Prologue
When Gothalia opened her eyes, confusion washed over her as she took in the bare white walls of the room, she was in. Then, she became conscious of the bandages against her skin, the smooth clean sheets against her bare legs and arms, and the pillow under her head along with the constant beeping of a nearby machine.
Her gaze narrowed in contemplation on the sheets, then she lifted it, regarding her injured body beneath questionably. She was in her underwear. In that moment, she wasn’t too sure which to be more concerned about the fact that her memories were blank or the fact that someone had undressed her.
Her gaze drifted to the wooden white glossy nightstand beside her bed. She regarded the folded clothes on the bedside table, then the transparent jug of water and devices she knew she was familiar with but didn’t completely recognise. She reached for it, then glanced at her arm. Puncture marks embedded exposed skin of her arm among the bandages.
A cord connected to a drip, slithered towards her, and she regarded the venous catheter on her arm. Her brows furrowed. “What happened?” She muttered to herself. Then, recalled the sound of explosions and bullets as a fragment of memories but nothing that could explain how she was in the bed.
She sat up slowly and scanned her tender body thoroughly. There were injuries, bruising, bandages but she recognised, she had all her limbs, all her fingers and toes. Then, she tested the movement of her fingers, hands and feet then the rest of her limbs and anything she could think of or missed. Eventually, she concluded everything worked the way it should. “That’s a good sign,” she whispered, then frowned. Where was she?
Then she regarded the open door opposite her bed. It led into a hallway and beside the door was a dresser and a wardrobe with sliding doors. Then, she glanced at the mirror opposite her bed.
Her features stared back at her but she didn’t recognise herself. Her skin appeared paler than usual, almost sickly, her hair looked dry, tattered and damaged. Her dry lips were marred in cuts along with her cheeks and forehead. She touched her head, feeling the closed wound there. Her fingers grazed along the stitches and an image of a man on top of her with a knife to her throat flashed across her eyes. Then as quickly as the memories appeared they vanished, and her hand trembled at the unsettling memory.
Then she glanced at the curtain window beside her and pulled it open before regarding the tall unfamiliar buildings. She regarded the strange purple-blue colour of the sky even if she guessed it was mid-day from the position of the sun. Gothalia leaned towards the window, and peered down, and saw a silent empty street below.
“Idiot! What are you doing!” A female growled, from the door. Stunned, Gothalia regarded the fair skinned woman and watched her with confusion, when she rushed over to the window as quickly as possible and closed the curtain. “It’s like I can’t leave you alone. You didn’t open the window too, did you?” Her blue eyes narrowed, on the white curtain.
“No,” Gothalia replied.
Then the woman watched her, steadily. “Good. That’s something. Try not to open the curtains again.”
“Why?” Gothalia asked, suspiciously.
The woman was silent for a moment before declaring, “Because, they’ll find you. They’ll find us.”
“Who’s they?” Gothalia asked.
The woman regarded her, and her blue eyes filled with worry. “The Xzandians.”
Gothalia was silent, waiting for her to continue and, when she didn’t Gothalia asked. “You act like I should know what that is.” Gothalia crossed her arms and raised her brow.
A sudden gasp escaped the stranger’s lips. Then, before she could say anything, the dark-haired woman turned from her, and rushed out of the room calling unfamiliar names. By the time she returned, Gothalia stood before the mirror and regarded her black underwear, the various bandages and contemplated the type of injuries she had beneath.
“Gothalia?” A voice questioned. Gothalia glanced at the tanned man with brown haired man in the mirror behind her, his green eyes observed her carefully with equal concern. From beside him was a red-haired man with golden eyes and two other dark-haired individuals.
Without a word, Gothalia turned around and faced them, “Who’s Gothalia?”
Shock and hurt embedded everyone’s features and Gothalia’s confusion merely grew at their reaction.
The red-haired man moved to her, and she turned to face him. Many emotions flickered across his eyes, and she could tell he tried to obscure the hurt on his face. Without thinking, her hand graced his cheek then gripped the ends of his blood-red hair. Neither of them said anything while everyone watched. “You have unusual hair. How did you dye it? I love the colour. Got any advice?” She smiled brightly at him.
In that moment, his heart broke. His arms wrapped around her, and he held her close. “Maybe,” he whispered in her ear, burying his face into her shoulder. His grip tightened around her, and she felt him tremble. Then, she glanced at the green-eyed man behind him. His watched her. His gaze filled with hurt, pain and loss. While the blue-eyed woman covered her mouth and glanced away.
Then the red-haired man pulled away. He gripped the sheet she had draped around her shoulders and pulled it over her until her injuries and figure were hidden. “Get dressed then we can talk about what hair products I use.” He forced a bright smile then stepped from her and walked out of the room.
Everyone vacated the room slowly until the only person that remained was the green-eyed man. He watched her with an unreadable expression, but she knew it was a mask to hide that pain she saw and before she could say anything. He left. Then she strode over to the clothes.
Dropping the sheet, she dressed.
* * *
Silence filled the living room beyond the bedroom doors. Leviathan sat with Anaphora and Narelle on the sofa in deep contemplation. Then, at last, he asked, “What did they do to her?” Anaphora and Narelle shared a pained expression.
Anaphora muttered. “Physically we know based off the injuries but mentally and emotionally we have no idea.”
Asashin joined the group. “We barely got her out in time before they could do any real damage but maybe we didn’t move quick enough. Even if it has been few days since then.”
Then Noel-Len entered the room with the groceries and winced when he closed the door behind him. “I tried to get what everyone wanted but—” He regarded Danteus’s pained expression as he strode to the door he’d just entered. Without a word, Noel-Len stepped aside and Danteus vacated the apartment.
“What happened?” Noel-Len asked, confused.
“It’s Gothalia. She’s awake . . . and, they were right, she has complete amnesia.”
Noel-Len dropped the bag of food at his feet. His gaze drifted to the ground for a moment, then leaned against the wall. Hoping he’d could adopt its strength, even if he didn’t know her well enough yet. He knew, she didn’t deserve the torture they put her through. “Is it trauma based or is it because of some phycological conditioning?”
“We don’t know. We can’t even ask Arthur or Kronos.” Anaphora remarked.
“Does L’Eiron know?” He asked.
Anaphora couldn’t meet his gaze. “Not yet, I’m not too sure how to explain it to him.”
Then Gothalia entered the living room, dressed in casual surface world clothing, and everyone watched her. Confusion and uncertainty washed over her as she observed every face. A frown graced her lips while her brows furrowed in thought before she asked, “So, now what?”
