The last thing I remember was fighting the Guardian Arch Dragon Retrius.

  My party and I were fighting tooth and nail to bring about his reign of terror. This bastard had taken my lover, my parents, and a dear friend. This was the day we took him down for good. The day we restored justice to the realm, and brought about peace for our descendants.

  At least, that was the plan.

  My last arrow flew into his eye, enraging him. The party tank ran to shield me, but it was too late. In a blink of an eye, he concentrated all of his ire on me.

  That flash of light was the last thing I saw before darkness.

  I woke in a dimly lit room. A terrible ringing in my head started to annoy me. As it died down, I heard a soft cry. A woman sat at the bedside, gripping my hand in prayer.

  My hand.

  Why was it brown? Had the dragon burnt me that badly? It was possible I had survived the blast? Why could I not feel the severity of the burns?

  Could this woman be a high level healer?

  I found the strength to speak.

  “...did the rest of the party survive the blast? Were they able to secure the loot without me?”

  The woman looked up at me with confused eyes.

  Then she started screaming.

  “Oh Lord, oh Lord! Thank you! Thank you!”

  Definitely a cleric.

  She ran out of the room and shouted for a doctor. Moments later, a man walked through the door wearing a white coat. He carried a clipboard and turned the pages before speaking to me.

  “Jamal…Brown. Ambulance picked you up on the corner of 45th outside the Quick-Mart. Seems like you were shot three times–one actually hit your head. You’ve been in a coma for the past two weeks.”

  Jamal? That wasn’t my name. My name is [   ]!

  …

  My name is [   ]?

  I couldn’t recall my own name. It must had been a nasty blow.

  The doctor flipped another page and resumed speaking.

  “The surgery was successful. All bullet fragments were removed…all the holes have been stitched up and healed. Now that you’re awake, we can run diagnostics tomorrow and get you out of here.”

  “Oh thank you Lord! Oh my goodness, thank you!”, the lady said.

  I sat up without any effort. The slight ringing in my head finally started to dissipate. I touched a hand to my forehead where my finger felt hair.

  Hair that I don’t remember.

  It was so coarse. So curly. I picked one out and held it in front of me.

  Black.

  Black?

  I had blonde hair, last I remembered. Long, straight, blonde hair.

  “Where’s my phone,” the woman said, “I gotta tell the family you awake now!”

  “Oh. You can sit up? Let me get the nurse. We have to run some tests on you to make sure the coma didn’t have any lasting effects.”

  The doctor left quickly.

  Phone? What’s a phone?

  I looked to see the woman tapping her thumbs on a small reflective rectangle. Then, she put it up to her ear and began speaking incessantly.

  “Yes–YES he’s awake! No…they still not allowing other visitors, just me…I’ll ask but they already said no…okay…okay…spread the word on Instagram, Facebook, all of them…okay…bye.”

  Instagram? Facebook? Spread the word? Couriers perhaps? Why would news of me waking up be spread with such urgency as this lady talked?

  “Cleric…,” I began, “Where am I? What happened to my skin? Where’s the rest of the party? Are they alright?”

  The woman pursed her lips in confusion. I didn’t think I asked anything unreasonable.

  “Jamal, I’m your momma, not a‘cleric’. And what party–is that where you were when this happened? You better tell the police everything you know, boy, I told you stop playing with these boys on the corner!”

  The woman tapped on the metal rectangle again and began talking to it, turning away from me.

  My mom? This lady was not my mother. My mother was a lady named [   ].

  …

  How can I not remember my own mother? At the word all I could see was this woman’s face plastered over my every memory. Something foul was at play, I don’t know what. I suspect it’s the same thing that turned my skin this shade of brown–that turned my hair curly and black, even.

  “Nevermind,” I muttered.

  I stood up without effort. My exposed feet were met with the cold of a tile floor. A shiver went through my body. I needed to find some sort of answer to why this was happening.

  “...yes he’s awake now–JAMAL!”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  I turned toward the screeching woman, my supposed mother.

  “Jamal–baby–you shouldn’t be walking by yourself! If you need to use the bathroom ask me for help, here–”

  The woman rushed to my side and took my left shoulder. Together, we hobbled toward the door she opened.

  A lavatory.

  “Yell when you’re done,” she said, shutting the door behind me.

  I took a moment to process what was going on.

  Facebook? Instagram? Phone?

  At least a toilet remained a toilet.

  I don’t know what dark magic took half of my memories, but I resolved that I would find–

  That can’t be me.

  The mirror showed the truth.

  What was this face? This wasn’t my face! I couldn’t remember what my face looked like, but I knew it wasn’t mine.

  Short, curly black hair?

  Where were my pointed ears?

  Brown skin?

  My lips were never this full.

  I gripped the edges of the sink and breathed heavily. I moved my hand and flinched when the reflection in the mirror did the same. I touched my new hair, my new skin, and my new nose.

