Byung was running and running through the endless maze of identical trees, his enhanced body carrying him faster than should have been possible for someone his size. His lungs burned despite his superior endurance, his legs screamed for rest, but he couldn't stop. Stopping meant death in this cursed place where threats lurked behind every shadow.
But something was changing. As he ran, fragments of his lost memory began to surface like debris floating up from the depths of a dark ocean. They didn't connect, didn't form coherent pictures or narratives, but they were there—flashes of faces he should know, echoes of conversations he should remember, sensations of power and purpose that felt intimately familiar yet frustratingly out of reach.
A flash: Green eyes staring into his with warmth and something deeper. "Maui."
Another fragment: A massive scarred face, red eyces, silence that communicated more than words. "Grishka."
