They say when you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes.
Mine didn't.
Instead, I remembered an unpaid phone bill, a half-eaten shawarma wrap from last night, and the fact that I forgot to bring the actual shooting script to my first major acting gig.
Yeah. If that doesn't scream "tragic protagonist," I don't know what does.
But let's rewind a bit. You don't get to the part where you're bleeding out on a highway without some brilliant life choices. So, hi — I'm Seif Amer. Twenty-three. Freshly graduated. Moderately handsome if I stand next to uglier people. And if you're expecting some inspirational tale about a kid chasing his dream… well, lower those expectations right now.
Because here's the truth:
I didn't chase acting. I ran from law school.
Yeah, that's right. Everyone in my family was a lawyer. Mom. Dad. Even the creepy uncle no one liked — especially him. So naturally, the pressure was there. Be a lawyer. Wear suits. Argue in court. Win cases. Bring honor to the Amer family name.
Except, I hated it.
I hated the fake smiles, the endless debates about ethics that no one practiced, and above all, the way everyone clapped when you recited a paragraph from the Penal Code like it was Shakespeare.
So when I graduated, I said "screw it" and auditioned for a local indie film. Not because I thought I was good — I wasn't — but because the alternative was slowly dying in an office while pretending that spreadsheets excited me.
Then… somehow, I landed the lead role. Don't ask how. Maybe they liked my "raw energy." Maybe they were high. Whatever the reason, I was in.
Of course, in classic Seif fashion, I didn't actually read the whole script.
Who does that?
Scripts are like terms and conditions. You scroll, nod, and pretend you understand. Only this wasn't some shampoo commercial or background extra gig. It was a full-blown fantasy film, complete with swords, kingdoms, and a main character named Nawar Mohamed — who, coincidentally, looked and talked suspiciously like me.
I should've been ecstatic.
But all I could think of that morning was how late I was. The director had told me — very clearly — that the shoot was three hours away. I slept in anyway.
So there I was, speeding down the highway like a caffeinated lunatic, window down, music blasting, wearing sunglasses like I was too cool to die.
Spoiler alert: I wasn't.
And yet, in that moment — when the brakes failed and the truck came out of nowhere — my first thought wasn't fear.
It was…
"Shit. I never sent that email to Mom."
Pathetic, right?
Everything went black after that.
But then… something happened.
Something that made no sense.
Something that made me question if I was alive, dead, or somewhere in between.
Because when I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in a hospital.
I was… somewhere else.
Somewhere wrong.
Somewhere that smelled like pine trees, leather-bound books, and the kind of danger you read about but never feel until it's too late.
And then I heard the name
"Nawar … Nawar Mohamed, you're awake."
The voice was the first thing I noticed.
It wasn't the sterile beep of a heart monitor, or the frantic yelling of an emergency room. No. It was calm. Cold. Measured. Like someone had been waiting a very long time for me to wake up.
"Nawar… Nawar, can you hear me?"
That name.
Nawar.
It felt… off. Like wearing someone else's coat. Familiar in shape, but wrong in weight.
My eyes fluttered open, blurry with light and confusion. I expected fluorescent ceilings. I expected nurses. Maybe even a police officer asking why my dumbass was doing 140 on the highway.
What I got instead… was stone.
Actual, moss-covered stone above my head. A domed ceiling. A faint orange glow dancing on its surface — firelight. The smell of smoke, old wood, and something metallic in the air.
I blinked again.
The world sharpened.
I was lying on a bed that wasn't mine — something carved from dark wood, draped in deep red sheets that looked too clean, too perfect. There were candles on the walls. An arched window in the corner let in a breeze that smelled like forests, not car exhaust.
And the person standing over me?
Armor. Leather. A cloak. A scar running from her left eye to her cheek, still pink and healing. She didn't look like a nurse.
She looked like she'd killed people.
"You hit your head during the raid," she said, voice cool but controlled. "Rest. You're safe. For now."
I sat up too fast, and pain stabbed behind my eyes. I winced, grabbed my temples.
"What… what the hell is going on?" My voice sounded the same. Still me. Still Seif. But everything else
"You don't remember?" she asked, brows narrowing.
"Remember what?"
She stared at me for a long second, then turned and walked toward the doorway. "I'll get the Commander. He'll know what to do."
Then she left. Just like that. No answers. No explanation. Just that name echoing again in my skull like a curse.
Nawar.
I gripped the edge of the bed, heart pounding.
Something was wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong. This wasn't a set. It wasn't makeup. The air was cold in a way that couldn't be faked. The pain in my skull wasn't a special effect. And that woman? She had a presence that no actor could fake.
This wasn't a dream. I'd had dreams before. Mostly about failing exams naked.
