She wakes up to a glowing light, and she doesn’t remember anything.

  Her head hurts. As she opens her eyes further the light floods them, sending sharp spikes of pain through her scalp like icicles. She swallows and feels the awkward dryness of her tongue in her mouth.

  She opens her mouth to speak, to call out to anyone who might listen, before she realizes she can’t. It doesn’t work. Can she not speak? It seems that she can’t.

  “Mino! You’re up, thank goodness.”

  As she hears the words, she also sees them, floating in the air.

  Mino? Is that her? She blinks and looks towards the source of the low, rough voice. A man is sitting next to the bed. He has dark skin, not quite the same shade as hers, and a wide nose. His hair is white, shaved on the sides and pulled back into a small puffy ponytail, but his bangs are too short and fall loose over his forehead. His eyes are warm, so warm.

  “How’re you doing, sweetheart?” The man asks gently. More words, floating. Her eyes track them.

  She blinks again. She sits up, and as she does, a blanket falls off of her body. It's soft, so she picks it up and holds it. She shakes her head.

  The man’s face falls into concern. It makes her—Mino—sad. The man shouldn't be worried. Why does she feel this way? She has no idea who this man is.

  “Is something wrong?” He asks. She isn’t sure whether she should pay attention to the sounds or the visible language.

  She nods, and attempts to gesture with her hands. She shakes her head, pointing at her brain, and then at him.

  He only looks puzzled, but what he says next puzzles Mino. “I'm sorry sweetheart, but I don't seem to know those signs, and I’m not seeing any words either.”

  They're both confused now. Mino makes a motion like writing, hoping he will understand. He does, and returns a few seconds later with paper, a pen, and another person.

  This man is obviously younger than the other, though with the same skin, nose, and thick eyebrows. However, he is likely over a foot taller, and his face is longer. His hair is similar to the other’s, but long enough for all but one small lock to be pulled back into the little ponytail. The sight makes Mino want to giggle.

  His eyes are shining with a youthful glee. “Mino, you’re awake! I’m so glad.” His words float too…

  Mino points to the paper, and the shorter one chuckles and hands it over. Mino quickly scrawls down her thoughts.

  I’m sorry, who are you? Why am I here?

  After a moment in which the two men look at each other with worried eyes, Mino adds clarification.

  I can’t remember anything.

  The tall one speaks first. “One second, please, I think I smell food burning in the kitchen. Come on, Bee,” he adds urgently, dragging the shorter behind him out of the room.

  Mino furrows her eyebrows together. She sniffs the air. There’s nothing.

  After a moment, she decides to get up. Her legs are slightly shaky, but not too bad. She straightens out the garment she’s wearing. It seems to be made of some coarse, pale material. It’s loose and falls to her knees. Around her neck is a green knit scarf.

  She looks around the room. Hanging on the wall, past a few piles of clutter, is a mirror. Mino walks over to it. When she sees her face, she brings a hand up and toys with the fleshiness of her skin. It is completely unfamiliar. As are her slanted eyes and full lips.

  “Mino?” She turns. The tall one is at the doorway. He smiles. “Do you need anything before we talk?”

  Mino mimes drinking.

  “Come with me. You can sit in the kitchen while I get you some water.” Mino grabs her paper and pen before following.

  The door leads into a small hallway, with an opening to the kitchen a little to the left. Bee is sitting at a small table, chewing on a pencil with his feet kicked up. His eyes, half lidded, follow Mino as she enters the room. Something about his demeanor has changed. He feels… moody. She frowns and seats herself on a stool as the taller one goes about getting a glass of water.

  “Here you go,” he says with another bright smile. “You probably have a lot of questions, right? Feel free to ask away.”

  Mino does her best to write quickly. What is your name?

  “Ah, yes!” the man exclaims. “I am Wilder, and this is my brother Bee!”

  Mino watches the words float around for a few moments before they fade away.

  Why can I see what you’re saying?

  Wilder looks surprised, and he glances at Bee before answering.

