I stood at the edge of the village, watching farmers lead their new temporary workers toward the fields. The mechanical joints of my four arms clicked as I shifted, the morning sun glinting off my armored frame. Two days of peace had settled the initial fear of my presence, though children still ran when I approached.

  Footsteps crunched behind me. I turned to see Moskin and Katherin, Mallie's parents, approaching with Harke.

  "No Eyes." Moskin's weather-worn face creased into a smile. "We wanted to thank you proper for bringing our girl home."

  Your daughter. Is brave. I projected the thought carefully, having learned to modulate the mental voice's strength. She helped save. Many lives.

  Katherin's fingers tightened around her husband's arm. "Did she now? And who put her in danger in the first place? Having children fight?"

  "Dear-" Moskin started.

  "No." Katherin's blue eyes fixed on my mechanical form. "I won't pretend this... thing... is some kind of hero. Our daughter came back changed. Different."

  She chose to fight. I kept my mental tone neutral. To protect others.

  "She's twelve!" Katherin snapped.

  Harke stepped forward, his nervous stutter more pronounced. "M-madame, without Mallie's help, many more would have d-died. Including me."

  "And now she doesn't want to attend the War Academy." Katherin's voice cracked. "Her dream, gone."

  Dreams change. I shifted my weight, joints creaking. She learned. True cost of combat. That knowledge has value.

  Moskin nodded slowly. "Aye. Better to learn it now than at the Academy." He extended his hand toward me. "Thank you. For everything."

  I carefully gripped his hand with one of my mechanical ones, noting how Katherin flinched at the contact.

  Mayor Antos approached, breaking the tension. "Harke! Good news. Found spots for the last three families with the Hendersons. Their barn's been empty since the winter flood."

  "E-excellent." Harke pulled out his worn notebook. "That leaves just the four from Stone Creek. Their message hawks should arrive home t-today."

  "Good, good." Antos scratched his beard. "Can't feed everyone forever, but we'll manage till their folk come collect them."

  I watched Mallie's parents leave, Katherin never looking back while Moskin offered a final wave. The mayor's efficiency at placing refugees impressed me, though I understood the urgency. Weath's food stores wouldn't last long with so many extra mouths.

  Harke flipped through his notebook. "Most should be gone within two weeks. The ones from Further Vale might take longer, given the distance."

  You leave tomorrow? I asked.

  "Yes. The Guild needs to know what happened to my party." He glanced at me. "Will you..."

  I will stay. Until the last refugee. Leaves. I turned my head toward the distant mountains. Then we'll see.

  Harke tucked his notebook away and met my gaze. "I'll come back, once I've settled things in Yorr. The Guild needs to know about my f-friends. And their families need to be informed as w-w-well."

  How long?

  "Five months there, maybe the same back." He kicked at a loose stone. "Could be a y-year before I return."

  Something cold settled in my chest. Harke had been the first to truly see me as more than a monster, the first to help me communicate. My first... friend? The word felt both foreign and familiar.

  I understand. I kept my mental voice steady. The dead deserve justice.

  "Speaking of returns," Mayor Antos cut in, scratching his chin, "we ought to figure what to call you proper-like. Bit awkward saying 'it' all the time."

  My name is No Eyes.

  "No, no. I mean are you a he or a she? Been wondering since you arrived. The whole village's got a betting pool going."

  Harke cleared his throat. "The matter isn't quite that simple. No Eyes's memories are... fragmented. Even basic things about the past are unclear."

  Mallie insists I'm female, I offered.

  Antos barked out a laugh. "Well, can't rightly call you a woman unless you build yourself something sexier than that contraption. Maybe add some curves to your chest and hips!"

  My mechanical body went still. Harke's face flushed red. The silence stretched uncomfortably as Antos's words hung in the air.

  I do not... I cannot... For once, Mind Speech failed me.

  "Ha ha, didn't know your face could turn red!" Antos laughed, enjoying our aghast expressions.

  I walked through Weath's dirt streets, taking in the simple wooden buildings with their sturdy stone foundations. Thatched roofs crowned most structures, though the tavern and general store boasted proper shingles. Everything spoke of frontier practicality, built to last against harsh winters and monster attacks.

  Villagers gave me a wide berth. Some hurried inside at my approach, while others watched with narrowed eyes. A woman pulled her child close as I passed, though the little boy waved at me before being hustled away.

  The creak of wooden chairs drew my attention to the pub's front porch. Several old men sat enjoying tankards in the morning sun. Most fell silent at my approach, but Old Willem's weathered face split into a grin.

  "No Eyes! Come join us for a spell." He patted the railing beside him.

  I cannot drink, I projected carefully.

  "Bah, company's more important than ale." Willem's easy manner seemed to relax his companions. "Though don't tell my wife I said that."

  Chuckles rippled through the group. I settled my mechanical frame against the railing, joints whirring softly.

  Tell me about Weath, I prompted. I've seen many. Farms.

  "Aye, we're farmers first," said a thin man with a scraggly beard. "But the real coin comes from adventurers heading into the Hellzone."

  "Troublemakers, the lot of them," grumbled another. "Always starting brawls, breaking furniture."

