The last thing William recalled was the searing heat of asphalt against his cheek, the acrid smell of burnt rubber, and the distant, fading shriek of a horn. He had witnessed the car, a black blur, hurtling towards Leonard, his younger brother, who had darted into the street after a stray soccer ball. Time had been of the essence; there hadn't been a moment to think before he acted. A shove, a desperate cry, and then… nothing. Just the abrupt, violent cessation of sound and light.
Now, there was a profound, aching silence. Unlike the silence of a hospital room or the ringing quiet after a concussion, this was a deep, ancient quiet, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the faint, sweet scent of honeysuckle and pine. It seemed to hum with unseen life, unlike anything he had ever experienced in the bustling suburbs of Mayfair.
William's eyes fluttered open, revealing a scene unlike any he had ever seen. He lay on cool, damp earth, surrounded by a forest that seemed to defy nature's laws. Towering trees, their bark a mesmerizing mosaic of greens and browns, stretched so high their crowns brushed the heavens, creating a living cathedral. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in ethereal shafts, illuminating patches of vibrant, impossibly green moss and wildflowers that glowed with soft, otherworldly colors. The air itself felt different, crisp and clean, carrying the faint, earthy scent of ancient things.
He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting with an unfamiliar stiffness and a subtle ache that resonated deep within bones that didn't feel entirely his own. He was wearing clothes utterly alien to him: soft, tailored breeches and a linen tunic that felt surprisingly rich against his skin. He glanced down at his hands. Though slender, they felt stronger, almost elegant, with perfectly manicured nails that were utterly unlike his own slightly calloused hands from years of casual sports. He ran a hand through his hair, which felt long, impossibly soft, and silken. When he caught a strand, it was a startling shade of blond, so pale it almost shimmered in the filtered light.
A sudden, overwhelming sense of displacement washed over him. This wasn't his body; this wasn't his world.
He stumbled towards a small, clear pool, fed by a trickling stream. Its surface mirrored the sky with pristine clarity. Leaning over, he stared at his reflection, dread twisting in his gut. Instead of his familiar hazel eyes, two vibrant, almost incandescent red eyes stared back. They were striking, alarming, alien, burning like embers in the pale, aristocratic face. A face he didn't recognize, yet one that held an undeniable, unsettling familiarity.
"This isn't me. This can't be me," he whispered, a jolt of pure panic coursing through him, sharp and cold. Where was Leo? Was he okay? What about Mom and Dad? Where was he? And why did this strange, foreign body feel so… right, even as his mind screamed in protest?
He scrambled to his feet, a name echoing in his mind—not his own, but one that felt strangely connected to this new form, like a phantom limb. Raenion. The name was unfamiliar, yet it carried a faint, bitter echo of something he couldn't quite grasp.
"Raenion!" a voice called, sharp and imperious, cutting through the forest's quiet. It was laced with an undeniable contempt that made his skin prickle. "Finally decided to grace us with your presence, you pathetic whelp?"
William spun around, his eyes widening as three figures emerged from the dappled light of the forest. They were undeniably human, yet an aura of power and disdain radiated from them, making his stomach clench. Their shocking blond hair and unsettling red eyes screamed 'related,' and they wore fine tunics and breeches, belted with elaborate scabbards at their hips. The gleam of polished metal hinted at wealth and martial prowess.
The tallest of them, with a sneer etched into his aristocratic features, stepped forward. William somehow knew instinctively that this had to be Theron, the Crown Prince. He exuded an air of inherited authority and ruthless ambition that made William's stomach clench. Theron's eyes, the same impossible red as Raenion's, narrowed in cold amusement.
"Thinking of running away again, little brother?" Theron's voice dripped with mockery, each word a slow, deliberate insult. "Did the forest creatures tell you stories of brave princes leaving their duties behind? Or did you just get lost, as usual?"
Raenion? Little brother? The fragmented and terrifying pieces began to fit together with agonizing slowness. William, the boy who had just risked his life to save his own brother, was now trapped in the body of Raenion, a prince seemingly despised by his own family. The transformation was immediate and disorienting. He felt a wave of the original Raenion's ingrained fear and humiliation wash over him, a phantom pain that tightened his chest and a deep-seated flinch he couldn't control.
Behind Theron, two more young men emerged, their expressions mirroring their eldest brother's disdain. They looked similar, a cruel reflection of the same noble features. "Mother would be so proud," sneered the one William instinctively recognized as Gareth. His eyes flickered over Raenion with a look of disgusted pity. "Our 'savior' Raenion, stumbling around like a lost lamb. Always a burden."
