The Memory Game

The fighter wrapped the bandage around his bloody knuckles. He must have done this over a hundred times in his life. Every time it would be the same, over and under, over and under. He was getting old and all that crossed his mind was retirement. But the ring lords seldom let him rest, and they surely had no plans to let him go yet. Not when he was the strongest fighter there ever was. They weren’t ready for a lasting legacy when they still wanted a living one. The fighter took a deep breath through his nose and smelled an air full of beer and whiskey. The bar was low-lit and reeked of musty dampness, no doubt a mixed odour of sweat and cigar smoke. At his table in the corner, it was dark and quiet. In other corners there were loudmouth fighters boasting of their strength or their latest victory, aristocrats with their fancy moustaches and top hats closing in on poor courtesans, ring lords talking deals and bets on the next fight as they played with cards. His eyes felt heavy and his mind felt disoriented from the last fight. It happened after every one of them. He told no one about this. He deserved his own peace in this matter, he felt. Although absent of serenity, peace was peace nonetheless. Other fighters never liked being alone. They always wanted to find others to compete with, ring lords to bet on them, bartenders to serve them drinks, women to gloat to. But if it was about him, everybody knew that after a fight, there was an unspoken rule that they had to leave him alone. He liked being alone, he was glad nobody bothered him.

“Validus Weatherford! In the flesh!” said a gruffly, plump man who went by the name of Gelson Mettler, along with two of his goons. He was a ring lord (a very rich one), his primary source of employment, and a man who he called a friend. “How was that last fight back there junior? He almost had you but you came back in just three punches! Somehow you always come out on top, I really don’t know how you do it!” He heaved a hearty laugh.

The fighter grumbled. “I’m not in the mood to talk about it right now, Gelson. Maybe tomorrow.” He drank from his whiskey glass.

“Nonsense. As long as you pay for your drinks with my money, you’re indebted to me. A little talk ain’t seem so wrong now, does it, junior?” Gelson took a seat in the chair in front of him. His two bodyguards stood behind him, expressionless, arms behind their backs. 

Despite all of Gelson’s threats, the fighter wasn’t scared. He knew underneath all that was a good friend. One that had been with him through his toughest times and payed all his bills. The threats were always jokes and he knew that. He took another drink from his glass, the ice in it clinking as he brought it up. He had nothing to say. Gelson spent the silence lighting a cigar. After he was done, he slammed some papers on the table. 

“It was a great fight,” he said. “But that’s not why I’m here. Word’s going around that there’s a new legend rising up in this lil’ old town.”

“That’s what they say every time,” said the fighter. “Until I beat them.”

“All bets are on him. Every game. Five million dollars can be earned here, junior. His ring name’s The Unbeatable. I’ve seen him, he looks strong. Much bigger than you, and they say he’s never lost a fight. So, just a regular Friday for you. Make me proud, junior.”

“No, I’m not ready for another fight.”

“Come on, junior! You can never say you’re rich enough already. It ain’t just about that, too. It’s your legacy! I know you’ve been thinking of retirement. Forty’s too old to still be throwing punches and taking them like a champ. But you have to go off with a bang! You can’t leave with a fighter going around thinking he’s all boss while everyone believes he’s truly unbeatable. You’ll be letting a monster like him loose in the wild, and he’ll think he got super lucky that you retired before he had to face you.”

“I said beat it, Gelson. Forget it. I have to think of Yvona. We’re ready to leave this old life behind.”

“Forget about Yvona! You’re not selfish for doing this. She’d be the selfish one for not letting you do this.”

Times like these really ticked him off against Gelson. He didn’t like to be irreverent to people, especially to those he worked with and were close with, but it was times like these when he needed to put Gelson in his place, to remind him who was in charge of who he fought. He slammed the table, his whiskey glass shaking. It was loud enough that some men and women at other tables took a glance at him. He didn’t like that, so he spoke his next words quietly to avoid further attention.

“Do you remember what she did for me?” The fighter’s eyes glared into the ring lord’s.

“Of course, Validus,” he said. “How could anyone forget? She helped you defeat the Memory Thief. Without her, he’d still be up there, terrorizing the village’s children. There’s no one in this town that doesn’t know the tale.”

“Right.” The fighter leaned back in his seat. He took another drink from his glass, which was almost empty. “Then you’d better watch what you say about her. I’m doing this all for her.”

“Apologies, junior. I understand what you’re going through. I’ll file the fight for someone else. If you ever change your mind, maybe if you feel you’re ready, you know where to find me. And if you don’t change your mind, but you still need me for anything, send one of my thugs to come find me.” He pulled his coat and fixed his top hat as he got ready to leave, slapping his hand on the fighter’s shoulder across the table. “I’ll see ya later, champ. Take care.” 

“You too, Gelson.”

With that, the ring lord and his men left him alone. Back to peace. All the people that had been looking at him now lost interest. They knew better than to bother the king of fighting. It left him with enough time to think about something Gelson had said. His eyes were heavy. He closed his eyes and dreamed of a past he did not remember.

#

The field of tall yellow grass swayed in the wind. A breeze of cool fresh air came and went. They had always helped clear the boy’s mind, easing the pain of his problems. The boy sat on the wide steps into the orphanage alone. He liked being alone, away from the other orphanage kids who weren’t friendly despite them all sharing something in common. Away from the constable punishing him for not doing enough work around the house. Away from Mama Siena chastising his bad grades or lack of friends. He looked to the sky and saw the white clouds moving slowly through the air. They floated seamlessly, unattached to anything, having no loyalties. The boy wished he was a cloud. Past the almost endless yellow field of grass was a fence in the distance, high enough for children to have a hard time climbing over. Past that were trees. If only he could reach that forest. He didn’t know what he would find beyond that, but it was all he ever wanted. A gravel path in front of him was a road that harboured rare travellers, the occasional carriages pulled by horses of aristocrats passing by the tiny town they lived in. Left and right, as far as his eyes could see, the path ventured into oblivion. He didn’t have the courage to escape this place, and he believed it. All the boys and girls here would move into the city and find work. Here, he would rot as a servant to Mama Siena, just like the ones that already do, faded into obscurity. Those who also attended this place in their childhoods.

Near the field he saw a girl washing some clothes in a wooden bin filled with water. She worked hard in the sun as beads of sweat ran down her face. She wore a light-green cotton dress with a matching-colour bow wrapped in her hair. Her name was Loria. One of the oldest children at the orphanage. The boy was hopelessly infatuated with her. She had never paid any attention to him, nor anyone, for that matter. She liked being alone as well. Despite that, she was easily the prettiest girl at the orphanage. Yet she never had any tendencies to use it for her advantage, even if all the boys would practically do anything for her. She was Mama Siena’s girl, always doing work for her, without her even needing to ask. It made the other girls jealous sometimes. She was far enough away for her not to notice the boy watching her, yet close enough so the boy could gaze at her lovely features. One day he would find the courage to talk to her. They had, in fact, exchanged a couple of words a few times. Only when she was serving soup in the kitchen to everyone and it was his turn to be served (she had asked if he wanted some bread to go along with it), or if she needed to collect attendance (she had asked if she had gotten his name correct). Times like those. They were short, yet they were the moments he remembered the most. He doubted she had forgotten his name. She knew everyone’s name at the orphanage. She was a caretaker in that way, so tender and loving.

He exhaled and told himself to stop daydreaming from now on. He ruffled his hand through a patch of grass near the steps he sat on. Out of it came a few little ants escaping its shadow and entering the sun, finding adventure. One, in particular, was scared to leave the safety of the shadow. But as it watched its comrades do it, it built up the courage it needed and finally did the same.

“You belong with them.”

A taller, older boy named Kaas had found him. Behind him were his usual friends who backed him up in any situation, along with his girlfriend, Alya. Though they were all still so young, the boy already pictured the type of man Kaas would grow up to be. He saw him as a ring lord, one of those sophisticated nobles Mama Siena always told them about that ruled the city. Maybe one of the worst ones, with a whole gang of thugs, and a sinister role in the criminal underworld.

“You’re just a puny little ant that always gets crushed. By me. And if not me, then someone else later on. You’ll get nowhere in life if you don’t toughen up, kid.”

The boy didn’t make any eye contact. Doing so was death, he knew. He kept his head low, his eyes to the ground, shifting his feet and preparing to flee as he always did.

“What a poor kid,” said Alya, touching Kaas’s arm to hold him back. “What’s his name? Validus, isn’t it? He doesn’t need any more of your incessant torture, Kaas. He’s much younger than you.”

“Who are you to say that?” said the bully, practically spitting in her face. “He’s weak. Look at him. I’m just helping him shape up for the harsh world out there. I’m doing him a favour, shut up.”

Alya’s cheeks turned red as she sulked backwards, and the boys around them laughed. “I… You’re right, Kaas. I suppose so. You’re just helping him out, surely. Go on, then.”

“Get up,” said Kaas, raising his fists. “Fight. Come on, now. If you get good at it the ring lords might hire you. You’ll have pay. You won’t starve to death.”

Without warning, Kaas socked him hard in the jaw. So hard, in fact, that blood already splatted out of the boy's mouth as he spun backwards on the steps, hands on the ground. He felt the wind knocked out of his lungs and the world spun round, his vision becoming dizzy.

“Kaas!” Alya wouldn’t have it this time. She stepped in front of the bully to stop him from getting any closer. “Come on, now. Not like that! He wasn’t even ready!”

Though his face hurt, nothing would ever come close to the pain of the moment. He was helpless, weak to do anything. He wished more than anything in the world that he could fight back, stand up to Kaas, but it was no use. Even Mama Siena called him a coward at times. Most of the boys at the orphanage knew it, too. He was one of the weakest kids here and he had no friends. Well, except one. But nobody knew her.

“What’s going on here?” said a sweet, soft voice the boy knew all too well. He turned around to see Loria, who had seen the commotion and came over. The boy immediately covered his face. He didn’t want her to recognize him.

“Me and my buddy over here were just having a friendly fight,” said Kaas. “To prepare for our careers in the ring. You know, the usual stuff.”

“What makes you think you’re good enough for the ring?” said one of the boys.

“Yeah, you’re always so obsessed with that lifestyle,” said Alya. “Look love, there’s a lot of different types of work in the city. We don’t have to be working for criminal overlords.”

“We?” said Kaas, facing her. “You know that’s where I want to go, Alya. You know that. If you don’t want to join me, then maybe I won’t bring you. I’m going there with or without you.”

Alya winced, hurt by his words. Kaas turned to Loria. “I’ll take you instead, Loria. How about that? Do you want to see me in the ring? Or maybe see me become a ring lord?”

The girl turned red and said okay, smiling and folding her arms behind her back. She was always shy around Kaas, the boy noticed. Alya watched all this and sobbed, running the other direction as she wiped her tears. Kaas’s friends laughed as they watched her go, hollering insults at her.

Meanwhile, the boy was hurt in his own way. He had finally gained the courage to turn and look at everyone else. What he saw hurt him more. Loria, once so sweet to everyone she ever knew, wasn’t even looking at him. She was staring at Kaas’s face with a huge, stupid grin on her face. She didn’t even care about him at all. Kaas, however, was staring straight at him.

“Are you ready for round two, little boy?”

For a fleeting moment, the boy imagined himself getting up, squaring his fists, and fighting back. But he did exactly the opposite. Tears swelled in his eyes as he got up as fast as he could and ran the other way, into the yellow fields of tall grass. He didn’t look behind him, feeling the wind pound his face as he went faster and faster.

“Yeah!” Kaas’s voice boomed behind him. “You better run, you weak coward! Run to your imaginary girlfriend! I hope you die in the woods out there!”

#

Another wild hook to his jaw. Another jab to the side of his stomach. Blood splattered every time there was contact, pain was felt every time a strike connected with his skin. His head was beginning to get dizzy as he felt ready to give up. His opponent was good. He was strong and vicious and his strikes were unbelievably fast and ferocious. The fighter could barely keep his guard up, and his knuckles were already so bloody from previously trying to pierce his enemy’s thick hide. The red liquid was dampening his hand wraps. He felt his face go numb once more as his opponent socked him so hard in the side of his face that his lips went limp and he spat more blood than he had ever seen in his life.

Before he knew it, he was on the ground. He had to get up. He felt his opponent put his knees on his arms to pin him down as he continued to land blows on his face. He felt something shatter in his mouth, and he hoped it wasn’t teeth. Well, of course it was, but he hoped it wasn’t bad. All he saw were his enemy’s fists repeatedly making his vision go black, and a bright light from the ceiling blinding him whenever his enemy’s fist was pulled back for the next strike. All he heard was the non-stop din of the cheering crowd, yelling for the legendary fighter’s legacy to end. They knew he was getting old. The ring lords were begging him to go down so they could reap the money from their bets. Maybe some were betting on him. He knew Gelson was. He was out of his prime, yet he was ruthless until the end. He would make them proud.

The fighter growled and heaved upwards with all his strength, making his opponent lose  his balance for just a split-second. It was all the time he needed to release one of his arms and sock his opponent’s jaw with a vicious hook, getting him off him.

They were back to neutral. They both picked themselves up and squared their fists once more. This fight was over, the fighter decided it now. He decided that his opponent had enough fun already. It was time to prove why he was the best fighter there ever was. 

As his opponent struck again, time slowed down for the fighter. He watched in an eternity as the fist was ready to find its mark on his face, a look of extreme anger on his enemy’s bearded face, his mouth wide open and yelling. Then, in no time at all, the fighter used his left forearm to block it from underneath, at the same time throwing an uppercut to his opponent’s jaw with so much force it knocked him upwards and down to the ground.

Three dings on the bell rung. The announcer’s voice boomed to notify him as the winner over the noise of the crowd. The crowd cheered. The fighter breathed heavily. Blood and sweat were running down his muscles, and his head had a sharp pain almost enough to make him pass out. Yet he gritted his shattered teeth through it all and stood above his opponent, squaring his shoulders, standing proud in the glory of his victory.

