Chapter 8: Home
As we walked through the luxurious corridor, I couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity wash over me. The paintings and doors seemed to trigger a distant memory, like a dream I couldn't quite grasp. My fingers traced along the intricate wallpaper, each touch sending jolts of recognition through my confused mind. The others, however, showed no signs of surprise, moving through the space with a casual ease that suggested this was their safehouse.
After a minute of walking past countless identical doors and ornate light fixtures, we arrived at a large, wooden door with brass fittings that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. April pushed it open with a gentle touch, his massive frame casting long shadows across the threshold, revealing a spacious room with a round table at its center. The room was bathed in a warm glow, thanks to the two fireplaces that crackled and popped, filling the air with a comforting heat and the rich scent of burning oak.
On the other side of the room, a man sat with his feet propped up on the polished surface of the table, humming a melody that sent a shiver down my spine and made my hands instinctively clench into fists. He wore a hood that obscured his features, but as he pulled it back with deliberate slowness, I caught a glimpse of his face. A smile played across his lips, but his dark eyes told a different story. They were filled with the shadows of death and the echoes of war, a stark contrast to his seemingly jovial demeanor. Something about those eyes made my stomach churn with an inexplicable mixture of fear and rage.
"Well, well... what took you so long guys? I almost got bored," the man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he drummed his fingers rhythmically against the wooden table.
August stepped forward, his face twisted in a scowl, the firelight dancing off his red hair and making it look like living flame. "You know, escaping prison is not a one hour ride. You only sent one person to help us," he retorted, his words laced with mockery and anger as his hand unconsciously drifted toward his side.
The man leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight as his smile never wavered. "Ah, but you made it out alive, didn't you? That's all that matters in the end," he replied, his tone nonchalant as he spread his hands in a gesture of mock innocence.
I watched them talk, my chest tight with anxiety as questions raced through my mind. Something about this stranger nagged at me - his authority over the others was obvious, and despite his pleasant smile, he filled me with an inexplicable terror. I felt like I should recognize him, but like everything else trapped behind the wall in my mind, his identity stayed maddeningly elusive. My fingers twitched unconsciously, wanting to grasp at memories that slipped away like smoke.
My unease deepened when Assassin suddenly sprang up from his chair with eerie smoothness, his movements liquid and predatory in the flickering firelight. "If it isn't our beloved celebrity," he drawled, advancing with a hollow grin that didn't reach his dark eyes. "Though you seem changed - not the mad dog I remember. Where's that legendary ferocity gone?"
He invaded my space until I could sense his exhalations, studying me with unsettling focus that made my skin crawl. I resisted backing away as he scrutinized me, though every instinct screamed to put distance between us. "So the prison rumors were true - your memory's gone," he noted, his grin stretching wider to reveal unnaturally pointed teeth that gleamed in the dim light.
He whirled abruptly toward January, his manner shifting instantly like a snake changing direction. "So how do we proceed with July gone and March here being amnesiac?" His playful words carried clear menace, dancing on the edge of threat and jest.
January met his gaze icily, speaking with total conviction, his voice as sharp and cold as winter frost: "When have we ever failed?"
The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing against my ears like a physical weight. Assassin's smile vanished instantly as deadly coldness emanated from him, permeating the space and making the room temperature seem to drop. "Dangerous question, January. We've discussed this. Failure means death, so naturally you haven't failed. Yet." Venom laced every syllable, his words dripping with lethal promise.
His smile returned as he glided back to his seat with predatory grace, each step deliberately measured. "Nothing to be done about it. Work on recovering his memories, and meanwhile, here's your next assignment." He deliberately tapped a letter on the table, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense atmosphere. "Instructions are inside. Don't let us down." The warning was clear, hanging in the air like a drawn blade.
He conjured a portal using a ring like January's, the air ripping apart with a silken sound that made my teeth ache before he stepped through. Everyone but August and December visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping and breath returning to normal. August looked ready to explode with rage, fists clenched white and trembling, while December remained stoic beneath his hood, an unreadable shadow.
I worried about what mission awaited us and how we'd manage it with my missing memories, each thought more concerning than the last. The mere thought of failing him made me shudder instinctively, a bone-deep reaction I couldn't explain. Whatever ruthless person I'd been before - this "fierce beast" he'd mentioned - was gone now, leaving only confusion and apprehension in its wake. I wasn't sure if that was fortunate or not, but the others' reactions suggested my former self might have been someone to fear.
January collapsed into the chair, his icy demeanor melting away as exhaustion seemed to overwhelm him. April, ever the supportive friend, sat beside him, offering words of comfort and encouragement. August, on the other hand, stormed out of the room, his anger palpable in the air.
September and December appeared to be the least affected by the situation, their expressions calm and indifferent. I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as I watched my friends deal with the aftermath of our meeting with Assassin. It was clear that my absence had taken a toll on them, and I couldn't even begin to imagine what other hardships they had endured while I was lost in the fog of my own mind.
I made my way to the chairs, settling into one that felt strangely familiar. As I sank into the cushions, a wave of recognition washed over me, and I realized that this was my spot - the place where I had always sat during our meetings. The realization brought with it a searing headache, and I gripped my head in my hands as new memories began to surface.
Fragments of the past flashed through my mind, and I saw myself agreeing to our first job with Assassin. It was a decision born of my own ambition, a desire to prove myself and make a name for our group. But now, as I sat there, the weight of that choice bore down on me, and I couldn't help but feel responsible for the situation we found ourselves in.
As I grappled with my newfound guilt, January pored over the message from Assassin, his brow furrowed in concentration. April remained by his side, offering support and guidance as they tried to make sense of our new assignment. I watched them work, my own thoughts consumed by the realization that it was my actions that had set us on this path, and I knew that I would have to find a way to make things right.
As January finally set the letter down, the weariness etched on his face mirrored the exhaustion that seemed to permeate the room. "Let's end it for now and get some rest," he said, rising from his chair with a heavy sigh. "We need some sleep. Let's meet in a few hours." The others murmured their agreement, slowly filing out of the room, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors.
January turned to me, a tired smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Come, I'll show you your old room," he offered, gesturing for me to follow him. I nodded, falling into step beside him as we navigated the labyrinthine halls of the safehouse. The silence between us was comfortable, broken only by the soft scuff of our shoes against the carpet.
We stopped in front of a door, and I noticed that the name "March" had been scratched out, leaving a jagged scar in the wood. "Here it is," January said, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "We really are happy that you're alive. Don't worry about your powers; we'll manage. You focus on your recovery."
I felt a surge of gratitude wash over me, and I managed a smile in return. "Thanks," I said, my voice thick with emotion. January waved his hand dismissively, another yawn escaping his lips as he turned to head to his own room.
As I watched him go, questions swirled in my mind. I wanted to ask about Dzvali, to know how the others had managed to escape the prison, but everything was happening too quickly, and I could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me.
I stepped into my room, taking in the familiar yet foreign surroundings. It was as if no one had set foot in here since I'd left, with books scattered across the table, clothes strewn about, and papers pinned to the walls, their contents a mystery to my amnesiac mind. I changed into a set of comfortable clothes, the fabric soft against my skin, and collapsed onto the bed, my body sinking into the mattress.
My head spun with the influx of new information, the events of the day replaying in my mind like a disjointed film reel. As I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, I could feel the pull of sleep tugging at the edges of my consciousness. Slowly, my eyes drifted shut, and I surrendered to the sweet embrace of dreams, hoping that the morning would bring clarity to my fractured memories.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone