Several weeks had passed.

Roven was no longer confined to the bed. He now spent most of his time by the tall window, seated in a heavy wooden chair whose creaking had become the only familiar sound in his days. The faint winter sunlight entered the room only in the mornings and left the walls by noon. After that… darkness returned.

The stone ceiling and towering walls surrounded him like barriers made of memories he didn’t have.

No one spoke.

No one asked anything.

Only the servants, who brought food in the mornings and took the trays away silently at night.

And they…

They looked at him with eyes full of judgment.

Some of them mumbled things under their breath when they entered. Like curses.

And when they left, they slammed the door.

Roven didn’t know why.

He simply… didn’t know.

Not because he refused to, not because he was hiding anything—he truly remembered nothing.

Sometimes, sounds echoed faintly in his ears. A car horn. A boy’s laughter. And light… a light that vanished, followed by nothingness.

He wiped the fog from the window with his finger and looked into the castle’s courtyard. Soldiers were training. A flag, dark blue with a black bird emblem, trembled in the wind.

Name of the country? The house? Himself?

Nothing. Just one name: Roven.

He stared at himself in the full-length mirror at the corner of the room.

Long black hair falling past his shoulders. Pale skin. Violet eyes that, under the castle’s cold light, gleamed like strange jewels.

He was tall—about 6’1”—but this body… it didn’t feel like his.

Sometimes, when he looked at his reflection, he felt like an unwelcome guest.

A lost traveler in a silent body with a shadowed past.

He asked himself:

"Who… was I before? Why… here?"

Everything was blurry. But the looks weren’t.

They were real.

Filled with hatred, judgment, and something close to fear.

Once, while bringing in the tray, a servant muttered through clenched teeth:

"You really think we can forgive you?"

Roven raised his head, but the girl didn’t meet his gaze. She just slammed the door and left.

He felt… like a criminal.

But guilty of what?

The walls of the castle offered no answers, nor did the tall ceiling, the mirror, or even his own voice.

Only silence.

The silence of the stones.