Later, Gelson, his bodyguards, and a bunch of medical workers patching him up as they walked escorted him to the locker room.

“Junior, you were great out there!” said an excited Gelson, walking along beside him. Next to each other, the fighter almost towered over him. “Against Viper, I mean. They call him that because he’s fast and deadly, as if he has venom in his veins. Venom that he injects into his opponents with every strike. And before today he was on a hot streak, but you beat him. I still don’t get how you do it! How you just decide to win the fight there and then, seemingly whenever you want to! It’s like you dramatically let yourself get beaten up to put on a show for the ring lords who bet against you, just to tease them, and then you go ahead and prove them wrong!”

The fighter nodded. “Not so loud, Gelson. My head hurts. And I’ve told you, Gelson. It’s something I learned during my fight with the Memory Thief.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

The hallway’s bright lights bothered the fighter. Gelson’s medical team were already rubbing alcohol on his wounds and putting bandages on them. One of them put a white towel around his shoulders to soak up his blood and sweat. He was thankful for that, wiping his soaked face. They reached the locker room and the fighter sat down so the medical team could have an easier time doing their job.

“Four, maybe five ring lords were watching that fight back there,” said Gelson. “And a lot more aristocrats, too. The crowd was mostly the commoners, though. Drunk ones looking to entertain themselves, I reckon. You put on a good show for them, junior. I’m proud of ya.”

The fighter grinned and nodded, asking a worker for water. “Three punches I could’ve completely avoided, I counted. Ten more I could have blocked better. For him? Barely any mistakes.”

“That’s what age does to ya. Look at your hair, your beard. Greying already. Doesn’t matter, you can still take these young men in their prime. Just shows how good you are.”

“Merely something to remind them of what I once was, Gelson. What I used to be able to do.”

“Maybe so, maybe not.” Gelson paused for a moment, taking a look at the man. Someone brought the fighter a drink and he took a long swig, gulping the water down. “You want to be left alone now?”

The fighter nodded.

“Figured. Where will you be? The usual? The bar across the street, gotcha. I’ll come find you there when I have news about the results of the fight, or a new fight. I’ll try to take it easy on ya and not find one too fast. But if I do, well, you know me. Can’t resist a good opportunity when I see one.”

“Good enough for me.”

“I’ll handle all the paperwork as usual. Get your next paycheck the next time you go to my office. I’ll maybe see you later at the bar, champ. Take care.”

“You too, Gelson.”

It took another few moments before the medical team properly patched him up. This time, no stitches. Good, he hated that part. A tooth was shattered and one of them told him to find the local dentist to fix it up as soon as he had the chance. He’d do that later, he decided. He’d get a drink first.

When the medical team left, he unwrapped his hand bandages, switched clothes, and stuffed everything in his locker and locked it. He put on his long coat and headed for the bar across the street.

#

The boy ran as fast as he could, sprinting into the tall yellow grass. He didn’t stop until he reached the end, finding the tall fence blocking the way into the forest. He wiped his eyes and sat in front of the fence feeling hopeless, burying his face in his knees. He was no fighter. He had always ran away from his problems. This was no different. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to face Kaas, nor confident enough to stand up to him while Loria was watching. No, he didn’t want her to find out how pitiful he truly was. 

“Hey,” said a voice behind him. “I, uh, overheard some kids talking about you. I came here as fast as I could.”

The boy turned around and faced her. Yvona. She was his best friend, the same age as him. The other kids didn’t know her for some reason. Perhaps that’s why the two of them were drawn to each other in the first place. Both outcasts. She had, according to him, the perfect personality. Almost like Loria’s, he would say. She found him whenever he was feeling alone and he felt like she was always there wherever he went.

The boy looked at the fence. “Help me climb it, Yvona. I’m leaving this place for good.”

“I understand. No need to tell anyone back at home either. You don’t like anyone there.”

“I doubt none of them would realize that I’m gone. And if they do they won’t care.”

Yvona climbed first, using the holes in the metal links to grip her fingers into. The boy watched as she got to the top and said, “Come on, now. Your turn. I’ll help you over.” He dug his feet into the holes of the fence and started climbing. At first, he thought it would be easy. There was nothing he wanted more than to leave this place. If he got past this, it would be hard for the others to follow him if they were told to search for him. But halfway up he began to get scared. He began to think of scenarios where he had slipped, maybe missed a good grip here or there, and he had fallen and gotten seriously hurt. Then had died over a few days because no one had found him, no one had thought to look for him.

“Don’t worry about any of that,” said Yvona. “You can do it.”

“I don’t think I can,” sobbed the boy. “I… I think I’m going back.”

“No! You’re already too far. There’s no going back to the orphanage. You said it yourself, you don’t belong there, you hate it there. You’re not weak, Vally. Stop thinking like that.”

The boy took a few deep breaths to ease his mind. His arms were getting tired. But he believed her. Yvona was always right. So he continued climbing. One hand after the other. One foot after the other. When he got to the top, Yvona reached for his hand and propped him up on the top of the fence. Now they were both sitting there, exhausted. 

They looked at each other. Yvona grinned, and he did the same. Then they both laughed. 

“The view’s nice up here,” said Yvona. The trees of the forest stretched far, but the boy thought he could make out the faint outline of a town. It was situated at the base of a tall mountain range that spanned the limit of his vision. The mountains were mostly stone-grey and their tops were capped with snow. 

“Yvona…” The boy didn’t know of he wanted to ask this question. It was hard enough already to depend on her all the time, perhaps arrogant to think she needed him as well. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. But somehow, she already knew what he would ask. She always knew what he was thinking somehow.

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” she said, punching him in the arm. “You dummy, of course I will! You don’t need to ask! I hate this place as much as you.”

“That hurt,” muttered the boy, rubbing his arm. But he was smiling all the same.

He looked at the horizon again. First, they would climb down the fence and go into the woods. Then they would find that village he was looking at right now. Find work, find a place to live in. Find a new life.

#

“Hey junior, I’ve got another guy for ya.” Gelson held up some files. “You busy tonight?”

A thunderous noise filled up the room every time the fighter struck the punching bag. Again. And again. With enough force to shake it and move it backwards. His knuckles were beginning to feel numb. Good, he’d need them for tonight. He was itching for another fight. 

“Sign me up, Gelson.”

“Attaboy. They call him Viper. He’s got a good win streak right now. The fight’s tonight, at the usual ring. I’ve told everyone that you’d be fighting already. They’re expecting a spectacle of a match, junior. A lot of ring lords will be there.”

They were the only two in the warehouse. Gelson had gotten him a personal gym a long time ago. The fighter spent most of his time here if he wasn’t at the bar. A few lights lit up the big room. The fighter saw a pinkish light coming in from the high windows, meaning it was sunset. He’d have to get ready soon. He flexed his jaw and struck the bag harder, moving his entire body for it, shifting his weight for momentum. Jab. Jab. Hook. Uppercut. “What time is it?”

