I woke up to screaming. Not the "oops, overslept" kind. Full-on, people-are-about-to-die screaming, echoing down narrow cobblestone streets. My head throbbed. The basketball shorts and T-shirt I'd been wearing before passing out were gone, replaced with dry, scratchy medieval-style clothes streaked with mud and dust. The rough fabric itched against my skin, loose on my arms, stiff on my legs. My body felt… wrong — longer, thinner, almost fragile. My face felt different too, softer and sharper in places I could sense, alien. This isn't me.
The street stretched before me. Carts teetered dangerously, spilling apples and bread across cobblestones. Chickens flapped wildly, scratching at people's feet. Villagers shoved each other aside, some tripping over the mess. A dog yipped as it darted past, narrowly avoiding a rolling barrel. The smell of sweat, bread, manure, and blood made my stomach churn.
Villagers ran in all directions, mostly away from the commotion, some panicking blindly. Merchants tried to rescue their wares, baskets toppling over and rolling down the street. A cart tipped over, narrowly missing a small child who shrieked and scrambled into a puddle of mud. Guards were few and scattered — a pair shouting orders to no one in particular, unable to control the stampede. Animals ran alongside the chaos — chickens, dogs, and a stray cat leaping atop carts for safety. Debris flew as carts tipped and collided, the occasional apple or loaf of bread bouncing off cobblestones.
I ducked behind a toppled crate, heart hammering. My eyes darted around the street — the screams were still loud but slowly fading, the cats and dogs I'd seen earlier were nowhere in sight, and that metallic tang of blood I'd noticed when I woke up had grown stronger.
The street felt emptier than before, like everyone who could run had already fled. Broken carts littered the cobblestones, spilled fruit rolling into puddles of mud and blood. My stomach churned.
And then I saw him — the being who had been causing all this chaos. Black armor glinting even in the dust, moving with terrifying purpose. Broad shoulders, a helmet hiding every feature, and a sword that gleamed with deadly precision.
I remembered the description of this armor and sword, of the being who wields this sword, and yet that is all my brain shows me. Not a way out, not how people escaped, not how to defeat it — just blank, with little details that drew me to knowing this is…
One of my favorite novels… and now I can't remember shit.
I froze, trying to take it all in. The chaos, the destruction, the armored figure moving like something out of a nightmare. My mind spun, desperate for a foothold, a clue. Which chapter is this?
Instinct told me to stay low, move slowly, and survive. Every sense screamed danger, and yet I couldn't stop glancing at him, horrified and fascinated all at once.
I didn't see anyone else nearby. I didn't know who to trust. I didn't even know why I was here. All I could do was react… and survive.
Ryan POV
I woke up on rough cobblestones, muscles sore and joints stiff. My body felt… wrong. Arms and legs too long, too thin, almost fragile. The rough, scratchy medieval-style clothes I wore itched against my skin, streaked with mud and dust, clinging awkwardly to my arms and legs.
The street around me was chaos. Screams echoed down narrow alleys. Carts teetered and spilled fruit. Chickens flapped wildly, dogs barked, and the sharp tang of blood mixed with dust and sweat hit my nose, making me gag. People ran in every direction. Some tripped over debris, knocking over baskets that spilled apples and bread. Merchants shouted at no one in particular, trying to salvage their wares. A stray cat leapt atop a toppled crate, yowling. Smoke curled from a nearby stall. Guards — just a pair of them — shouted orders, but no one seemed to listen.
I took a shaky step forward and froze. The street looked almost… storybook-like. Too precise. Too chaotic. Yet strangely familiar. My brain jerked at the thought. Something tugged at a memory I couldn't reach — late nights re-reading a novel with my brother, arguing about which chapter was the best… and now I couldn't remember a damn thing.
Panic knotted in my stomach. I needed a plan. A way out. But I didn't even know where I was. My instincts screamed to hide, to run, to survive, but my feet barely obeyed.
Then I saw movement across the street. Broad, black, deliberate, slicing through the chaos like a shadow made solid. The armor caught the light, glinting metallically, a sword strapped to the back gleaming faintly through the dust. My stomach dropped. My mind strained, reaching for a memory, a fragment of a story I knew too well, but the details refused to come.
I turned my head slightly, catching another figure crouched low, scanning the street. Hair messy, streaked with mud, posture tight. A princess… no, a goddess. Pride kicked in automatically. Seeing her alone like this, I have to protect her… and maybe make her my first wife.
Heart hammering, adrenaline surging, I jabbed at a rolling barrel. It bounced awkwardly and hit a baker's basket, sending apples flying. Panic, fear, instinct… whatever it was, at least I was doing something, anything, to survive.
I wished my bro Noah was here. He'd know what to do, what chapter this was, how to survive. But right now… all I had were fragments, a scary armored man, and this "goddess" — my future wife — that I had to protect.