  "Now Tam," the elder across from him countered, "you're forgetting that one young man from Delain." The old man turned to me and started explaining. "There was a Level 17 Swordsman here in the village when them slavers attacked; drove off most of those Qordos bastards all by himself!"

  "One good apple don't make up for a barrel of rotten ones."

  "Better to have them than not," argued a white-haired elder. "Criminals think twice about attacking when adventurers are about."

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  The slavers attacked often? I asked.

  Willem nodded grimly. "Every few years. Usually in spring when the passes clear. Take whoever they can grab, mostly young folk." He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Can't for the life o' me think why those bastards bothered nabbing me! I'm one foot in the grave already!"

  His friends laughed.

  "That's why we need the adventurers," the white-haired man insisted. "If that young man hadn't been here, we'd have lost twice as many in that last raid."

  I bid Willem and his companions farewell, their laughter fading behind me as I walked down the packed-earth road. My mechanical legs whirred with each step, the sound stark against the natural bustle of village life.

  The general store sat squat and solid on the corner, its weathered sign creaking in the breeze. Through the windows, I glimpsed shelves stocked with dried goods and basic supplies. A young woman arranging items at the counter caught sight of me and froze.

  I moved on.

  Smoke billowed from the blacksmith's chimney, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoing across the street. The scent of coal and hot iron triggered something in my fractured memory, the ghost of recognition, gone before I could grasp it. The smith's apprentice hauled water from the well, muscles straining. He nearly dropped the bucket when he saw me.

  The bakery Mallie spoke of was perched in between two larger buildings, its blue-painted door standing out against white-washed walls. The aroma of fresh bread wafted through the morning air. A bell chimed as customers entered and left, their arms full of wrapped loaves. None approached while I lingered nearby.

  I kept my distance from the buildings, content to observe from the edges. My mechanical form cast long shadows in the strengthening sunlight. Children playing with wooden swords stopped their game to stare as I passed, though one small girl waved shyly before her mother pulled her away.

  The village sprawled in organic clusters, structures built where needed rather than planned. Gardens sprouted between houses, late summer vegetables ripening on the vine. Chickens scratched in the dirt, unbothered by my presence. A cat sunning itself on a fence post watched me with half-closed eyes, neither afraid nor interested.

  This was the peace Mallie had described; simple folk living simple lives. Even with the threat of monsters and raiders lurking beyond the fields, Weath held onto its quiet dignity. I understood why she missed it during her captivity.

  I found a fallen log at the edge of the village green and settled my frame upon it. The morning sun warmed my mechanical parts, glinting off polished metal. From here I could watch village life unfold without disturbing anyone's routine.

  A stone building caught my eye, its gray walls standing apart from Weath's wooden structures. Unlike the practical construction of homes and shops, this building bore intricate carvings along its circular walls.

  My mechanical legs carried me closer without conscious thought. The open doorway revealed no guards, just cool shadows within. I ducked my head to enter, my average-sized frame barely fitting through the unusually low entrance. My original body probably could not have entered at all.

  Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating a circular chamber. Twelve alcoves lined the walls, each holding a quarter life-sized statue. The figures were carved in wood with remarkable skill, their faces holding such detail they seemed almost alive.

  I approached the first alcove. The statue depicted a warrior in elaborate armor, his face stern and commanding. Below, a bronze plaque read: "Kaldos, God of War and Change."

  Moving clockwise, I read each name. "Mirrin, God of Peace and Stability" showed a serene figure with open, welcoming hands. "Altanava, Goddess of Day and the Sun" stood proud, rays of light emanating from her crown. "Ludeneril, God of Night and the Moon" was cloaked in flowing robes decorated with crescent moon shapes.

  "Ayen, Goddess of Magic and Trickery" held a staff wrapped with serpents. Next came "Vardin, God of Science and Knowledge." Something about this statue made me pause. The figure wore the clothing of a senior scholar, his expression both wise and determined.

  I continued my circuit. "Clethu, God of Birth and Life" cradled an infant. "Naori, Goddess of Death and Decay" bore a solemn, hooded visage. "Jothas, God of the Earth and Its Bounty" stood surrounded by carved wheat and fruit.

  "Prostas, God of the Sky and the Stars" gazed upward, his robes swirling with celestial patterns. "Kanis Rael, Goddess of Law and the Past" held scales and scrolls. Finally, "Binar, God of Chaos and the Future" completed the circle, his features ever-shifting depending on how the light struck the wood.

  The creak of hinges broke my contemplation of the wooden statues. An old man in a beige robe entered, leaning on a gnarled staff. His thin lips pressed into a frown at the sight of me. I recognized him as the old man who had cursed me as an evil spirit during the meeting in front of town hall.

  "How peculiar," he said, his voice dry as autumn leaves. "A monster showing such interest in humanity's gods."

  Gods?

  The term was unfamiliar to me. I had heard people say the word before, mostly as a curse when something bad happened. Chanos had also compared himself to one, as though that comparison held special significance.

  What is a god?

  The old man recoiled as if struck. "What blasphemy is this? How can you not know of the Holy Twelve?" His knuckles whitened on his staff. "Though I suppose I shouldn't expect better from a monster."