“Show won’t be ready until all the ring lords arrive. It could be as early as six, as late as nine.”

“You better tell me about these things earlier in advance, Gelson.” The fighter hit the punching bag one last time, strong enough to make it sway back and forth on its chain. Then he grabbed a towel on a chair and wiped his face as he sat down.

“I know, I know! But I’m a busy man, you know that. I get carried away with a lot of deals. I’ll try to tell you about these fights I’ve scheduled for you sooner next time.” He grabbed another chair nearby and put it in front of the fighter, sitting opposite to him. The fighter hunched over and put his chin on his arms, exhaling. The ring lord said, “How’s Yvona doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“You heard from her lately? A letter? A messenger? A pigeon, even? Anything?”

“No.”

Gelson lifted his shoulders and inhaled. “For god’s sake, Validus. She’s your wife! What’s the matter? I can get one of my men to check up on her if you want.”

“My fiancé,” he corrected.

“For years! Just marry her already. And look, I get it, I get it, you don’t want her caught up in your fighting life and all. But I’ve never met her, never even seen her. Are things between you two all right, junior?”

“We’re fine. I’m fine.”

The ring lord sighed. “As long as it doesn’t affect you out there, junior. Find me at my office later. I’ll have more info about Viper’s weaknesses by then. Make sure you get to the ring no later than what I’ve told you. Don’t do anything stupid beforehand. No gambling or funny business with other women just because Yvona’s not looking.”

The fighter chuckled. “Shut up, Gelson. I’ll be there on time. For now I’ll practice alone.”

“You got it, champ.”

When Gelson left, the fighter practiced for the rest of the time he had until it got dark outside. He gathered a change of clothes in his bag, a bottle of water, and his coat. Back to work fighting for a living again, it seemed. Later he’d stretch, bounce a little on his feet to prepare his nerves, and enter the ring.

#

Weeks had passed since the boy and Yvona had run from the orphanage. They had reached the village a long time ago. At first, it wasn’t easy. Somehow the boy thought finding the village would solve all of their problems. But nobody wanted to take them in at first. The children all stayed clear of them, their parents probably telling them to do so. They were clear strangers. For the longest time they had to live on the streets and salvage for scraps of food. It was the hardest days of the boy’s life. Yvona never even ate, even if the boy offered her any bread he’d find or had stolen from the bakery. She must have been starving to death. 

One day, they were both so exhausted and hungry, they collapsed in an alleyway between two buildings. They rested on a hay bale of the people who lived inside, which reeked a horrid smell. People on horses or in carriages trotted past them on the cobbled road. It was dark already, and light faded from the sky until only the flames of lanterns around the town provided light. The boy looked over at Yvona, who was already asleep on top of her pile of hay. He was so exhausted, he closed his eyes and did the same. The pain of hunger in his stomach was inconceivable. He thought this was it. If he didn’t wake up, he would be dead.

Then an old lady who lived in the building they had slept next to had found them. “Oh, you poor little boy,” she had said. That was all he remembered before he finally passed out.

The next time he woke, he was in a bed in the old lady’s house. She fed him and nursed him back to health. Her name was Mrs. Nohryu. She was a widow, and her children had left the house long ago. They rarely visited and so she spent her days in solitude, living alone. In return the boy told her that he and Yvona were orphans who ran away from the orphanage (although she looked confused when he mentioned Yvona’s name, oddly enough). They didn’t want to go back. That’s fine, dear, she had assured him. I’m lonely in this household anyway. I don’t mind taking you in.

Years would go by as the boy grew older. He became a responsible young man, taking care of Mrs. Nohryu and all the chores around the house. This time, he wasn’t bothered by them, for he knew it was for Mrs. Nohryu, and not Mama Siena or any of the kids at the orphanage. Over time, as the old woman cared for the young boy and gave him love, it wasn’t long before he came to know her as mother.

Tragedy struck when one day, Mrs. Nohryu was afflicted by a sickness. She was getting very old and weak. The boy called for a doctor and he said that the illness was fatal unless she received a medicinal treatment that cost thousands of dollars. The boy sobbed when the doctor left. There was no way they could afford such a thing, they were nowhere near finding that much money. But if Mrs. Nohryu died, there was no place for him and Yvona to go. They weren’t old enough to live by themselves. Not even confident enough to try.

On a particular rainy day, he and Yvona strolled around town with an umbrella, huddling to warm themselves in the cold. People were seldom out, and lights inside taverns and buildings lit up the dark of the streets. The rain poured heavily, forming puddles that horses splashed over, the carriages behind them getting their wheels dirty in the muddy water. The town was near the base of the mountain, so it was built along an incline. The boy and girl were walking up a huge uphill now. The boy did not want to think about the problem back home. He wanted to forget that Mrs. Nohryu was sick. This was what he had always done. Run away from his problems. It’s just that this time, there was no fence to climb over. He was truly trapped.

“Look there,” pointed Yvona. “What’s that?”

It was a poster on a wall of a building. A bounty. It featured a challenge that promised a prize of ten thousand dollars to anyone who defeated a young man who was known as the “Memory Thief.” His real name was Andreon Newburg. Nobody knew where he was from, nobody knew who he was. Possibly because he made any that did forget about it. It said to beat him in a weaponless fight and bring him back alive for the prize money. He lived in a village high up in the mountains and on his spare time he terrorized its children. The reason he was so hard to catch was because he had an ability to steal people’s memories of anything he would do, making them forget that he did anything in the first place. He would use it to steal food from shops, or bully children and make any witnesses unaware it ever happened.

The boy and girl were overjoyed. If, somehow, the boy could find this bully and defeat him, they would have more than enough money to buy medicine for their mother. Even enough to last them for many more years to come. He stared at the poster, deep in thought.

Yvona, who used to be his height but was now short enough to be level with his shoulders, looked up at him with worried eyes. “Don’t do this,” she whispered. “You can’t. You’ve never been in a fight. He’ll kill you.”

He shook his head. “I’ve always been called a coward. When it matters most, I always run away. Not this time. No running from my problems. And this time, it really does matter the most. I’m stronger now, Yvona. I’ll take this bully in a fight if I have to.”

She knew there was no changing his mind. She always knew how he felt. “I’ll support you then. I’ll come with you, even. We better get going. Promise me we’ll go no earlier than dawn?”

“Promise.”

They didn’t tell Mrs. Nohryu. The boy was too scared to tell her he was going to do this for her. He didn’t want to make her condition any worse. He simply told her that he would be out all day tomorrow. Perhaps he’ll bring home some food. He promised he would return to take care of her, but he really needed to do this one task. The old woman complied, but showed sadness in knowing she would be left alone once more. The time when she needed company the most.

