for something to happen, he tried to see if any of the other bottles had something to cool down burning skin. Feeling tingly warmth on his knee, he saw the cut close itself up as the cream disappeared. Touching his now-unblemished skin, the feeling of loss and helplessness that had accompanied him since the moment he woke up without memories started to recede.
Thinking of this place, his unfamiliar appearance, his inability to understand his own speech, and the fight with three strangers had given him major imposter syndrome and the fear that he was very much like a toy that was being played with.
But he could learn. He could learn to dodge and fight, he could learn the language, and he could heal himself after some good thinking. He hadn’t felt so in control of his fate since sleep this morning. Looking at the ‘Skill [Language ———–]’ screen, he strengthened his resolve. First, he would have to fix himself up, and then move on to language.