  “Magic, I suppose. Words have always appeared like that around here. Everyone understands them, even if we speak different languages. Like your sign language.”

  Mino nods. She doesn’t completely understand what Wilder means by magic, but the answer is good enough for now.

  How did I get here?

  Wilder nods, his face becoming a bit more serious. “We found you a little while ago, about ready to pass out. We brought you inside, and you told us a little about yourself. But after just a couple of minutes, you actually did fall unconscious! Then we put you in that room and waited.”

  What did I tell you?

  Wilder bites his lip. “Not much. You told us that your name was Mino, you’re twelve years old, and you told us that you came from the Overground.”

  Her eyes light up. The Overground? What’s that? She asks.

  Wilder frowns, and for the first time he seems uncertain. He glances over at his brother, who glares back, before answering. “You don’t know? You’re in the Underground right now. The names sort of speak for themselves.”

  So I came from above here? Do people there know who I am?

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Then Bee speaks from beside Mino. “What’s that little flower caught in your hair? I don't think it was there… earlier.”

  Mino brushes her fingers over the length of her hair. After a moment, Bee stands and steps closer. “Here, I’ll get it, since I can see it.”

  His fingers are gentle, but when he finds the stalk of the flower and tries to tug it free, Mino’s head is struck with a searing pain radiating from the back of her scalp. She curls into herself, eyes filling with tears.

  “Hmm. I think it’s stuck. That's weird-”

  “Brother, stop! I think you're hurting her!” Wilder exclaims, hurrying over with worried eyes.

  “What?” Bee says, recoiling.

  Mino reaches back to the flower and follows the stem to its end. Her eyes widen in horror. It is rooted in her head.

  “What is this?” Bee mutters. His hands join Mino’s in spreading apart her hair. “Is that… attached to your head?”

  Mino nods, shivering slightly. This flower scares her. Why is it there?

  “Look… look, it doesn’t matter. It’s okay!” Wilder says, trying to cheer her up. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

  Mino takes a deep breath and grabs the pen. Is this normal down here?

  Bee answers her. “I’ve never seen anyone with flowers growing out of their body, but there are other strange things. People with animal ears, people made of wood or water, people who have cloth for skin, things like that. Most people who live down here have some form of magic, and sometimes it manifests physically. Soulless, they call us.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The name brings a scowl to her face, but then she falters, uncertain about the strength of her reaction.

  “But this doesn’t feel like magic,” Wilder says, frowning.

  “It doesn’t,” Bee agrees.

  Mino does her best to put the strangeness behind her. She’s got memories to recover. Maybe once she knows who she is, she’ll find out why the flower is there. There’s really no way to figure it out in the meantime.

  She returns to her paper. Thank you for letting me stay here, but I think I want to leave and find out what happened to me.

  “Yes! That’s fine,” Wilder says. “Here, if you give me a minute I can gather some things for you to take with you, so you don’t go hungry.”

  As Wilder bustles about, Bee leans against the table, his body incredibly tense. Mino watches him. What is he feeling? There has been some strange tension between the two brothers ever since Mino told them she couldn’t remember anything. She isn’t causing them any problems… right?

  Wilder has gathered some food and a tall canteen of water into a satchel. The last thing he places in it before handing it to Mino is a small sack that jingles and clinks.

  Is that money? Why are you giving me money?

  “You might need a place to stay, if you don’t get back home by the end of the day,” Wilder says, smiling broadly and presenting the bag to her. “The Underground isn’t that small.” Mino looks at him for a moment longer. The longer she looks, the more she sees. His smile looks just a little strained.

  He’s good at acting. What isn’t he saying?

  She doesn’t take the bag. I don’t need money.

  “You need the money, sweetheart.” Bee states, the rumble of his deep voice clear and startling. He is looking over her shoulder.

  I don’t want the money.

  Bee chuckles bitterly. “You will when the temperature drops and you’re huddling under a few leaves, trying to stay warm. Take it, and leave. Please.”

  Mino looks up at Bee, hurt. His face is tense, and he won’t meet her eyes.