The boy packed a knapsack full of food and supplies and bandages. At dawn, he woke Yvona up and grabbed her hand, and they ran off into the dark, heading for the mountains. The path was long and treacherous. It involved using The Mountain Cross, a deadly path known for high rates of death for the travellers that used it to carry goods in and out of the village in the mountains. The village the Memory Thief lived in. Only a donkey could make it through, and bringing a carriage was a bad idea. At some parts, it was so dangerous that climbing to the next section was advised against going through regularly, for massive boulders rolling down the cliff were common. The boy and girl began their hike at the base of the path. Sometimes one of them would slip and almost fall to their deaths down into the valley below. A river of roaring rapids streamed through the forest down there. It ended in a huge waterfall that brought water to their town below. Mills were built around it and the boy could see them now, in the distance, their wheels spinning. Sometimes a landslide of rocks would block their path, and they had to climb.

The trip was long and exhausting. The last part involved a huge climb to reach the village. At least, it was a much shorter option than the rest of the path which was possibly ten times longer and meant for people with donkeys. The rocky cliffs held barely any vegetation. The sun was bright in the sky, being now midday, but the air was very cold at their altitude. There was already some snow in some areas of the cliff.

“Just like the fence back at the orphanage,” said the boy. Yvona agreed. “Let’s get started.”

This time, it was easier on his mind. He wasn’t scared of such heights anymore, especially when he needed to be strong. He had to get that money to save Mrs. Nohryu, there was no other choice. It was harder on his body, though. The climb was long with infrequent spots to rest. Not even halfway and his body was already aching. The boy’s hands began to grow colder and colder as he grabbed each ledge. He had nothing on his hands but some bandages wrapped around his palms. He summoned all his strength and will to keep going, one after the other. Ledge after ledge. Soon, one of them would be his last.

He wondered if he had the strength to finish it. He kept telling himself he could do it, but now he was beginning to doubt himself. And with doubt came fear. Suddenly, he began to panic. He was already so high up, there was no turning back. One mistake and he was dead for sure, and Mrs. Nohryu would be alone back home. No one would return to her. 

That thought made him angry. He never felt like this before, the adrenaline of having no choice but to be strong. One hand after the other. One foot after the other. He would make it to the village, at the least. Find that Memory Thief. It was the least he could do for the foster mother that gave him love and a home.

Finally, he reached the top, heaving himself up with his arms, the cliff’s jagged edge digging into his armpits. He felt some soft, cold hands help him up. He looked up to see Yvona’s face, smiling.

“How did you get up here so fast?”

“Let’s just go find that Memory Thief.”

#

The man was always in a fight. In and out of them, those were the only two phases in his life now. Whether it would be against another loner looking for money and to rise up the ranks of the underworld just like him in the ring, or some snobby aristocrats with their canes and top hats and monocles on the streets. Half of the time he was dealing punches, knocking his enemies down. Half of the time he was absorbing them, breaking ribs and feeling huge amounts of pain. But he would never give up. He had no choice.

After forgetting her, he had started to do better in fights. He began to find more success. Night after night, he took in more victories. Ring lords were starting to bet on him, starting to believe in him. 

The man walked through the streets in his long coat, a black hood pulled down low over his eyes. He listened to people’s conversations around him as he strolled around the town (one, so big, that most actually called it a city), on his way to his next fight at the ring. 

“Xander went down to some stranger underdog last night. My fighter! I bet a lot of dough on that guy. I bet some big-shot ring lords got some huge cash outta the person that knocked him out, eh? I’m out of cigars, I need to get more.”

“There’s a new big boy in town. A hotshot on a win streak, they say. Hasn’t lost a fight in ages, and no one knows who he is. There’s some rumours going around that he doesn’t know who he is, either. Sounds like a load of bull, if you ask me.”

“Did you hear? My favourite courtesan Loria killed herself two days ago! Said it was because of some traumatic thing that happened to her with another boy at an orphanage when she was young, or something like that. Aw, shucks.”

“Cirus honey, go get some bread at Mr. Rodham’s tonight for me. Atalina’s craving some fish for dinner, too. Why not stop at Klane’s on the way home to pick some up?”

The man arrived at the ring. Already there was a crowd cheering for an ongoing fight. The air was gritty and reeked of sweat and cigar smoke, as usual. The only light in the room were the lanterns on the ceiling that projected a hue of greenish white light. Above the commoner benches was an audience of ring lords that watched from above, making their bets on who would win, hiding in the dark shadows of the room. The space was tight and stale, and everyone barely had any room to breathe as they pumped their fists into the air and rattled the cage of the ring, yelling at their favourite fighter to win in various ways. Telling him to pull his hair, or go for his ribs instead of his face, and the sort.

He waited for his fight. He would have his turn. The current fight ended quickly, perhaps because the man had arrived late. One of the fighters landed a vicious blow to the other’s face, some of it catching his throat. He gasped for air and collapsed on the floor. The crowd howled, and some of the ring lords were laughing.

It was his turn this time. He entered the ring, feeling at home. It was just like any other fight. He would let his opponent beat him to a pulp first so he could analyze how he fought, and then he’d strike back in less than a dozen blows. It was so he could get tougher, so he could learn to take more of them the next time he really needed to. And so he could get smarter, get more experience about the fighters he faced.

The fight ended in about three minutes. The usual happened. He fell down, he got up. His opponent fell down, then got up. Then the man ended the fight when he wanted to, rapidly jabbing his opponent’s chest and face until there was blood from both of them. Then, a final, savage hook that ended it, knocking him out cold. The crowd erupted and he heard a bell being struck three times.

After the fight, a ring lord approached him in the locker room as he unwrapped the bandages on his palms. He hadn’t seen him before. Fairly young, perhaps his age, plump, a fancy moustache and a top hat. Two of his goons were behind him.

“My oh, my!” he said. “You’re the one they keep talking about, eh? The stranger who keeps winning fights against some of the best fighters?”

The man didn’t reply.

“I know talent when I see it, junior. I’m looking to hire a fighter to do my bidding. What say you, stranger?”

The man didn’t reply.

“You mute or something? I’m talking to you.” The ring lord fixed his top hat and took a whiff of his cigar, staring at the man. Then something came to him and his eyes widened. “Say, you’re him, aren’t you? They say a boy defeated Andreon Newburg, the Memory Thief, a few years ago. But no one had heard from or seen him since. The children who witnessed it all grew up and gave a description of a person who looks exactly like you. What say you, stranger? Are you him? Are you the boy who defeated the Memory Thief?”

The man looked up, his eyes full of aggression, but beneath it all, pain. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I could be the man you’re talking about, but I don’t know. I’ve got amnesia. I lost my memory a long time ago, and I don’t remember who I am, or where I grew up. My life is the ring.”

“Well, that could be further proof that you did face him, junior! And, by the way, you’re the strongest fighter I’ve seen yet. Trust me when I say that, for it isn’t a title I’m ready to give so easily to anyone. If you work for me, I can give you a safe place to call home. Food and shelter. You can train all you want or do whatever you want, and I’ll pay for your bills. As long as you fight for me. And you love fighting, I know it. There’s no reason to say no.”

The man pondered about it for a long time. He needed security, that was for sure. This man could give it to him. Or perhaps he was another sinister ring lord, ready to take advantage of him just to get rich. But this ring lord was different, the man felt it. He felt genuine. Something instinctual told him he could be trusted, that this man would actually care for him.

