They are all a bit irritating, too, treading carefully around him, choosing their words with utmost care in his presence. Once, someone had let it slip that he is apparently still recovering from some ordeal or other, and that they have been instructed to watch over him, but to give him space. He does wonder if whatever it was that happened to him was what cost him the memories he thinks he might have had once.

But above all else, he feels… lonely, most of the time. He’d like it a lot better if he had someone to talk to. This space around him is mostly empty save for the occasional visitor, and it’s always quite, ever bright. He wonders sometimes how he even manages to sleep when it never gets dark around him, not that he can remember ever experiencing darkness. He feels like he knew what it was, once, but he feels that way about a great many things, and he can remember none of them.

All that he does is float in this unchanging world of light, where he has to concentrate to even find ground to stand on. It is almost like this place does not want him to have control over how and where he exists. There are no doors, no walls, no end to this space that he is in, and still he feels trapped, as if something is missing. That makes no sense, though – one can hardly miss things one has never encountered, right? He has no memories, nothing. He shouldn’t yearn for something that isn’t real!

Except sometimes he thinks that perhaps he used to be someone, at some point. Someone with a name and people who called him by it. If so, he’s sorry that he can’t seem to remember them. But if he had anyone … Well, there’s no use thinking about it. He has no one now, even if he used to. Perhaps he’s just not very pleasant to be around, which would explain why nobody would come looking for him, and why the others here, even those who look mortal like him, are keeping their distance. It’s far easier to believe than that whole story about him needing time to recover, anyway. He’s perfectly fine, physically at least.

He tells that to the person who comes to check on him sometimes, too, but the man never reacts to anything he says, really. He doesn’t answer when he asks about finally making himself useful, either. The man just stares at him for a while, and then he turns around without a word and leaves just the way he came, through some kind of glowing fissure barely visible against the all-encompassing brightness. It always closes behind the visitor once he leaves, and he’s alone again.

The whole thing is strange, he thinks. He’s never seen anyone carry weapons here, except his visitor, who always has a sword with him. It certainly looks like it belongs in this realm, with the blade shimmering almost like gold, and the gem set into the hilt shining all on its own. So yes, the sword belongs here, he just doesn’t think it belongs with that man, for some reason. He’s never seen him use it or even grab the hilt of the damn thing. It almost seems like his visitor is just carrying it around for some reason or other, and sometimes he has to suppress the impulse to just reach out and take it. He has the distinct feeling he’d know how to use it. Perhaps he used to be a fighter of some kind, before he ended up here?

But who really knows, except Meridia, who won’t even speak to him? He wonders if that’s just the way she is. But surely she has to communicate with her followers somehow? They all seem to know what they are doing, after all, as opposed to him. Is it just him she won’t talk to?

It frustrates him to no end that he’s just … supposed to remain here until told otherwise, and nobody is telling him anything. It was alright, at first, when he didn’t even really know how to move, but now he only feels trapped. As if he should not even be here. Like he’s supposed to belong, and he used to, but somehow, he no longer does.

He has no means to leave this place, though, even if he could figure out what to do, where to go afterwards, and so his only escape is to sleep and hope for dreams. He doesn’t think anyone knows about the dreaming, or else they would likely attempt to stop it, like they prevent him from learning anything about the world – or worlds – outside this realm.

He knows those exist, because his dreams are always about other places, other times. He can’t place them, not really, but sometimes they even feel a little familiar, and he’s always happy when he drifts off, looking forward to it.

When he falls asleep this time, though, it’s different. At first, he wonders if he’s even sleeping, because he’s still here, and that’s never happened before. The only thing that tells him he’s dreaming is the woman suddenly standing in front of him. She looks oddly out of place here, definitely not like someone who worships Meridia on a regular basis. She’s wearing a set of leather armor, not the bright white-and-gold robes the cultists prefer, and she’s got a dark blue scarf wrapped around her neck. He thinks she must be Redguard, judging by her dark hair and skin, and she’s grinning brightly at him. Not the wrong, soulless kind of bright, but the kind that feels like warmth, and like a piece of home.

And so he doesn’t question it when she says, “Come on, let’s get out of here,” and then pulls a hairpin from the back of her head. It’s shaped like some kind of bird, he thinks, and there’s a small stone set into it. She taps on it lightly, and then he watches as some kind of magic nearly flows out of it, opening up into a swirling, greenish portal that seems to swallow the light around it. And, well, now he thinks he’s seen darkness.

“That’s new,” he blurts out, even though he has no idea what it even is, or how he knows that.

“Right,” the woman chuckles, “It’s a void portal. I learned that about two years after we lost you, courtesy of Verandis. It’s a long story, so … escape first?”

“Oh. Of course,” he replies, and the woman takes his hand and pulls him through the portal.