  That’s what it is. His eyes. They’re not warm anymore.

  She wonders why he has changed so much from the person he was when she first woke up. He had seemed very caring, almost as if he knows her, or at least knows what had happened to her. But if he knew, he would tell her, wouldn’t he? She doesn’t know how long she’s been unconscious. Her mind is probably playing tricks on her.

  Wilder is biting his lip, looking between the two of them. He’s probably wondering why she hasn’t left yet, but of course he wouldn’t say anything. He’s not a rude person.

  Thank you for your help, Mino writes. She feels a gross hardness in her throat, and scolds herself for being so sensitive. There’s no reason to cry here. She’s starting to learn things about herself again, and it seems like she has big emotional reactions to situations that aren’t actually that big of a deal. These men have been very kind and helpful to her, and she won’t impose on them any longer. She takes the bag from Wilder and pulls it over her shoulder. Bee has turned away, fists clenched.

  Mino turns to the door and leaves.

  The first thing she notices is the wind. She frowns. Why is there wind underground? There is also light, an inexplicable glow coming from a seemingly natural source. Mino searches, but cannot figure out where the light comes from. The mysterious light seems like the sort you might see on a drizzly day with light grey clouds and a fine mist clinging to the ground.

  She looks around, examining the environment. Bee and Wilder seem to live near the top of a fairly large hill, one that has been turned into a crowded but cozy-feeling community. Homes sprawl down the hill, most constructed of stone and wood. There are plants growing everywhere: through windows, along walls, up tall posts that hold lights on top of them. Those lights are pockets of brightness in the otherwise moderately lit Underground. Mino herself is standing in a small garden, which must belong to Bee and Wilder.

  Mino takes a few steps to the right of the house, wondering where to go. She looks back and sees that the kitchen window is open.

  Mino quickly sneaks over below it, heart racing. What if they’re talking about her now that she’s gone? Will she be able to learn anything that they weren’t saying while she was there?

  She can hear Bee’s voice. She can see his words floating down from the window, aimless, like they aren’t meant for her (they aren’t.)

  “Are you sure…”

  Wilder interrupts. “We can’t keep her any longer. It’s been long enough.” Mino’s heart hurts. They are talking about her. Does Wilder not like her? Was she causing problems for them?

  “But if we just—”

  “We can’t help her, Bee.” Wilder interrupts again. He sounds very upset. “That’s that.”

  Mino doesn’t think she wants to listen any more. She walks away and starts down the broad lane.

  Tall and leafy trees line the hill, sprouting up in between homes like weeds in a crack on a sidewalk. A home nearby has a tree sprouting from it’s roof. The ground beneath Mino’s feet is hard and dirt-covered, mossy patches spread indiscriminately. There may have once been paved stone here, but evidence of this only peeks through in subtle ways between all the lively groundcover.

  Mino trudges down the hill, trying not to let gravity carry her feet too fast. As she walks, she sees several people, children and adults alike, outside their homes. Some are playing games, some doing chores, some talking with their neighbors. A few women hold bundles on their heads, balancing them with only one hand. It seems effortless.

  By the time she gets to the bottom of the hill, her mind and body are already tired. There are a deceiving amount of things to see. Mino can look in any one direction, even if she’d already looked that way, and discover five new things. She closes her eyes and sits for a moment, resting her legs. She isn’t certain where to go from here.

  She opens her eyes when she hears a group of louder people walk by. One boy has hands that taper off into live, crackling fire. Orange-red and wispy, it licks into the air before disappearing. Faint trails of smoke lift from his body. She blinks, recoils slightly and tries not to stare.

  The person catches Mino staring and smiles. Mino sheepishly smiles back, waving.

  The group pays no more attention to Mino as they pass, but she finds herself curious about the fire. Was that magic? How did it work? Did it burn, did it hurt him? No one else appeared surprised or bothered by it.