The ring lord held out his white-gloved hand. “Don’t expect me to come back with the same offer later. It’s now or never, junior. What’s your name?”

The man thought carefully for a while. He hadn’t used it in a long time. In fact, he had almost forgotten it, and probably would have completely if this ring lord hadn’t asked him now.

“Validus Weatherford,” said the man, shaking his hand. “And I’ll take your offer.”

The ring lord laughed. “Brilliant! Oh, how rude of myself, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Gelson Mettler, one of the top ring lords of the underworld. You’re in safe hands now, my friend.” 

The man took his hand back and stiffened, flexing his neck. The ring lord studied him, then asked, “Are you truly sure you cannot remember anything about your childhood? No mother, no father? No friends?”

The man shook his head. “One friend. But… I haven’t spoken to her in a long, long time. And she’s probably the only link I have to my past. Other than her, nothing. It’s all a blank. No distant faces or sounds, just nothing at all.”

“Hmm. Well, some of my associates think they’ve seen you before. Ring Lord Kaas said he’s certain he’s seen you before. And you look like a fighter at heart. Whoever you were back then, you must have been a tough kid when you were little. Well, no matter. You’ve got a job now, junior. And I think I have what it takes to forge you into a legend. Something tells me you’re going to have a good, long career with me, my friend.”

#

The village was a small collection of wood and stone houses, with their hay roofs covered in snow. Chimneys produced smoke from the houses, men and women talked outside and cut firewood, and children ran around, playing and screaming. A woman and her two boys were collecting water from a well. Another was carrying a basket of clothes. Three men were heaving a large deer carcass, an assortment of weapons such as tomahawks and bows on their backs, possibly just having come back from a hunt in the nearby woods. It was a lively place, a peaceful one. Amidst it all, supposedly, was a thief that stole bread from bakeries and apples from shop stands, as well as memories.

The boy and girl watched the children play around, chasing each other and laughing, some playing with toys. They chose to rest at a nearby spot, on a bench in the village square. There was a fountain in the middle with a wide collection of coins in the water, and the ground around it was a paved cobblestone pattern. 

The boy exhaled deeply to ease his tension. If he didn’t find the Memory Thief before it was too late, or rather, if he didn’t defeat him before it was too late, Mrs. Nohryu would die all alone back home. He had never felt such stakes before, it was uncomfortable to a huge degree. He watched as the children playing escaped his view as they went behind a house. Then, after a moment, he saw them come into view again, backing up slowly with fear from a big, angry kid who was threatening them. The kid was slightly older than him. He had a big, fearsome scar on his cheek, and he wore a black hood and a cowl and leather boots. The kids were apologizing to him, trying to calm him down. A few adults were watching the whole thing, and some were already walking up to the bully. Suddenly, the next thing he saw were the children on the ground crying, and the bully was walking away, laughing. The adults that were coming to the scene suddenly lost all interest and went back to what they were doing.

“That was so mean,” said Yvona.

“What was?”

She looked at him with disdain. “How can you say such a thing? He hit each of those children and crushed all their toys with his foot!”

“No, he didn’t. I didn’t see anything like that.”

Yvona crossed her arms, and their eyes connected. “If you’re going to catch a Memory Thief, you have to be smarter than that, Vally. Smarter than all those witnesses that inexplicably lost interest in stopping him as fast as those children got on the ground.”

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it after the essence of her words dawned on him. Nobody had seen it because nobody had remembered it. Something told the boy that this was common. He said, “How did you see it, Yvona?”

“Come, now. No time for dilly-dally when we have a thief of memories to catch.”

The boy got up and followed Andreon Newburg around the village. He stayed at a safe distance and was patient. When they finally reached a secluded spot, the boy got closer. He planned to get the jump on him. But the bully, back still turned, raised a hand to stop him. 

“Interesting,” said the Memory Thief. “I’ve had many hunters try to catch me in my lifetime. Many stronger than you, many as weak as you. But none of them as desperate as you, no. They all wanted the money to fill their personal greed, or perhaps their egos, but you want it for something else. You want it to heal your mother, don’t you?” He turned around, facing the boy. A crooked smile was plastered on his scarred face.

The boy didn’t reply.

“You always have to know what you’re stealing before you steal it. I steal memories. So I know everything about you. And you might know who I am, but it doesn’t mean you really do.” He took a few steps around in a circle. “So, I’ll tell you. I value honour tremendously. I always give my hunters a chance to defeat me, rather than just erasing their memory of me from the beginning. You are no different. If you challenge me, I’ll let you. Otherwise, leave me alone.”

The boy didn’t reply.

The Memory Thief stopped in his tracks, turned to face him, and motioned for him to come at him with his fingerless-gloved hands. “Come on, now. Let’s not waste time sipping tea and getting to know each other. I always let my guests strike first. You throw the first punch.”

“You’re not ready,” said Yvona, behind the boy. “You’ll need to train before you defeat this boy. He’s tougher than you.”

The boy didn’t listen. All he could think of was buying the medicine for his mother, and perhaps avenging all the children Andreon bullied. Perhaps he was doing this for Yvona, too. The both of them. He fuelled all his rage into his fist, gripping it tight. Then he went for Andreon. But even with all his anger, he was slow. He never saw his blow connect.

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground in pain, and his head hurt. It happened in an instant, and he didn’t know how. He looked up to see Andreon standing above him, not hurt at all, with his hands behind his back. He was standing tall and smiling. “Just what I thought,” said the bully. “You should know I always steal my opponent’s memory of the fight after they lose. So they’ll never learn my edges or habits in battle. I fight with honour, but honour has limits when you have to survive by yourself with a huge bounty on your head. You are open to try, anytime, as much as you want. Just come find me. But understand you will never win, no matter how much or how hard you try. You’re weak.”

Suddenly, his face changed. The boy watched as the bully’s features morphed into a face he knew all too well. Kaas. He heard his voice. He saw his gang of buddies behind him, Alya by his side. No, it was Loria now. She was laughing at him instead of helping him up. Once more he felt the powerful urge to flee. 

With that, Kaas and his gang left. He heard a voice telling him to snap out of it. Yvona had rushed to the boy’s aid, putting a hand behind his head and grasping one of his. “I told you,” said the girl. “Maybe it’s possible to beat him. But not today. You’ll have to train and learn how to fight. It’s going to take time, you need to be patient.”

“You saw the fight,” said the boy. “How close was I?”

She shook her head. “Not close at all.”

She helped him up and dusted his clothes. 

“What now?” the boy asked. He didn’t have all the time in the world. He had possibly a week, at most. Mrs. Nohryu’s condition would get worse every day and if he didn’t get the medicine to her in time, he didn’t want her to die alone.

“I don’t want her to die alone either,” said Yvona. “But we have no choice. You have to get stronger.”

“What if I can’t? I’ve never been a fighter, Yvona. I don’t see myself ever being one when I’m older, either. The ring scares me.”

“You have to do this, Vally. For me. For Mom.”

