In Archeko, there was an infamous hearsay wandering its streets and back alleys. It was one of the reasons why people were told to go home once the sun bid its farewell. Apart from the murderers that roamed the streets, there were a few other things that one must worry about—and that was, being spirited away. 

In a full moon, that was when the hunter would strike. He would wear a dark coat, his face covered. Only his crimson eyes and bloodied lips with a sadistic smile could be seen. He roamed the streets with a carriage led by two black horses, and those who met him also greeted their doom—never to be seen once again.

Henry couldn't help but let out a snicker. He had been reading multiple newspapers to pass the time and happened to see the articles about this rumor. ‘Humans are truly fascinating, but they weren't wrong – not at all,' He thought. 

If God and those Trumpets existed, then…

The demons do too; they lurk and haunt souls. They torment, they kill, and make fun of what humans hold precious: their own lives.

After all, these stories would not come alive unless one had not encountered such things deemed to be mythical and ethereal. However, the difference between reality and myth was that one lives and one perishes. 

The door creaked open, but no footsteps were heard. He was like a shadow—a ghost. “Is there something funny, master?” June held a tray carrying a cup of tea, a herbal tea specifically, just the way Henry liked it. 

“You came at the perfect time,” a delighted tone echoed within the room—Henry. 

The massive room was decorated with ornate religious paintings, the windows draped in fine tapestries. In the center was a couch and table made of oak, and gilded with gold. Inside, it hid a pile of papers and a secret within its drawers. 

The butler sighed before answering, “Yes, master?” as he placed the tea on the office table before standing beside him. 

“What is it?” 

“You're becoming popular. Aren't you proud of yourself?”

June stiffened upon hearing his master’s words. His eyes wandered to the window behind the leisurely sitting man, seemingly on his righteous throne. The night bled through the day, not a star could be seen in the night sky, and only the moon, pretending to be the sun, remained. The trees swayed as if they danced in beat with his heart. The whistles of the wind called him, as if seducing him. 

“...better to be known for something that I did for myself, rather than being known just as the Loyal Hound of Archeko's demon,” replied the butler. His voice was stagnant and detached. Despite his callous answer, he stood still behind his master, as if his honest reply wouldn’t earn the demon’s ire. 

The master's eyes lazily scanned him upon hearing the butler’s answer. He clicked his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed as he sipped the tea served. “Why tea? It should have been wine, and it'll be much better.”

“I heard tea is better to drink when one works on a pile of paperwork; you have to complete that before this morning, master. That is our budget for the whole year.” 

“Such a boring man you are, well, muse me – have you gotten the haul?” 

June let out a small laugh. A proud smile, a rare sight, made its way on his lips. “Do you doubt my skills, Henry – when you're the one who made me the way I am?”

“I see—” the other man blinked. 

“I see you've gotten used to your role now. Good. Just how I like it – you're efficient. You're already a good henchman, June. Be proud of yourself. I haven't had the urge to snap your neck yet.” 

“My, only because I learned from the greatest thing to exist,” a pleasant smile remained plastered on the butler's face.

“We need to create concoctions; the demands are getting larger. I assume you have…?” Henry's now crimson eyes looked at June with eagerness. 

“Yes, of course. Enough to last us for the month. I won't repeat the same mistake, master.” June's eyes closed as he stood still behind the man who sat comfortably.

“...you're quick to understand, June. You really know how to please me.” Henry sipped the last of his tea, signalling the end of their conversation. 

The tea already went cold. 

He sighed with longing in his eyes. ‘I truly didn’t need the tea as it reminded me of him, yet my body still sought it like an addict—an addict, looking for a ghost that had already vanished.’ 

With determination taking root in his own heart, a smirk escaped his lips. “But I’m sure he’ll remember me in no time, right, June?”

June offered no solace, no reply. His eyes closed as he remained standing behind the man. Soon, the scent of the lycoris flirted with their sense of sight and smell, dancing within the space. 

Sweet, sickeningly sweet, as if a maiden waiting to be plucked. 

Matthias rose from the bed violently, panting and sweating. That same damn dream woke him up. This time, it was a faceless man he talked to;  they laughed, hugged, and they laid on a bed of flowers beside each other. This recurring dream was without specific meaning, only existing to confuse him.

He groaned in annoyance, his eyebrows furrowed as he sighed, “That same damn dream again! Always, always bugging me whenever I fall asleep. I'm just surprised I haven't developed eye bags yet.” 

He sat up on his bed and messed up his hair. Then he lay back down and started kicking around. He threw a tantrum, clearly irritated that sleep never fully claimed him. Ever since he got transported here, he never slept peacefully—not even for once.

Groans and aggrieved whines were heard. He wanted to sleep, but it never claimed him again.

