Zach awoke the next morning, unaware of the whispers that had drifted through the manor walls during the night.
Rumors of his return from the dead.
And when he finally opened his eyes, it was not the familiar sun of the eastern seaboard that greeted him.
Its warmth wasn't harsh, but soothing. Nor was the light filtering through the window golden; it was amber.
The stained-glass windows of his bedroom once more drew his attention to the alien environment.
But he had little time to think of this, for the gentleness that touched his hand caught his immediate interest.
A young maiden lay on his bed. Her expression was anxious - wounded, even.
As though her dreams had failed to soothe a heart heavy with fear.
Her beauty was almost unnatural, like a sculptor had carved her in homage to a goddess.
Her figure was the same, yet his gaze did not linger as something immediately noticeable drew it elsewhere.
Her attire was a strange union of aristocratic finery and battle-mage practicality; silken cloth inscribed with glowing runes, armored plates woven seamlessly into fashion.
She bore the same traits he had glimpsed on himself: fair alabaster skin glowing with rust-colored bioluminescence.
Her face bore subtle markings, which enhanced her already flawless features.
While her hair was the color of steel, a metallic healthy sheen, with streaks of glowing rust just like her skin.
And when he tried to pull his hand away from her those eyes opened to reveal the same ethereal color, which peered straight into his soul, an unnatural radiance that connected with the same light from his own eyes.
Before he could move, she leaned in. A hand seized the back of his neck. Her lips crushed against his; demanding, desperate, stealing the breath from his lungs.
The intensity was far too much for him to endure, especially from a stranger.
Yet when he pulled away she clung tight, whispering in his ear something that made him deeply unsettled.
"Thank the Eidolons… I prayed all night for them to return you to me, and here you are, little brother…."
'Little brother…?' He recoiled. That kiss had been anything but familial.
Zach quickly distanced himself, shuffling away to the other corner of his bed as she followed him like a voracious wolf. The hunger in her eyes was clearly not sated by the brief taste.
But just as he pushed his hand forward to keep her back, his head felt like it was about to implode on itself. As if his skull was one step away from concaving.
He grit his teeth, trying his best not to scream in agony as his hands clutched his skull, causing the mysterious woman to panic immediately.
"Darling speak to me! Are you okay? I'll fetch the Hematurge!"
And with a dash she was off.
Pain lanced through his skull like hot wires threading through flesh. Memories surged—too many, too fast.
The only ones he consciously latched onto in the moment were those of him and Aelindria.
The woman who had wept by his side the entire night. She was his cousin… Or perhaps second cousin?
Needless to say, in his current state, as a lifetime of memories flooded his skull, he wasn't entirely sure. What he knew was that they were of the same house, and they were betrothed.
Set to marry the day he turned eighteen, which was drawing nearer with each passing day.
They had grown up together, and she was older by a year, perhaps two at the latest.
Hence why she coyly referred to him by the moniker 'little brother' while they were in private together.
Scenes of them holding hands beneath the setting sun, promising to be together forever.
Their first kiss as they ran off from a family gathering and jumped into the ocean, getting lost at sea on an island with only the two of them. A dare gone too far and almost having gotten them killed.
They weren't just memories; they were invaders. Each one a dagger to his identity, every sweet recollection of a life not his, stabbed at the foundations of who he thought he was.
Was he Zachary Morgan, an engineering graduate? Or was he Caedrion Ferrondel? Noble scion and heir to House Ferrondel's main line?
A battle was being waged in between the pain. Neither side wanted to concede yet one must fall for the other to live.
In the end, his inner turmoil was interrupted by a sudden flash of emerald, which flame broke through the haze, searing across his vision.
Then, darkness.
---
By the time he awoke again, it was late afternoon.
This time he rose with no terror, no panic, no confusion.
Zach was gone.
But so too was Caedrion… at least, as he had been.
What remained now was something new. A synthesis of two souls: one forged in reason, the other in legacy and magic.
Theis. Antithesis. Synthesis.
He chuckled.
Of course, his entire identity would be reborn like a punchline to a Hegel quote.
Caedrion rose from the bed and stretched. The ache in his muscles… the weakness in his bones… gone.
He moved to the window, and what lay beyond its stained-glass arch nearly stole his breath.
A vast castle courtyard, gleaming under the amber glow of a descending sun.
But this was no medieval fort of stone and timber; it was something far grander.
Towering spires pierced the sky, their peaks crowned with radiant beacons of energy.
Arcs of magic danced between them, forming a great shimmering dome.
A barrier of pure will.
The walls were forged of immaculate white stone. Not lustrous like marble. Not porous like limestone. Something else. Something other.
Rust-colored runes pulsed across every pillar, every foundational slab, alive with the leylines of the land.
Beyond the citadel, he saw a valley.
Green, temperate, bountiful. Mountains ringed the horizon like silent guardians.
And below, a city.
Not merely built, but designed. Tiered, interlocking, layered with inner keeps and high walls.
An architect's fever dream given form.
A fortress so immense, even Anthemius would weep in humbled admiration.
Caedrion rested his elbow on the stone sill, the wind tousling his rust streaked steel-gray hair.
A foreign land.
Yet… it felt like home.
"Well…" he murmured, his smile crooked, dangerous.
"Seems I've stumbled into a fantasy world. Perhaps it's time this feudal land crowned a proper king."
He said nothing more.
He stepped into his private bath.
An opulent pool of steaming crystal water, vast enough to be mistaken for a sacred spring.
He sank beneath its warmth, purging the last of the fevered sweat from his skin.
When he rose, his eyes were clear.
The game had already begun.
And whoever had poisoned Caedrion Ferrondel had made one mistake.
They failed.