The boy froze for a long moment. Never in his life had he been struck with such fear. There was no other option, he had to learn how to fight. He had to train until he could beat the Memory Thief. And there was no way of telling how much he would improve because he’d always wake up from the ground when he’d lose. It was a hopeless trial, a cruel trick of fate. He fell on his knees, sobbing. His mother was sick, and there was nothing he could do. 

“Yes, there is,” said Yvona. “You can do it.”

“No one believes that.”

“I do.”

That surprised the boy for a moment. He looked up at her. They exchanged glances, and suddenly the boy felt a strange feeling he had never felt for his best friend before. He felt the same whenever he saw Loria. It was unfamiliar, yet comforting all the same. It gave him enough confidence to get up from the ground and wipe his tears. He’d do it, then. For his mother, for Yvona, for himself. He would prove that when people needed him the most, he could handle it. 

“You’re right,” said the boy. “You’re always right.”

Over the next few days, the boy trained. The days passed by faster than the boy had ever experienced time, for each waking hour resting was an hour not spent saving Mrs. Nohryu. An old woman whose children abandoned her, and one who had raised him and given him a chance at life. And now she was on the verge of being abandoned by him, too. He would get that medicine and not let that happen. So he trained and trained. Trained hard. Every day, sometimes multiple times a day, the boy went back to confront the bully when he thought he was ready. Each battle he would lose, instantaneously waking up on the ground after his first attempted blow, never seeing it land. It was frustrating to never know what happened after the Memory Thief took his memory after each fight. Even more frustrating was that he was always immediately on the ground, hurt and defeated. Humiliated by someone stronger than him, someone that knew of his pain, someone that knew of his dying mother, but refused custody even after his crimes all the same.

The battles happened so frequently that the village children sometimes watched them. Then the word spread around. Soon there were too many children watching the fights for the bully to erase the minds of. This frustrated him, but he had no choice, so he just let them go. The battles became tradition. Every time one would start, the children would come, watching. They always cheered for the stranger, always booed for their bully. But sadly, they always knew who would win.

In the nights, the children took care of the boy. They dedicated a bench solely for him and gave him some pillows and blankets. They provided him with their food they chose not to eat for the sake of his nourishment. They gave him hot chocolate for the coldness and new bandages to wrap around his hands, which were dry, cracked, and usually bleeding. The boy thanked them for their hospitality. He promised them he would return the favour by getting rid of their bully.

The boy learned day by day to fight better. Sometimes the children gave him advice from their parents who fought in a war back in the day. They told him to never pull his punches, or where the best spots were to strike. But the boy learned that nothing else worked better than picturing he was facing Kaas. He learned to funnel all his rage into his fists aimed at his fabricated face and every training session and every fight with Andreon he did better. Well, at least, Yvona told him that. She was the only one who could remember the fights with Andreon clearly, while the boy would always blank out after the first punch and never know a thing about them.

During the following days, the boy lost track of how much time had passed. He only hoped that Mrs. Nohryu was still hanging in there at home. He never had any idea that he would be gone this long. He didn’t want her to think that he abandoned her, but he had no choice but to stay here until he could get the money for her medicine. Day after day, night after night, he trained and trained. He’d fight the bully a couple more times, losing each time, and then he’d train more. He hardened his body until his bones felt like steel and his skin was rigid. He perfected his punches so that they could crack wood. He felt stronger each day. With it, more confidence came. He’d picture Kaas and his gang in his mind and would never feel the urge to flee anymore. Instead, he pictured himself beating Kaas down to a bloody pulp and making Loria suffer through watching it all. He wanted to do the same to the Memory Thief so much, it consumed him. Throughout the days Yvona would watch him train, perhaps landing blows on a goat carcass hanging on a rope, or lifting some logs to build his strength. He noticed that she’d stare at him longingly each time, but she tried to hide doing so, looking away if he ever looked in her direction. He pretended to be unaware. He didn’t want to confuse the both of them anymore with different matters when such important things were on the line, nor did he want to embarrass her. He was embarrassed as much as her, anyway. Fighting was never his strong suit. It was never his character. But it needed a tough body to take blows and land them just as hard. It needed a mind focused on dodging and blocking and being as fast as possible while hitting as hard as possible. He had to build muscle and he had to perfect his technique. But of course, this would change him. Perhaps Yvona didn’t see a weak and helpless child she had to comfort anymore. The boy considered that maybe, if he learned to be strong on his own, she would think he’d disregard her help. That he’d be too mature for her companionship from then on. He wanted to tell her, somehow, that wasn’t the case at all, but he didn’t know how to put it in words. Even if he was now strong and confident, inside was still a young boy who could not talk to a pretty girl. He’d put it behind for now. He had to focus on fighting anyway. He’d work himself until he couldn’t feel anything in his body, until he couldn’t take it anymore, and then he’d tell Yvona how he felt.

One day, the two of them sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking their hometown at the base of the mountain. There was a beautiful sunset which coloured the sky with shades of violet and pink. Down below was a forest that stretched across the mountainside, an amalgamation of various evergreen trees snow-capped from the cold of the freezing altitude. The boy had gotten used to the cold up here now. He used to train with his cloak on, but now he did so with no shirt so the the direct air could cool down his sweat. 

“Look, some birds,” said Yvona, pointing at the sky to a flock of them crossing the horizon. They watched it for a while as she exhaled, her breath forming a steam cloud in front of her in the cold, dry air. She faced him. “Look, I’m just trying to distract you from what you’re going to say. It’s not the time, really. We need to focus on getting the medicine for Mom.”

“I’m going to beat him tomorrow.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. She muttered a small, “Oh,” before she turned back to the magnificent view. There was a long, excruciating pause. Then the boy found the courage to continue: “I’m sure of it. Tomorrow will yield the last fight. And if I don’t win, then I’m going back home to Mom. You’ll come with me.”

“Even without the money for the medicine?”

The boy scowled and gripped his fists. “Yes. But see, it won’t come to that. I’m going to bash his head and deform his face until you can’t recognize it anymore. Tomorrow.”

Yvona tilted her head and studied his face. “They want him alive, Vally.”

“I don’t care. I’ll tell them to give me my money, or I’ll do the same to them, too.”

“You’ve changed a lot since we’ve come here. You’re filled with vengeance now, and a grief you don’t even have yet.”

“I know.”

The boy didn’t have to read her face to tell that she didn’t like that answer. He knew being harsh to her was unwise, for if not for her, he would have never found the Memory Thief, who would have gotten away with stealing his memory from the very beginning when he was bullying those children. She was the only one who had seen it, and she was the only reason he was still here. The only reason he still had a chance.

She said nothing at first. A moment of silence passed until she said, “You may be as tall and strong as Kaas now, wherever that boy may be, if he’s still at the orphanage. But I don’t want you to ever turn out like him. Look, I…”

The boy waited.

“Can you… make me a promise?”

He was hesitant to respond. “What?”

“Never enter the ring. I don't want you to ever become a fighter. You’re only doing this for Mom. Not for the thrill of it. That’s it. Remember that.”

