When Sumendu's eyes fluttered open again, the barracks were gone. The battlefield was gone. He was back in his uncle's home. The morning sun poured through the window, and a heavy banging shook the door.
"Sumendu! Wake up!" his uncle's voice boomed. "This is no time to sleep!"
Dazed, Sumendu stumbled to his feet. Heart still pounding, he rushed to the cupboard, hiding the dart and dartboard deep within it. Only then did he open the door.
Once his uncle and aunt had settled into their room, Sumendu returned to his own. Questions swirled endlessly in his head. Was he truly who he thought he was? Who was the man he had become? Could that soldier have been one of his ancestors?
His heart pounded as he sat on the edge of his bed, replaying every moment. Almost without thinking, his hand drifted to the side of his temple. His fingers froze. There, beneath his touch, was the unmistakable ridge of a deep, dried wound.
A chill ran down his spine. He stared at his reflection in disbelief. Could this really be happening? Was it real... or just a trick of his imagination?