  The scar above my right eye had not healed well. From where it hit, I should have been in the presence of [   ].

  Of [   ].

  My deity. I couldn’t remember the name of my deity.

  [   ]!

  [   ]!!!

  Damn it! I’d have to remember later.

  I gazed in the mirror.

  Whose body was this? Where was mine?

  I looked my fingers over, then my arms.

  I saw scars on my right forearm from some attack. Must have been an arrow.

  I moved the blue robe to reveal a matching scar on my chest, right near the heart.

  That cleric must have been a higher level than I thought.

  No signs of scars on my stomach.

  I moved the light blue robe–

  When did I get that back? I thought they cut it off at birth?

  Irrelevant.

  I took deep breaths and spoke softly at the mirror.

  “I am…I am a… [   ]”

  I racked my brain for any answers of my old self. Something that would tell me who I was.

  “R…ranger…I’m a ranger!”

  Finally, something! I needed to find my bow. It belonged to [   ]!

  Damn it. I know it belonged to someone related to me. If I could get my hands on it, I could find out who I actually was. I kept thinking, trying to remember anything else. All that came to mind was…

  Guardian Arch Dragon Retrius.

  This had to be his doing, or someone allied with him.

  The doctor? He said he wanted to run some tests…

  He had to be part of the plan. They want to see how much I remember so they can know if their scheme had worked.

  Yes. I see it now.

  I would not fall for their game. I would play coy. I’ll let them think they got rid of all my memories. Surely then, I could get some real answers.

  I opened the bathroom door, a goal now in my mind. The woman claiming to be my mother, the doctor, and what I assumed to be a nurse all stared at me.

  “See, doctor,” False Mother said, “he’s walking! He’ll be good to leave tomorrow!”

  “Only if he’s well enough. Just because the body is moving doesn’t mean he’ll be all there in the head. Jamal, sit down please.”

  I eyed the doctor and the nurse as I sat back on the bed. My face must have betrayed me, because the woman spoke again.

  “Jamal, why are you lookin’ at the man like that? He’s just tryin’ to help! Fix your face.”

  I glanced at False Mother and put on a neutral expression. Maybe she too was in on this scheme.

  “Alright, son,” the doctor sighed, “Follow my finger with your eyes.”

  He moved his finger back and forth across my face. I followed dutifully. I wondered if this was part of a ritual or spell he was preparing.

  “Now, do you know who you are? Can you tell me your name?”

  Words formed in my head.

  “Jamal…Brown. Jamal Vernon Brown.”

  Vernon?

  “Alright. Now Jamal, can you tell me where you are?”

  “I’m guessing an infirmary? The cleric’s prayer seemed to–”

  All three of them looked at me with confusion.

  “Nevermind.”

  “Alright…,” sighed the doctor. “Can you get up and walk around the room for me please?”

  I got up and walked a circle around the room. I scanned the shelves as I walked. Neither my bow or armor seemed to be in the room with me. They must have taken it to another location so that I would not be able to defend myself.

  I sat back down.

  “Well, he looks alright. The stitching on his head, arm, and hand seem okay. Now, Jamal, I said this when I walked in but I’m going to say this again: You were shot. Three times. One hit you in the head above the eyebrow. The other two landed beside your heart and in your wrist. Nod if you understand how lucky you are to be alive.”

  I nodded. Even if he was the pawn of the Arch Dragon, I could tell that was the truth. He must have told me in order to appear trustworthy. I won’t fall for his games.

  “Even though you seem cognitive, we’re going to have you stay here for one more night to make sure, then we’ll send you on your way. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I responded.

  The pawns of the Arch Dragon said goodbye and left the room. False Mother clasped her hands in relief.

  “Oh, thank you Lord! Jamal, I’m gonna let you rest but I’ll be back tomorrow morning!”

  Words formed in my mind. I instinctively patted my thighs in search of an object. I couldn’t verbalize what I was looking for, but I knew I needed it to be in my hands. The false mother turned around to say goodbye but saw me searching in vain.

  “Jamal, what are you looking for? Your phone?”

  Yes! That’s what it was!

  False Mother walked to the opposite side of the room and took a small metal rectangle off a white cord. Then she walked over and handed it to me.

  “Just woke up from a coma and wants his phone. Call your family and let them know you’re okay. I’ll be back in the morning to come and get you. Love you, baby.”

  I held the metal rectangle–this phone–in my hands. My finger pressed the side button, and it sprang to life. A background of three dark skinned boys with a set of words over it.

  Monday, June 7th, 2025.

  What in all of the twelve hells is a “Monday”? “June”? “2025”?

  My thumb moved on its own. It swiped up and made the text disappear, now showing ten symbols encased by circles. My thumb twitched as if I knew what to do.

  “One more thing, what is this about a cleric and–”

  1-0-2-2-0-1.

  When my thumb hit the last symbol, everything froze.

  My phone showed a single sentence.

  [TUTORIAL : ST. STANLOWE HOOD]