Who am I : A Betrayed Luna's Path to Home

Chapter 4 I Had a Lover?

Mist's POV

Warmth.

That’s the first clear sensation I feel as I slowly return to consciousness. It isn't the gentle warmth of Charles's cedar-scented jacket from the riverside but something more profound and comforting, as if the sun itself wrapped me in a protective glow. Beneath me, a soft bed and a light duvet provide cozy security, while the air carries a gentle blend of disinfectant and soothing herbs. It is a strange but not unpleasant scent that speaks of care and healing.

I cautiously open my eyes to a simple and clean wooden ceiling. Bright sunlight dances playfully through a sparkling glass window, casting lively, shifting patterns on the floor. This place is nothing like the cold riverside or Charles's makeshift tent. It is a genuine room, a sanctuary of safety and peace.

Memory shards flit through my mind like pieces of a broken mirror: the frigid suffocation of darkness, blinding white light, thunderous muddy river water, Charles's eyes—steady and concerned like a winter lake, Stella's warm, koala-like hug at my calf, and Alex's sharp, scrutinizing gaze… Yet before that? A dense fog thickens, making thinking painful. Despite my efforts, I feel sharp aches press against my temples, obscuring my way to find the lost memories.

"You're awake?" A gentle, caring female voice calls from beside my bed.

I turn toward it, meeting the gaze of a woman in a white doctor's coat, her eyes a warm, deep green, filled with professionalism and empathy. She has pleasant features, and a sense of calm intelligence frames her brow.

"I'm Selena Morgan, the doctor here," she says, setting aside her notepad to move closer, her tone softening with kindness, "How are you feeling? Is there any particular pain?"

I attempt to move, each muscle protesting with a dull ache that's as insistent as a persistent shadow, but it’s far gentler than the agonizing pain I remember by the riverbank. I shake my head lightly as my throat rasps like sandpaper, managing to croak, "I am alright… Thank you."

I turn toward the voice. A woman in a white doctor’s coat stands by the bed, jotting something down on a notepad. She appears to be in her thirties, with pleasant features, a calm intelligence between her brows, and deep green eyes looking at me with professional concern.

With a gentle nod, Selena hands me a cup of warm water, carefully helping me lift to sip. The cool liquid slides down, soothing the rawness in my throat.

"You've been unconscious for two days," she explains, her voice calm yet wrought with an underlying strength and authority. "Charles brought you back. You were severely injured, with multiple fractures, a serious concussion." After pausing for emphasis, she gazes directly at me with reassuring honesty, "Surviving such a fall, washing downstream, and being rescued is nothing short of a miracle."

Surviving a fall? My heart plummets as though diving into icy depths. The memory of chilling darkness and falling overwhelms me. Yet the reasons, the origin, remain elusive and drown in fear deeper than any physical hurt.

"I… don't remember," I admit softly, my fingers curling instinctively.

“I understand," Selena's expression shifts subtly, her eyes full of understanding and a touch of deep-seated compassion. "Your memory loss stems primarily from the concussion. The impact affected vital memory-storing areas in your brain.” Her voice is cautiously optimistic, “Recovery varies between individuals. Some piece together memories over time, especially when familiar faces, objects, or settings trigger flashbacks. However…” she sighs, a hint of helplessness coloring her tone, "Some memories may remain out of reach, possibly locked away or erased forever..."

Forever?

That word crashes into me like a relentless wave, squeezing breath from my lungs. A life forever blank, nothing but "Mist," with neither name nor history. Panic and helplessness surge and swallow me whole, chilling my bones.

"But," Selena continues, her voice infused with a hopeful light, "ancient books do mention herbs could be made into potions capable of awakening memories. They're extraordinarily rare, and the formula almost lost, hidden with ancient families or elusive herbalists. If reclaiming your past is your wish, it might be a… slender chance."

A flicker of hope dances in my eyes, fragile yet alive. No matter how faint the candle of hope or thorny path, it could be my link to a forgotten past.

“How can I find this potion?” I ask, voice a mix of fear and determination.