It leads to someplace still within the realm of Meridia, but outside the endless room he’d been trapped in. Here, there’s visible, solid ground, and a shimmering sky above them. Someone is waiting for them when they step out of the portal, a big, heavily armored Orc who is grinning just as brightly as the woman, showing off an impressive set of tusks.

“Got him, I see,” the Orc says cheerfully to the Redguard, and then he turns and adds, “Good to have you back.”

And oh.

These are his friends, and he knows he’s dreaming, but the sleeping mind can’t come up with people on its own, right? They’re his friends, and the knowledge that he has them nearly takes his breath away.

The woman frowns next to him. “Are you alright?” she asks. “I know you probably can’t remember our names right now, and I promise Meridia will get what’s coming to her for that, but first, we have to get you out before they come to get you back.” She turns back to her Orc friend. “Our way out still safe?”

“Just behind that coral thing back there,” he supplies, “But we should hurry before Alinon runs out of potions to feed Gabi. Even she can’t keep that portal open forever.”

The Redguard nods, and then, suddenly, there’s the sound of shouting and weapons being drawn, and his new companions both curse.

“And that’s our cue to exit,” the woman says. “You two go first, I’ll make sure nothing can follow us through.”

Next thing he knows, all three of them are running, and then the Orc shoves him head-first through another, far less ominous-looking portal. He tumbles out on the other side, his new – or maybe not so new – friends right behind him, and the first thing he feels on the other side is the breeze. It feels like he can breathe freely for the first time in what he thinks might have been a very long time, and now he knows that it’s over, he’s free, even if he hadn’t realized he was a prisoner before.

The portal flickers shut behind them, and he barely has time to realize he’s really made it out before he’s being swept up into a whole series of hugs.

There’s an older man in heavy armor who looks like he’s about to cry. Someone younger, who smells like herbs and potions and therefore must be the aforementioned Alinon, hits him over the head and swears at him for a full minute before pulling him close. The Orc and the Redguard cling to him at the same time, nearly squeezing all air from his lungs. And then, there’s that stunningly beautiful mage. Gabi, he thinks the others called her, though he thinks it’s a nickname he doesn’t use, not really. She looks exhausted from holding their escape portal for such a long time, but she seems so happy when she hugs him, and he can’t help but press a kiss to her forehead before they pull apart.

Everyone around him is smiling. He can’t remember any of these people, even though their presence is familiar, comforting even, but he knows they love him.

The Redguard, the one who was the first to reach him, is still grinning when she says, “We’ve got so much to tell you. You won’t believe half the things you missed.”

The Orc snorts. “You say that like it was fun, Izani. Let’s be honest, most of it was utter shit!”

The others all laugh, and the Redguard – Izani, apparently – shrugs. “Sure,” she says, clapping him on the back, “But I think it’s going to get better now. I have my best friend back, who, by the way, owes me a fortune in drinks. And I just realized I didn’t say it yet, so … Welcome home, Darien.”

Darien Gautier jolts awake, looking around wildly, only to find himself back in the Colored Rooms. The visitor – a warden, probably, he realizes now – is back and watches him with a frown on his face. Darien’s eyes dart to the man’s hip, and sure enough, he has the sword with him, like always, and suddenly it all makes sense.

It’s his sword, he can remember that much now, and it has something to do with why he couldn’t even recall his own name up until now. They were testing him, parading that sword around in front of him, waiting for him to stop noticing it, most likely. Waiting for him to no longer care about the one thing that’s left of his former life, the one where he knew Izani and Alinon and Gabi and the others, whose names weren’t spoken. They were waiting until nothing remained of his old self, and he won’t let that go on any longer.

That sword is his, and so are the memories Meridia has taken from him, not a benevolent mistress after all. There are people out there who love him, and who likely want him to come back to them. He doesn’t know all of their shared history yet, or even their names, but they’ve returned his own to him, and he needs to find them. He’s only seen them in a dream for now, but still, they give him the strength and resolve he needs. And besides, he owes them drinks, apparently. For some reason, that’s a concept he can get behind.

His eyes scan the area behind his warden for the fissure, the nearly invisible exit he knows to be there. He finds it, eventually, barely noticeable as it is. But he’s been here long enough to recognize the small ripples in the light for what they are. A way out.

He looks back to the warden, who looks as if he’s about to speak, unsettled by Darien’s unusual silence. There will be questions – he’ll want to know what’s different, he’ll want to know about the dreams, so that Meridia can remove those too. Darien won’t let him.

He tackles the man to the ground – his body remembers how to do that well enough. The warden is too surprised to react for one precious moment, and that is enough. Darien grabs Dawnbreaker, leaps through the fissure, and then he runs.