  Mino gets up and continues walking, until she reaches the bottom of the hill. As the ground flattens out, the homes slowly become fewer and farther between, leaving more space for larger trees and thicker bushes. When she reaches what appears to be the edge of the community, she pauses. She has no knowledge of the geography of this world, and absolutely no clue where to go. She looks around, wondering if there might be anyone close by that could point her in the right direction. For a moment she thinks she sees someone, but the person ducks behind a building. Maybe they were going somewhere important.

  Should she go back? Find Wilder and Bee, ask them for a map or some more directions? Then she remembers Bee’s angry eyes. Her heart aches.

  “Mino!” Even though the voice is coming from behind her, the words appear in front of her eyes. Someone knows her name? Mino turns around.

  The boy from earlier is walking towards her. His hands aren’t on fire anymore.

  “Hey, Mino,” he says as he gets closer. He’s using his hands to sign the words as he speaks, even though she can see them written out in the air. “Look, I kinda… I couldn’t stop thinking about the look in your eyes a minute ago. Are you okay?”

  Mino examines the boy. She raises her hands slowly. Wilder said she used sign language, but… how?

  “Mino?” The boy reaches out and touches her shoulder gently.

  She raises her pinky, looks at it for a moment. Then she makes a fist, and slowly moves her thumb to rest between her middle and ring fingers. She makes a circle with her thumb and first finger, letting the other three stay raised in the air. She shakes her hand slightly, twice.

  “I am okay.”

  This doesn’t seem to reassure the boy.

  She does it again, more confidently. “I am okay.” Images of hands, moving and changing, float vaguely in her mind. Dark hands, light hands, old hands, gloved hands. There’s too many to make sense of.

  “Bee and Wilder didn’t let anyone see you after you fell down.” Mino watches the boy’s hands carefully, glancing between them and the words in the air, listening to the shape of the air as he speaks. “It seems like maybe you’re still a little sick.”

  Mino tries, “I see…” She spells, M A P. She spells, W A N T.

  Luckily, the boy understands. “You want to see a map. Mino, why are you talking like this?”

  Spelling takes so long and she makes a few mistakes, but the boy watches patiently. “Can’t remember.”

  Realization dawns in his eyes. “You can’t remember sign language.”

  They stand together for a moment, watching each other.

  How did she find Bee and Wilder? Who else did she meet before they took her in?

  How long was she in the Underground before she fell unconscious? An hour? A day? A few days?

  None of these questions will help her find out who she is. She shakes her head.

  “I can’t help you with a map,” the boy says. “But you know what Finlow is like. Maybe you could find a map in another community.”

  Mino raises her hands to spell, but then the wind stirs and the ghost of a touch brushes against her chin. A memory? She flattens her hand, touches her fingers to her chin, then pulls her hand away.

  “Thank you.”

  She wants to ask him more questions—what is Finlow like? How were his hands fire earlier but not now? What is magic? Who is he? But it all seems pointless. She needs to focus on her goal, and communicating takes up too much time right now.

  “You’ve never been to Whitegrass, right? Finlow’s rail station isn’t open right now. You could wait, or there’s still that old path over there.” The boy points away from the hill, in the direction of a young, leafy forest.

  Mino nods and moves in that direction.

  “Have fun!” The boy calls. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He sticks his tongue out and runs back up the hill into Finlow.

  Mino’s focus switches to the forest as she approaches the treeline. There’s a well trodden path about two and a half people wide. By now, her feet are getting a little sore. Maybe she didn’t walk much before. She wouldn’t know.

  The forest is very pretty, but very quiet. The silence feels strange, her rustling footsteps too loud. Small streams occasionally cross the path, small enough to step over. Her mind wanders, torturing herself with possibilities of where she came from and why she can’t remember anything. She walks, and walks, and walks. She walks until she becomes sleepy and lethargic, rubbing her eyes slowly and yawning every few minutes. Her eyes are closed… she stumbles over a smooth rock and lands face first into a fresh, freezing crick.

  She should probably take a break.

  Mino settles herself against the trunk of a tree that looks wider and taller than most in the area, a few paces off of the path. She almost immediately loses herself to the soft grip of sleep.