He remembered the sound of water before he remembered pain.
It was loud. Endless. A roar that swallowed thought.
When he tried to breathe, water filled his mouth and nose—cold enough to burn. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. Small fingers clawed at nothing. Legs kicked against a current that did not slow.
The river did not hesitate.
It did not turn.
It did not notice him.
Panic flared—sharp and animal—then dulled as his chest burned and his limbs grew heavy. He tried to shout. His mouth filled with water instead.
He let go.
Not because he wanted to.
Because his body could not hold on any longer.
The river took him.
Awareness returned in fragments.
Cold, first.Then weight.Then pain.
A distant pulse throbbed in time with his heart, spreading outward until it filled his arm. The pain had mass. It pressed him down, made thinking slippery and slow.
He tried to open his eyes. Light stabbed. He closed them again.
Something firm pressed against his chest. Not violent. Not gentle. Steady. Air was forced back into him. He coughed weakly as breath returned in ragged pulls, each one scraping his throat raw.
He cried out.
The sound barely made it past his lips.
Hands turned him onto his side. Rough hands. Calloused. They did not shake. More coughing. More burning. River water spilled onto stone.
"Easy," someone said.
Not kind.Not cruel.Present.
Then stillness.
He woke again to light.
Not bright. Filtered. Dusty.
Stone framed the sky above him. He lay on something hard, wrapped in cloth that smelled old and clean at the same time.
Not home.
His arm hurt.
Not like a scrape. Not like a bruise.
It hurt in a way that made his breath hitch when he tried to move, as if the pain had replaced the limb entirely.
He whimpered and tried to draw it closer.
Someone stopped him.
"Don't," a voice said.
Flat. Measured.
He turned his head with effort. An old man sat beside him, sleeves rolled past his elbows. His hands were dark with dried blood. A metal tray rested nearby, tools arranged with care.
The boy did not know what the tools were for.
He knew they were meant for him.
"Where…?" he whispered.
The word came out wrong.
The man did not answer.
Instead, he placed a folded cloth between the boy's teeth. Gently. Firmly.
"Bite."
The boy's eyes widened.
"No," he said around the cloth. "Please."
The man did not react.
Pressure came next.
Then fire.
The pain erased the world.
When awareness returned, it returned cleanly.
Too clean.
He turned his head.
Where his arm should have been, there was only bandaged absence.
For a long moment, he did not understand what he was seeing.
Then understanding arrived.
The scream followed.