Now Matthias stared at the ceiling, finding himself with nothing to do. Thus, he scanned the room, looking for something to tinker with. But a sudden bout of sleepiness took hold of him before he could register where he was. 

The room was adorned with paintings and riches; obscene and bursting with wealth. Beside his canopy bed,  with a hanging white curtain, a table made of gold stood. There was a porcelain vase that sat on top of it, and it held a single red lycoris – never wilting, always resilient. The room was dimly lit with the lantern at each corner of the room, eternally dancing and flickering. 

“Such a fancy place…wish I could steal this table. Probably would cost a lot?” Matthias whispered under his breath, completely enamored with the thought of getting his hands on those riches; had he not known Henry, he would jump to it immediately. 

He shook his head. 

“No, self.” He talked to himself and slapped both of his cheeks, which made him groan. That slap truly left a red mark on his pale skin. Then the sudden sound of metal against metal grabbed his attention. 

An hour passed without his knowledge.

When he moved here to Archeko, he couldn't tell the time. He was used to using clocks, so learning and knowing that people did not have the leisure to use a clock, and instead relied on candles to tell time, truly bummed the young man. 

He couldn't be bothered to stand up from the bed, thus he cocooned himself within the safe hold of the velvet blanket covering him. 

Matthias could hear the hushed voices beside his room—it sounded like Henry and June. He tilted his head, looking at the wall covering the source of the sound. The walls were surprisingly thin and decorated with a green, flowery pattern, similar to what the Orphanage had. 

His stomach suddenly churned and the hair on his nape stood up, remembering what had just happened and how he ended up here in Henry's mansion. It felt like a nightmare—that dungeon caused him to feel claustrophobic. He trembled and looked at his hand while he remained lying on his back.

He could still smell it; the pungent odour remained. It will take time for it to fade away, and the terrors he experienced in that place will forever plague his mind. He trembled and curled up on the bed, staring at the balcony that was covered by a white sheer curtain. 

“I wanna go out and get some fresh air,” he spoke to himself. “Maybe water, too. Throat's a little dry,” he croaked. 

It wasn't ideal that he woke up early, but that’s just the way his life is; nothing ever goes his way at all. He sighed as he decided to sit up. That's when he noticed a big fireplace that kept the room warm. 

“How fancy,” he muttered. The fire flickered, as if it were dancing. Matthias could also hear the constant cracking of the wood as it got consumed by the scorching heat — he inhaled. 

If he had to describe the smell of this room, it would be: sweet and floral, mixed with cedar wood. It made him feel like he was back home – then, he froze. 

Which home, though? 

“How funny, I say home, but I don't even remember my past life anymore. All I know is that…is that…” he bit his lip. His eyebrows scrunched up, and he looked at the wooden floor. 

He clenched his fists, tightly holding on to his blanket. He doesn't remember anything. What was his life before? What did he do before? What was his true name? How old was he? 

His ears rang – then, it became silent. He was sure he remembered it before. He… he knew it before. The sudden realization made him pull his hair in frustration. It was as if the memories of his past life were a handful of sand passing through his fingers—the more he grappled it, the more it slipped.

“I…I,” his eyes widened, tears threatening to fall—disappointment, perhaps anger, or a mixture of both—Matthias couldn't even answer—glistened in his eyes.

“I'm Matthias. That's my name. I'm... Matthias.” He kept repeating, chanting—as if saying it repeatedly would make it real. His heart was louder than his voice, as if it knew that wasn't right either. 

His nose scrunched up as that burning sensation soon took hold of him. The tears silently fell, like a dam that broke—staining the blanket he held. He convinced himself that he hadn't lost anything, but in reality…

He lost his memory, slowly but surely. And the more time he spends in this damn place, the more he will forget. There was no cure or guide to avoid it, either. 

Because he was not originally from here, and those who weren't from here? 

They were wedged within the play—forced to act the role given to them, to contribute to the impending doom of this place. 

Matthias’ soft sobs echoed within the room, confusion hitting him. He continued to shake like a leaf amidst a storm. He felt truly alone—and no one in this world could understand his pain. 

How could they? He’s the only outsider here.

It felt like he lost a part of his identity—a part of him—and it plagued him to no end.

Perhaps the two men in another room heard his pitiful cry, and thus the hushed voices stopped. Only the fire crackling and the metal falling off the metal plate was heard—signalling that another hour had passed once more. His silent wails due to his identity crisis faded, and his heart pounded like a drum on a mission. 

His eyes were bloodshot and a bit puffy. His voice raspy and low as he uttered, “Crying…Crying felt good. But it won't save me. I have to find Chris—he knows why I'm here. He has the answers. There's no time to waste.”

With his newfound energy and motivation, he stood up from the bed. The wooden flooring bent to his wishes, and the sound of fire crackling echoed his will–determined and fiery.