The beginning.

It's all blurry, but with some strength still left, the eyes open a little more, revealing a happy place. People are dancing and singing to good music. A man appears and starts playing his vielle; the people smile and sing along with each other.

Near them, there's a table filled with food — chicken, pork, and bread.

But then, the music starts to fade. The laughter, the stomping in the tavern from the dancing people — it all fades, replaced by a ringing that grows louder and louder, drowning out every other sound. Until... it all goes black.

The void consumes the vision of the lost one — a wanderer, adrift in time and space, between death and life. Soon enough, a smooth female voice is heard, sending chills down the unseen body.

“What are you doing here? Such a soul, lost in such immense darkness…”

The voice echoes through the nothingness.

“Let me help you. Help you find what life can be.”

There’s no time to think. There is no thinking, no hearing, no seeing.
And yet — how such a voice was heard remains a question with no answer.

As light begins to cover everything, a baby is revealed — then a child, then a teen, then an adult. He seems lost, sad, maybe even angry. But at all times, he lies to himself with a smile. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. He doesn’t know what he truly feels.
So many words have been thrown at this person that he can no longer tell what it is he lacks, feels, or needs. He ran away, but nothing changed.

Each step makes waves in the ground, as if it were made of some kind of liquid. The person runs faster, but there is no amount of running that can take one far enough.
He must face and believe in what he was told not to — and in what he believes to be true and right.
A hard choice for someone whose entire life was dedicated to hearing and lying — not lying to others, but to himself.

Soon enough, the person begins to slow down, growing tired and realizing there is no end. They can’t run forever… can they?
They look down, tears streaming down their face. Slowly, they lift an arm, close their eyes, and let themselves fall.
No pain is felt — only the cold breeze as they fall, and then the cold touch of the liquid ground.

The person sinks. Their hair flows with the waves around their descending body — until, out of nowhere, a man awakens, his head resting on a table.
He has smooth hair, a green hat, a green fur-lined cloak with a black tunic underneath, and trousers.

Still tired, the man pushes himself up using the table he was sleeping on. He slowly stands and looks around.
He’s in a tavern. It seems empty, but clear signs show a crowd was there before. A door is open, letting in strong wind and light, occasionally broken by people and passing carriages.
The man steadies himself and walks toward the door, placing a hand against the frame. He closes his eyes, lifts his head, and takes a deep breath, smelling the fresh air as he steps outside.
The almost blinding light soon dims, letting him see more clearly. The world becomes less blurry. He finds himself in a busy place — a town within a vast kingdom. His eyes widen; the light no longer burns them. Amazed by everything, he tries to move forward, but his body won’t let him.

The man sits by the doorway, wondering what could be happening — and more importantly, why he can’t remember anything.
His name, his memories — no matter how hard he tries to think about himself, nothing comes. It’s as if he never existed before.
He checks his clothing for clues and feels a wooden object with strings strapped to his back. He takes it off and realizes it’s a vielle.
Could it be that he once played this instrument?

He straps the vielle back on and, using all his strength, forces himself to stand. Ahead, there’s a stand where a young woman with long golden hair and colorful clothes is selling fruit of fine quality.
The man taps the wooden crates to catch her attention. When she looks at him, he smiles, waves, and points at the apples.

“That would be two silver coins, please,” she says.

The man searches his pockets for coins but finds nothing. He looks at the woman with a worried expression and shakes his head while pointing to himself.
Luckily, she is a kind soul and blesses him with generosity.

“I see you’re in terrible condition. Have one for free.”

As she hands him the apple, she smiles and shakes his hand. The man, grateful, waves goodbye with a happy yet awkward face.
He holds the apple tightly, pokes it with his other hand, then takes a bite. It’s a juicy, delicious apple.
Though he can’t remember anything from his past, he feels in his heart that this is one of the best apples he’s ever had.

He walks, wondering about himself. While doing so, the man feels someone bump against his legs. Confused, he looks down to see a little girl — she seems to be about six or seven years old. The man extends his hand to help her up, but she quickly gets up and runs away. While that happens, he hears someone shouting toward him.

“Hold that child! She stole a precious and expensive stone!”

As he hears that, he takes a step back and looks toward the child, who’s now far ahead. He watches her run — running and running nonstop. Towards where? It reminds him of something, but he decides to ignore it.
While looking back, he gets pushed aside by an old man — the same one who yelled. The old man chases after the child to retrieve the stolen item. The wanderer shrugs it off and continues walking, looking around and taking his time. Everything is so beautiful, so amazing.

He walks to a bridge and rests against its railings — a stone bridge over crystal-clear water. It’s incredible. And just ahead, there’s a fountain where people pray, with a statue on top — someone familiar, yet not a face he can remember.

As he rests by the bridge, time passes. The sunlight begins to fade, the day shifting slowly into afternoon, soon to be evening. The man stands and walks around, wondering what he could possibly do. He has no mone—

Right as he’s about to think further, he hears the sound of something heavy hitting the stone bridge near him. A leather pouch lies on the ground. The man picks it up and unties the drawstring keeping it closed. His eyes widen in shock; his mouth falls open in disbelief. It’s full of golden coins!

How could that have possibly happened? he wonders.
He ties the pouch back up, stands, and with a grin, begins searching for a tavern — one that actually has people, where he can sleep.

Wandering around, he finds a tavern with a wooden sign carved with the image of a bed. Smiling, he walks toward it. Reaching the door, he raises his hand and knocks on the wood. After a moment, he hears footsteps approaching. Soon, someone opens the door — a very tall man, bald, wearing a gray tunic and worn trousers. He stands about six feet four inches tall.

The bald man introduces himself as William Darwin, and welcomes him in.
The wanderer is amazed by how clean the place is. William then asks,

“So, good sir, what is your name?”

The man looks at William and only shrugs — enough for William to understand that he can’t speak. William nods and says to wait a moment while he goes to fetch something.
After a few minutes, William returns with a feather, an ink pot, and a sheet of paper. He tells the man to write whatever he wants, as a way to communicate since he has no voice.

The man begins writing. Soon, it’s revealed:

“I’m not aware of who I am, or were, therefore I cannot tell what my given name is.”

William laughs and offers some kind words.

“That’s no problem! I’ll just call you Wanderer, then! Fitting name for you, eh?”

Wanderer nods. There’s not much he can say in his current state anyway. Then he remembers why he came — so he takes the feather and writes again:

“I need a place to sleep. How much do you charge?”

William pats Wanderer on the shoulder.

“You’re one interesting man! One of many I’ve never seen before. Tell you what — I’ll let you stay a night for free. What do you say?”

Wanderer feels uneasy — this will be the third time someone has given him something for free. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, but now he has coins to pay, and he doesn’t want to impose. But… it is free.
So Wanderer nods, smiling, and shakes William’s hand.

William leads him upstairs to the second floor of the tavern and gives him the third room — empty and ready for use. Wanderer opens the door and immediately throws himself onto the bed, wincing slightly as his back hits the hard surface. It’s not the most comfortable bed, but it’s good enough for peace and rest.

He spreads his arms, stretching and yawning. Looking around, he sees a table, a chair, a closet, and a chest. He gets up and walks to the table, running his hand along it. Then he decides to place the paper, feather, and ink there. Sitting down, he thinks for a moment — and comes to a conclusion:
He should write everything that happens.
A diary of his new life.