His memories. They defined who he was, his actions, his very being, and though they gave him strength, they brought grief to him too. A brilliant sky. A castle. Something speaking to him. Blue and black. Something about fulfilling a promise, his duty. A sword. A staff. The battle was over, and they had won... right?

"As long as there are heroes in this world, I will be here to Protect you."

..
....

"and as long as there is doubt in this world, there will be Revenge."

Everything was so blurry, the goddess, the tasks... what did it all mean? What was it all for? And...
He looked at his hands, his feet, confused.
What was he?

"Who do you think you are?"

He blinked, slowly forming the words.
"...Who? I'm..."

"Look at your shadow."

Obeying, he looked down, eyes widening at what he saw.
His shadow was distorted. Twisted. It seemed to stretch and warp, as if it had a life of its own, as if it were trying to voice its complaint, dissatisfied at what it had become.
It shifted again, growing, until it took the shape something else. Something long, with flowing robes. He felt himself stiffen, taking a step back as his shadow... no. It wasn't his shadow anymore. This figure, with glowing red eyes and giant staff (why did it seem so familiar?)... no. It wasn't his shadow anymore. Somehow, the figure felt hostile.

"Your have forgotten something. Memories. You have forgotten something in your blind hope that this will somehow make things better. But you cannot escape the truth, the reality. One day, whether you like it or not, the truth will return to you, and you will realize how much wool has been pulled over your eyes. When your heart, your core finally calls out for Revenge, I will be there."

... Forgotten? Forgotten WHAT? If they were forgotten, they clearly weren't important memories. He had no need for such things. He huffed, turning, and heard a jingling sound.
With a confused expression, he looked down, to see that there was a pair of keys around his sash, and among the keys, a pitch black lock with chains surrounding the keys.
... the heck was this?

His hand wrapped around it, and immediately let go when he saw it start to smoke. This was...
What exactly had he used his memories for? What was he trying to save? Or... what was he trying to forget? The thought that he had even given up his memories, big or small, good or bad, made him tense, made him angry he had done such a thing. It was a feeling he couldn't shake no matter how much he wanted to, and the paranoia only grew as he tried even harder to remember, only drawing blanks.

Perhaps what his shadow... no. That figure said was true. He might not remember now, but from what they said, it seemed his memory loss wouldn't be permanent. He would remember, sooner or later, and when he did...

... no. He didn't want to wait. If something was taken from him, he wanted it back NOW. And so, gritting, his teeth, he wrapped both hands around the lock again, tugging on it. When it didn't budge, he huffed, but got an idea. He had keys, right? Perhaps one of them would unlock this damn thing. And so he fiddled with it, managing to free one of the keys from the clasp, and stuck it into the keyhole, and twisted.

Nothing.

Frowning, he tried again, jamming the key in further, twisting harder.
Still nothing.

He was about to try a third time, when the runes on the keys flickered slightly, making him blink. What...



<

With that, two memories were dislodged, and he found himself reeling as he was pulled back into that very scene, where he was sitting in some room, on a bed. His bed, he supposed. The room was dark, the only source of light in his hands, some sort of glowing object. The keys, he was guessing. There was a voice speaking to him, filled with sadness, remorse, regret. He could feel the pain behind it, and it made his own heart ache too. But why?

But then it changed, and he was no longer holding anything in his hands, or sitting on something. This time, the only source of light seemed to come from a cage, a dim green glow, seeming to glow weaker and weaker. The voice sounded even sadder, but then he felt anger. Betrayal. It was angry he had forgotten it, angry that he didn't come back for it. But no, not it. Him. The one he had forgotten was a he, and he himself felt anger also. It wasn't his fault! If only, if only...

A sudden buzz made him jolt, and then the memories faded, leaving him with only a sense that he had forgotten someone, forgotten... no. He hadn't forgotten. He had LOST them. Chester. His weapon. Something had happened to him, and he needed to know WHAT.

With a frown, he flipped the phone opened (he had a phone?) and stared at the message. The hell was this?
... WHO was this?

The text was forgotten as he scrambled to his feet, shoving the phone back in his pockets as he started heading to the one place where he thought he might get answers. Whoever it was that texted him, it didn't matter. They weren't important. And if they were, they weren't anymore.