After the maid left the room, I surveyed my surroundings once more. They had certainly gone overboard with the decorations—they had even built a functional fireplace. I might have doubted its authenticity if not for the warmth radiating from it, the scent of woodsmoke, and the gentle crackling of timber. Questions began to surface: why would someone do all this for me? I wasn't wealthy enough to afford such luxury. Before my illness, I was just an ordinary engineering student. I earned barely enough to get by; if not for my medical insurance, I wouldn't have lasted a month in the hospital, let alone a year. My parents weren't rich either. So, who felt the need to arrange all this, and why?
But what baffled me most was what they had done to my body. Don't get me wrong—I still felt pain in certain areas—but compared to before, it was night and day. Had I become a test subject for some new drug? But I hadn't signed up for any clinical trials. It was strange. Perhaps it was an illegal substance, and I'd been snatched from the hospital for testing? It wasn't such a far-fetched scenario; who besides my parents would look for a patient with one foot in the grave? The investigators would file a few reports to save face, and that would be the end of it.
I figured "His Grace," whom the maid had gone to find, would provide the answers. In the meantime, an obsessive thought took hold of me. Something told me I could actually do it.
Steeling my nerves, I crawled to the edge of the bed and let my legs dangle. Gripping the wooden post intended for the bed's canopy, I tried to stand. It wasn't easy, but I managed. Swaying, I stood on my own two feet. "How long has it been since I stood like this!" I shouted to no one in particular.
To hell with everything—I didn't know what they'd given me, but I hadn't felt this way in a long time. Standing on my own was something I hadn't even dared to dream of. Yet, something felt off. The way my gaze fell... everything seemed different. My legs felt shorter than they used to be, and the birthmark on my left leg had vanished. A wild thought flashed through my mind, but I didn't let it linger—it was far too insane.
Fortunately, I noticed a mirror tucked in the corner, about five meters away. Determined to disprove my crazy theory, I weighed the pros and cons and decided to reach it. If I fell, so be it; the person the maid mentioned would be here soon anyway.
The journey to the mirror was grueling. Despite the pain, the fact that I could move under my own power gave me an incredible surge of adrenaline. After what felt like an eternity, I finally reached it. No matter how ornate the frame was, my attention was gripped entirely by the reflection within.
"What the hell is this?! It's some kind of trick!" I cried out, losing my composure.
Staring back at me from the glass was a youth of about fifteen or sixteen. He had light, almost golden hair, slightly tousled, falling just above his eyes. Those eyes were a deep azure, like the waves on a shore. They were wide with disbelief, as if trying to recognize a stranger. Shock and profound confusion mirrored back at me—how could this boy be me? His face, which seemed like it might have once been slightly round and youthful, now looked haggard. His cheekbones were sharper, his features more refined. His nose was straight and delicate. His thin lips were slightly parted, as if in a silent scream or a gasp for air. A slight tremor ran through them as he tried to speak, but only a raspy, faint sound escaped his throat. This was his face, but it didn't feel like my own. I watched the reflection for a long minute before finally sighing.
"This can't be real, can it?" I muttered to myself.
But reality spoke for itself. I tried making a face—the youth in the mirror mimicked it perfectly. I even pinched my cheek. It hurt. I was in the body of a boy. The question was: how did I get here? Lost in thought, I ran a hand over my head. Seeing it in the mirror was one thing, but feeling it was another. I had hair. After rounds of chemotherapy, I never expected to feel it again. It was a small, pleasant bonus amidst this storm of confusion.
"Alright, let's think. I'm in a young boy's body, in an unknown place, and I have no idea how. Maybe it's virtual reality?"
"Log out," I said, hoping to return.
"End simulation," I tried again.
"Quit game. Terminate projection."
Nothing. I tried every phrase I could think of, but everything remained the same. While I didn't completely dismiss the idea, I moved on to other possibilities. One: I had somehow traveled back in time. The second was even more fantastical: like those stories about being transported to another world. Given the first option, this didn't sound so ridiculous anymore. During my time in the hospital, I'd read plenty of those books, so why not? Also, the name the maid called me—Alex Redheart... I felt like I'd heard it somewhere before, but I couldn't quite place it. Armed with these two theories, I decided to test the most absurd one.
"Syste—" Before Alex could finish, the door burst open with a bang.
Two figures entered. The first was a man of powerful build, radiating an aura of authority and hidden danger. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, with a gaze that suggested deep experience. His sharp features, framed by long wavy hair, gave him an almost mystical allure. A scar ran across his left cheek, adding a rugged grimness to his face and hinting at past battles.
Standing nearly 190 cm tall, he wore a long floor-length cloak fastened at the neck with an exquisite bronze clasp. The edges and lining were adorned with dark patterns, signaling his high status. Beneath the cloak was a black tunic with a high collar, also intricately patterned. A wide leather belt with a massive buckle cinched his waist, and a heavy sword with an ornate hilt hung at his side. His hands were encased in black leather gloves.
The second man was elderly, dressed in a simple brown tunic and trousers, carrying what looked like a medical bag.
Alex glanced from one to the other, his mind blank. Every question he wanted to ask vanished, drifting away like a fish released into the sea.
"Uh..."
"Alex, the maid mentioned you don't remember where you are. Is this true?" the imposing man asked. His voice boomed like early morning thunder.
"Y-yes, I don't know where I am," Alex replied, deeply intimidated by the man.
"I see. Healer, would you examine him?" the man in black commanded.
"As you wish, Your Grace," the old man said, bowing before approaching Alex.
After helping Alex back into bed and conducting an examination, the healer returned to the stern man and bowed again.
"Your Grace, the young master's body is fine, aside from the injuries sustained during the incident. As for his memory, I suspect several factors are at play. First, the prolonged slumber; it is only natural he would be disoriented. Second, he suffered a head injury during the event, and the swelling hasn't fully subsided. Third, there is the shock—after all, he was at death's door. I recommend we wait; in time, the young master's memory should return."
"Hmm. You likely don't remember me either?" the man in black asked.
"No, I don't," Alex replied, his voice still raspy.
"Very well. Let me introduce myself. I am your father, one of the four dukes of the Kingdom of Athelas, a loyal subject of the King, and the Duke of Morin—Edward Redheart."
At these words, Alex's expression shifted from curiosity to absolute shock.
"The Kingdom of Athelas... the Duke of Morin..." he whispered to himself, before looking up with wide eyes.
"King Maurice!"
Edward's eyebrows shot up, and a faint smile touched his lips.
"So, you remember your King before your own father? I suppose I should expect nothing less from my son," the Duke chuckled.
"Very well, Healer. Tell me, how much longer does he need to heal and recover his memory?"
"Your Grace, his wounds should be fully closed in seven to ten days. As for his memory, I cannot provide a precise forecast. My methods have their limits here."
"Fine. Do whatever is necessary to ensure he is fit in fourteen days. An important event awaits him,"
Edward stated before turning and sweeping out of the room.
The old man saw him off with a bow, then turned back to Alex's bed.
"Young master, I will send a maid to wait outside your chambers. If you feel unwell, call for me through her."
"Alright, I'll call if I need anything," Alex said in a barely audible voice.
"Then, with your permission, I shall take my leave," the old man said with a slight bow, exiting the room