He stared at the world with the mind of a simple child. Shapes and colors were all that interested him. Movement was too complex, but there was a lot of it. Sound was unknown and unintelligible. As time passed, he slowly became aware he was lying on a wooden floor. The movement sharpened as did the pain in his head. He felt queasy and weak. Someone had their arm around his shoulders, someone with raven hair, dark eyes and freckles. “Take your time, Aug,” the girl said. “Everything’s under control here.” There was the sound of a muffled struggle. “Help me tie her up, Jengo,” an older ebony-skinned man said to a towering youth. Augum rubbed his head. It throbbed along to the beat of his heart, a familiar pain he vaguely understood happened when he pushed himself arcanely. Eventually the girl helped him sit up and fed him a cup of water, brushing hair aside from his sweaty forehead. “What happened?” he mumbled. “Where am I?” “You’re just experiencing the side effects of Centarro,”