“Leave it to me,” she promises with a reassuring smile. “Right now, rest and recovery are your priorities.” Selena lightly pats my hand, her caring touch belying her authoritative demeanor, “Your body's endured much and needs time to heal.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, deeply grateful.

“You’re welcome,” she responds warmly. Just as she's about to continue, a gentle knock interrupts her, and a middle-aged woman steps in, balancing a tray and a bright, welcoming smile.

“Miss, it’s so good to see you awake. I’m Autumn, the omega steward of this pack,” she introduces herself warmly. “Dr. Selena said you'd need nourishment, so I brought some meat porridge.” With care, she places her tray on the table, adjusting my pillow so I can sit comfortably.

“Thank you,” I repeat, voice still rough but touched by their kindness.

“No thanks needed. It’s simply what we do. We’ve cleaned your gown. It had leaves and tears all over,” Autumn adds with a playful glint. “Joyce, our best seamstress, is mending it, and we’ll return it good as new.”

“I’m very grateful,” I reply sincerely. “I don’t know how to properly thank you all.”

Autumn waves it off with a gentle laugh. "We're just helping our own," she says. Curiosity piques her tone. “Were you running from something? You looked like you crashed through a bush. Why run in a gown?”

I wish I had answers. The question sets me adrift in thought.

The gown is tight, uncomfortable, the waist strap digging in.That wouldn’t be a dress someone would wear on usual days. Why was I wearing a gown? Had I really been at a banquet or something? But how come I end up nearly fainting by the riverside?

I strain to recall, but there's only emptiness. Offering a small, wry smile, I confess, “Sorry, but I don’t remember.” Pain begins to nudge at my temples, and instinctively, I tighten my grip on the bedsheet.

Selena’s sharp eyes catch my discomfort. “Enough questions, Autumn. You're stressing her,” she gently admonishes.

"Sorry," Autumn says, pausing as if a sudden thought has sparked in her mind. She fishes out a small shiny item from her apron pocket. "Oh, by the way, miss." She gently places the item on the quilt beside me, handling it with noticeable care. "I found this in the inner pocket of your gown while washing it." Her voice holds a touch of reverence. "It looks quite valuable, so I kept it safe, figuring I’d hold onto it until you woke up."

My eyes immediately lock onto the small item.

It's a pendant.

Heart-shaped, with polished edges that are smooth and rounded, it feels cool to the touch. The material appears to be pure platinum or silver, softly shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window. A fine, delicate silver chain loops through the top.

My breath catches.

My heart begins to race uncontrollably, hammering against my ribs. An intense rush of sharp nostalgia and unexpected warmth seizes me instantly, awakening a long-buried part of me hidden beneath the fog! Blood surges to my fingertips, bringing with it a faint, tingling tremor.

With trembling hands, I reach out to grasp the tiny pendant. As I open the small lid, I'm met with the sight of a photograph depicting me with a handsome man. In the moonlight, we gaze at each other, radiating joy and contentment.

An overwhelming surge of intense, almost dizzying familiarity and belonging floods my senses. This is the solid anchor from before the fog that clouded my existence!

It’s him. It must be him! This pendant must be the token from my love! My mate!

After losing everything and tumbling into oblivion, this pendant is the only undeniable piece of evidence proving my existence, the clearest lighthouse guiding me back home through the dense mist of forgotten memories.

I clutch the pendant tightly, its cool metal swiftly warming in my grasp,

Find him!

This thought, clearer and more intense than any other, eclipses all confusion and fear. No matter how dangerous the journey or uncertain the recovery of memories, I must find the person etched in my heart!

He is my past, the affirmation of my existence, and the key to my lost world. This heart-shaped pendant is my compass, my sole beacon.

Finding him means I am going home!

My heart leaps with joy at this new discovery, yet an indescribable intuition stirs unease within me.

It’s almost laughable—some inner voice actually whispering that I shouldn’t return. I shake my head, brushing off the absurdity of it.

Of course, I must return to my lover.

What could possibly go wrong, right?