The boy thought about it for a long time. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to answer correctly, how to please Yvona as much as him. She waited for an answer patiently, kicking her feet against the side of the cliff, causing some pebbles to fall into the deep drop below. He thought longer. When he felt he had decided enough, he answered.

#

The boy’s head hurt tremendously. His face was a bloody mess and he clutched his forehead. A girl, who he remembered as Yvona, had carried him with one arm around her shoulders to a multitude of places. First she had taken him to an old woman’s house. She learned that the old woman was dead and had collapsed on the floor, sobbing in her hands. The boy did not know who the old woman was. He couldn’t feel any emotion for a woman he had never encountered in his life. The girl had told him that she was their foster mother. They had ran away from an orphanage they grew up in together and fled to this town where she had found them and raised them. If it weren’t for her, they’d be dead and rotting on the streets. When the boy made it clear to her that he didn’t know who she was and couldn’t remember, if she was even speaking the truth at all, she brought him to the city next. She said that they had no place in their hometown anymore, and if they wanted to survive they needed to find work.

The boy, not knowing who he was, took a look at himself in the mirror and saw a strong body. A fighter’s body. Going into the city, he knew what he wanted to do. When he and the girl arrived by carriage, his eyes caught a poster on a wall that advertised an underground society full of fighters and ring lords. Yvona, who saw him go toward it, tried to pull him back. “You promised!” she cried. 

He shrugged off her arm. “Shut up, woman. I don’t remember promising you anything.”

For the next few years, he was in and out of fights. Sometimes it’d be in the ring, sometimes it’d be men harassing him for being drunk. He drank a lot in those years. There was nothing to forget, so it made it all the worth to relish in the hazy state it set him in. Every time he drank too much at a bar, Yvona would be nowhere to be found. He learned that when he got sober enough (for when he needed to fight in the ring), she was back. But all she did when she was around was scold him, which only made him want to drink more. All she’d talk about was for him to stop all this and nonsense like that. Her words hurt more than the punches that made his face go numb in the ring. More than the booing crowd or the ring lords never betting on him. They hurt because even though he had no memories of her, he knew who she was and he still felt some intense feeling for her, which must have carried over from his past life.

One day, as the man was in yet another bar spending his time drinking on a table until the next fight, he listened in on some conversations around him. 

“Have you heard? Someone beat the Memory Thief up in that village in the mountains.”

“Nah, stop making stuff up, Dally. No one’s ever beaten that scumbag.”

“Nah, I’m serious! I heard all the details, too. He took him to the authorities to cash in his money. But the little dastard pulled off a nasty trick on the poor fellow before he was taken away. Stole all his memories! Those corrupt cops took advantage of it, too! They didn’t give him the money.”

“Aw, what a poor lad.”

“Next he was seen ambling alone toward some house. They investigated it later and found some dead old woman in it. They didn’t know why he went there. But the next thing he did, no kidding, he took a carriage somewhere, alone. The authorities didn’t want to track him after that. They thought they oughta let the amnesiac some breathing room to do whatever he wanted with his life.”

The man tuned out, uninterested in a random man’s escapade. He blinked a few times and scratched his nose, bringing up his glass to drink. When he opened his eyes, he froze. At first, she wasn’t there, but after he put down his glass and studied her clearly, across the table, she had definitely appeared out of nowhere. He knew who she was. Someone he hadn’t seen in a long time. She was frowning.

“Look,” he began.

“I want to know,” said Yvona, leaning forward. “Just one thing, before you take another sip out of that glass. Why me? Why am I the only thing you remember? You’ve told me you know me. Perhaps not any memories of me, but at least who I am. But you said you don’t know anything else. Not your mother, our house, our life at the orphanage. Why?”

The man sighed. “I don’t know. You’re different, somehow. I’ve always felt like you’ve been a part of me.”

“I am,” she said. The man took a sip from his glass, and she turned her face away. “God, I can’t see you like this.”

“Why not?”

“You fight for more money just so you won’t go broke spending it all here for more drinks. Even if you don’t know who your past self was, do you think he’d be proud of you right now?”

“He’s gone. All that’s important is what I think now.”

“He’s still here. In my memories and in you, because you still share his body.”

The man, losing his patience, slammed the table. “Why does it matter, woman!”

She wasn’t fazed at all. “I’m trying to warn you. If you get drunk all the time, you’ll lose me.”

“Why?” He chuckled, drinking more. “You’ll always be here for me, won’t you? You said it yourself. You’re a part of me.”

“That’s not how I work. If you drink and suppress your mind, I disappear. You know this. I disappear, perhaps for good. Think about what that means.”

The man didn’t listen to her, continuing to drink. Halfway through, he began to snicker. Then, he wheezed. The wheeze turned into a chuckle, and then it turned into full laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” asked Yvona, unimpressed.

“I’m not going to stop fighting,” said the man, still laughing. “And I’m not going to stop drinking. One day, when I get rich enough to have a stable life, maybe I’ll stop fighting in the ring. Maybe I’ll sober up and find you again.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And then what?”

“And then I’ll marry you!” He slapped his leg and laughed even more, wheezing in between.

“You’re a joke,” she said, getting up. “You’re already too drunk. I’m leaving.”

Hearing that only made him laugh harder. His stomach heaved and his chest begged for more air as the endless sound came out of his mouth. He was too busy laughing to had seen her go. After he was done, he drank more.

#

The boy gripped his fingers tight against his hand wraps. He flexed his neck, shook his wrists, and circled his shoulders. The Memory Thief was in front of him. The boy had asked for another rematch, and as always, the bully had a smug look on his face with crossed arms. The afternoon sun shone brightly on the open cobbled plaza where a vast number children lined up around them, some on benches, some on the ground. They were already making bets on who would win, always betting on the boy, even though they knew who would always win. This time, the boy wanted to prove them all wrong. Today he was going to defeat Andreon Newburg and save his mother’s life.

“Well?” said the Memory Thief. The children, waiting and ready to see what would happen next, quieted down by hushing each other. The boys and girls of a plethora of ages watched their hero with faithful eyes. The boy shifted his footing, preparing. The two of them stared down at each other.

“Tradition, like always,” said Andreon. “I’ll let you land the first blow. We fight until one of us gets knocked out, down, or surrenders.”

The boy nodded, not saying a word. 

“Go on then.”

The boy closed his eyes, controlling his breathing. He felt Yvona’s presence behind him, supporting him. Later, after this was all over, he’d tell her how he felt about her. This was for her. He felt Mrs. Nohryu’s presence back home, waiting for him to return with some medicine. This was for her, too. He focused on picturing the face of every kid who had picked on him, hurt him, or called him names or a coward. Especially Kaas. This was for himself, too. Then he opened his eyes and put all those faces on the new bully in front of him. He was just an obstacle to get past on the road to proving his own worth. Everyone was wrong about him. He exhaled one last time, ready. Then he moved toward the Memory Thief with lightning speed.

The boy threw the first strike, and for once, he witnessed it connect this time.

###