  I mean no offense. I kept my mechanical form still, trying to appear non-threatening. Simply wish to. Learn.

  He snorted. "Well, at least you're attempting to educate yourself rather than wallowing in ignorance like the rest of your kind usually does." He tapped his staff against the stone floor. "I am Ludwig, keeper of this temple. The Holy Twelve are the creators and protectors of our world. Through their divine power, they shield humanity from evil."

  What evil?

  "Monsters, of course." Ludwig's gray eyes fixed on me with undisguised contempt. "Beings like yourself, who exist only to destroy and corrupt. The gods are all that stand between humanity and chaos."

  The term 'monsters' triggered something in my broken memory, a flash of ancient knowledge, gone before I could grasp it. I turned back to the statues, studying their carved faces with new understanding.

  Yet these figures look human, I observed.

  "Of course they do! The gods took human form to better guide and protect us." Ludwig's voice carried the practiced cadence of someone who had given this lesson many times. "They created the System itself to help humanity grow stronger, to defend against the monster threat."

  The Hellzones, I projected, remembering the desolate wasteland where I first awoke. The endless gray mud, the corrupted beasts, the floating stones crackling with deadly energy.

  Ludwig nodded, his wrinkled face severe. "Places untouched by divine grace. Without the gods' protection, nature runs wild and corrupt. The very air turns poison, the ground bleeds acid, storms of fire rage across blackened skies." He gestured toward the temple entrance. "Look outside at our peaceful fields, our bountiful crops. This is what the gods' blessing bring. But venture just a few leagues south..." He shook his head.

  Where I was found.

  "Yes, where your kind thrives." His lip curled. "In those godless places, monsters multiply like maggots in rotting flesh. The corrupted beasts grow larger, more vicious. Even the plants turn deadly." He tapped his staff against the floor for emphasis. "Without the Holy Twelve's power holding back the chaos, the entire world would be one vast Hellzone. We'd all be dead, or worse, transformed into abominations like-" He caught himself, but his meaningful glance at my mechanical form made his meaning clear.

  The memory of clawing my way up through endless soil flashed through my mind. Had I truly been born from that corrupted earth? Was that why the System labeled me 'Dirtborn'?

  "The gods shield us from such horrors," Ludwig continued. "Their divine power maintains order, keeps the natural world functioning as it should. Prevents the spread of corruption." He gestured at the carved figures. "Through their wisdom and mercy, they created safe havens for humanity to flourish."

  Yet people still enter Hellzones, I noted.

  "Greed and foolishness." Ludwig spat the words. "Those who venture into cursed lands seeking riches deserve whatever fate befalls them. The gods provide everything we truly need right here in their protected domains."

  My eyeless face turned to observe the carefully crafted figures of humanity's gods. Was what Ludwig said true? Did these… gods create the world and protect it from harm? Something about that claim felt wrong to me. From my fractured memories, I was certain that the world wasn't created by intelligent hands. My shattered recollections suggested it emerged from turmoil, spawned by stellar flames and a collision of cosmic energies. This world was order birthed from chaos. All held together by the primal will of the Primordials.

  My thoughts whirled to a stop.

  There was that word again. Primodials. What did it mean? And why was I so certain that they existed even though no one I spoke with knew what the word even meant?

  "Those who deal with monsters," Ludwig said suddenly, "risk more than just their lives. They risk their very souls."

  I frowned, suddenly feeling a cold pit form in my chest.

  I have memories. Of being human, I confessed to him.

  Ludwig's weathered face grew somber. "There are those among my order who believe intelligent monsters like yourself were once human." He leaned on his staff, studying me with those hard gray eyes. "They say such creatures are humans who committed grave sins against the gods. Their crimes were so heinous that they received the ultimate divine punishment: the loss of their very humanity."

  My mechanical frame went still.

  Is... is that. What happened. To me?

  The old priest's expression softened slightly. "I cannot say for certain. Though in truth, I do not put much stock in that theory." He shook his head. "I believe the gods to be just, but not cruel. To strip away someone's humanity... that seems too harsh a punishment, even for the gravest of sins."

  His lips pressed into a thin line. "More likely, these memories you claim to have are simply delusions. The pathetic yearnings of a creature ashamed of what it truly is."

  I wanted to argue, to deny his words. But they cut deep, deeper than any weapon could pierce my invulnerable flesh. Because there was truth in what he said. I was ashamed. Ashamed of being labeled a monster by the System. Ashamed of the terror I saw in people's eyes when they looked at me. Ashamed of the inhuman shrieks that emerged when I tried to speak.

  How desperately I wanted to believe I was once human, a sapien with a name, a past, a purpose. But what if the priest was right? What if these fractured memories were nothing but self-deluding fantasies?

  Or worse... what if they were real? What unspeakable crime could I have committed to deserve such a fate? What horror had I unleashed that warranted the gods themselves striking away my humanity?

  Thank you. F-for your time, I projected to Ludwig, my mental voice wavering slightly.

  I turned and ducked through the temple doorway, my mechanical legs trembling with each step. The morning sun felt colder now, its light offering no comfort as I retreated from the house of gods.