Morning light spilled over the cobbled path as the adventurer entered a town that seemed to breathe in rhythm with the earth. It had no walls, no towers, no guards, just a wooden sign at the entrance that read "Verdanis – Where Time Walks Slowly."
He smiled softly at the name. After everything that happened in the last town, his heart welcomed the stillness.
He could still hear her song in quiet moments.
A song that wandered with the wind.
A song that said: "Even the lost will find their way… if someone remembers their name."
The memory lingered like a warmth in his chest. The boy's laughter, the girl's bittersweet gaze, the shattered curse, and the witch's parting whisper still echoed in his heart. It felt like something important had happened, something that pulled him closer to knowing who he was. But not quite yet.
In Verdanis, the streets were slow, but the people were thoughtful. There was no rush here. No one yelled. No one ran.
By midday, he found himself sitting beside a group of elderly men playing a board game under a tree. One of them noticed his worn boots and faraway gaze.
"You've walked far," the old man said without looking up.
"I think so," the adventurer replied.
"You know," another added, moving his piece across the board, "a man who forgets his name often finds a better one along the road."
They all chuckled gently.
Later that afternoon, he followed a bell's sound and arrived at a hilltop monastery. A young monk with silver hair offered him tea.
"You seem burdened," the monk said kindly.
"I'm... searching for myself," the adventurer said.
The monk nodded.
"Then you are already further ahead than most. The ones who suffer are the ones who don't realize they're lost."
They drank in silence.
"There is peace in wandering," the monk continued. "But remember this, peace is not forgetting. It is accepting."
He met travelers by the bonfire that night. One of them shared stories of mountain storms and shipwrecked dreams. Another, a quiet woman with calloused hands, simply said:
"Some of us don't travel to find anything. We travel so the world can find something in us."
The adventurer looked up at the stars. The same stars from the night he first woke up, alone and nameless.
"I don't know who I used to be," he said quietly.
An old woman who had been listening smiled.
"That's the best kind of beginning," she said. "You're not bound by the past. You're free to become."
He slept that night in a room offered by a kind innkeeper. The bed was soft, the room smelled of herbs, and from the window he could see the moon smiling down on Verdanis.
He closed his eyes and whispered the words from the song, as if they might carry him into tomorrow.
"Even the lost will find their way… if someone remembers their name."
And somewhere, the wind carried a soft reply, just enough to make him smile in his sleep.