This wasn't that.
I looked down at myself — different clothes. Leather armor. Bandages wrapped around my waist. A sword on the table nearby. A sword. Real. Heavy. Sharp.
That's when it hit me.
This world… this place… it feels like…
My stomach twisted.
It feels like the script.
I sat there in silence, fingers brushing the hilt of the sword beside me.
It wasn't a prop.
The grip was worn leather, the steel faintly stained. It smelled like sweat, like rust, like death. And I knew—somehow, without needing to test it—that it could cut me in half without a second thought.
My name is Seif Amer.
I was on my way to film a movie.
This shouldn't be possible.
But the burn in my ribs was real. The blood in my bandages, sticky and dry, was real. The weight in the air, the wind outside, the distant sound of horns echoing over stone ramparts—all real.
I'd seen good sets before. I'd acted on some. But no director, no crew, no special effects team could make you feel the gravity of a place like this.
And yet…
This world…
The torches. The architecture. The name Nawar.
They were from the script.
The same script I never read past the damn title.
"Kingdom of Fire," I whispered. The words tasted different now—less like a fantasy, more like a threat.
I shot to my feet—too fast—and the pain in my side made me curse out loud. My vision swam. I steadied myself on the wall, heart pounding like a war drum.
Okay. Think.
This had to be a dream. Some kind of… I don't know, trauma-induced coma fantasy. People wake up in strange worlds all the time in fiction. Maybe this was just my brain trying to cope with the accident.
Except in those stories, the protagonist usually remembers the world they land in.
Me? I barely skimmed the casting email.
I didn't even know who Nawar was supposed to be. Some chosen one? A prince? A slave? A knight?
God… what did the script even say?
I forced myself toward the window, each step a jagged spike of pain. I gritted my teeth and pushed through, dragging my aching body until I could lean against the stone ledge and finally see where the hell I was.
What I saw stole the breath from my lungs.
Mountains in the distance, jagged like shattered teeth. Forests so dense they looked black under the sun. And below… a citadel of stone and iron, towers rising like spears, walls lined with soldiers. Real soldiers. Training. Shouting. Bleeding.
Banners flapped in the wind—deep red, emblazoned with a black flame.
I had no idea what any of it meant.
But I knew one thing with absolute, gut-deep certainty:
This wasn't a dream.
And if this was the world from the script… if I was actually inside the movie…
Then I wasn't Seif Amer anymore.
I was Nawar.
And I was in deep, deep shit.
I stumbled back from the window, heart pounding like it was trying to escape my ribs.
I didn't know the rules here.
Worse — I didn't know who I was supposed to be.
The door creaked open behind me. I flinched, automatically reaching for the sword, fingers clumsy and untrained.
"Easy," came a voice like steel dragged across gravel. "You're still recovering, Nawar."
I turned slowly.
The man who entered filled the room like a thundercloud.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with armor that looked like it had seen war — not just decoration, but worn and battered. A fur cloak draped across one side. A jagged scar ran down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar.
But his eyes… his eyes were the kind you didn't argue with. The kind that had seen men die screaming and didn't blink.
He stared at me like I was supposed to mean something.
"I heard you were awake," he said. "Good. We need to talk."
"Wait—" I started, panic threading through my voice. "I—I'm not—"
"You're confused. That's expected," he cut in. "The blow to your head was severe. The healers weren't sure you'd survive."
I licked my lips. "Where… am I?"
The Commander narrowed his eyes. "You don't remember?"
I shook my head, chest tightening. "I remember a car. A truck. Then… nothing."
He frowned. "You were injured during the siege at Black Hollow. Don't you recall what happened to your unit?"
I had no idea what a Black Hollow was. Or that I apparently had a unit.
The Commander stepped closer. "Nawar… you led the assault. You killed the Wyrm. You saved the fortress."
My mouth opened. No words came out.
He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "You're a hero. The kingdom owes you its life."
The weight of it hit me like a collapsing roof.
They think I'm him. Nawar. Whoever that was. And if he's the war hero they say he is…
How long before they expect me to fight again?
How long before they realize I don't belong?
I gripped the edge of the table beside me, nails digging into the wood.
"Rest," the Commander said. "But not too long. War doesn't wait."
He turned and left.
Silence returned.
Except now… the fear was louder.
I sank back onto the bed, mind racing. I had to remember something. Anything. Some part of the movie, the plot, the world — some clue I could cling to. But my mind was a blank canvas.
All I had was a name.
Kingdom of Fire.
And me — trapped in its flames.
I should've read the script.
I should've said no to the role.
I should've stayed in bed that day.
But I didn't.
And now…
…I was no longer Seif Amer.
I was Nawar.
And the nightmare was just beginning.
End of Chapter 1