"Still a cursed child," the other added, his voice cold and devoid of warmth. Then came the name that twisted the knife in William's gut: "Alexander." His red eyes burned with a cold fury that startled William in Raenion's body, his middle name now associated with pure malice. "Always bringing trouble. Just like the day you arrived."
The words struck Raenion like daggers, each one piercing a raw nerve in his newly formed consciousness. He was a cursed child, blamed for things he hadn't done, just like the day he had arrived. The crushing weight of his past, a burden he hadn't asked for, a narrative of blame and inadequacy that had clearly defined his life, suddenly felt like a physical burden. His sudden, selfless act had transported him from one life of protection to another of profound vulnerability and contempt. The impossible fantasy he had inadvertently stepped into was already revealing its sharp, unforgiving teeth. This wasn't a whimsical escape; it was a brutal new reality, and he was already trapped, surrounded by a family who viewed him with unreserved scorn. The scent of pine and honeysuckle suddenly seemed cloying, the dappled sunlight a mocking spotlight on his new, humiliating existence.
For the past couple of weeks, life in Aethelgard had been a relentless, suffocating siege. The massive fortress kingdom, perched atop a towering mountain, stood as a testament to King Egron's strength and strategic genius. From its formidable battlements, one could see for leagues, a reflection of the king's power and dominion over the surrounding lands. However, within its stone walls, for Raenion, it was a prison.
William, now trapped in Raenion's body, quickly grasped the harsh realities of this new existence. The royal family of Aethelgard was visually striking, their striking red eyes and blond hair a distinctive mark of their lineage, easily recognizable across the realm. However, this mark now felt like a symbol of misery.
His eldest brother, Theron, was a master of subtle torment. To Theron, every younger sibling was a potential rival, a threat to his eventual ascension. His bullying of Raenion wasn't always overt violence; it was a calculated campaign of public humiliation. He delivered sly insults with a charming smile and constantly reminded Raenion of his perceived ineptitude. He would deliberately exclude Raenion from important lessons or social gatherings, feigning surprise, saying, "Oh, did little Raenion actually want to be there? We assumed you'd prefer to be alone with your books, as always." His eyes, burning like coals, held a silent challenge, daring Raenion to react. William, with his own history of loyalty and protective instincts, found Theron's cold ambition and casual cruelty utterly repulsive.
But it was Gareth and Alexander, the second and third sons, respectively, whose torment was the most profound. Their intense animosity towards Raenion was visceral, fueled by a narrative ingrained in them since childhood: Raenion was the cause of their mother's death during childbirth. This twisted blame had transformed into a potent, personal hatred.
Gareth, the more physically aggressive of the two, relished in pushing Raenion in hallways, tripping him on staircases, or causing "accidental" spills of hot tea. He would whisper vicious barbs about Raenion's "cursed existence" just loud enough for servants to hear, ensuring public humiliation followed private pain. Alexander, the younger of the two, shared the same searing red eyes as his namesake from Earth, but his methods were more insidious. He specialized in emotional sabotage, ruining Raenion's meager attempts at art, spreading rumors, or whispering cruel comments about how Raenion was "never enough" for their father, King Egron. "Mother died for you," he'd hiss once, his face contorted with loathing, "and you couldn't even make her proud."
The nature of the bullying was relentless and all-encompassing. William quickly realized that the original Raenion had been systematically broken. The constant barrage of physical shoves, emotional abuse, public ridicule, strategic exclusion, and petty sabotages had transformed Raenion into a timid, withdrawn young man. Alexander's own spirit, once vibrant and protective, felt constantly under siege. He attempted to fight back, to assert himself as he would have done on Earth, but the ingrained patterns of abuse, coupled with the raw, unfamiliar power dynamics of a royal court, quickly overwhelmed him. Every attempt to stand up only seemed to invite harsher reprisals.
His only solace, his one anchor in this sea of misery, was his elder sister, Seraphina, whom he quickly learned to call Nina. Two years older than Raenion, Nina possessed a gentle spirit that shone through the pervasive darkness of the Aethelgard court. She was the sole member of the family who didn't torment him, offering quiet words of comfort, shared glances of understanding, or small acts of kindness that were priceless. She would often leave him a piece of sweet bread from the kitchen or discreetly mend a torn tunic, small gestures that spoke volumes of her affection and concern. Their bond, forged in mutual suffering, became the one true thing William clung to.
King Egron, their father, was a formidable ruler renowned for his strategic acumen and unwavering determination. However, as a father, he was characterized by coldness, detachment, and unforgivingness. He perceived Raenion as nothing more than a "weakness," an embarrassment to Aethelgard's image of strength and an unfortunate blemish on his otherwise formidable lineage. King Egron seldom engaged in direct conversations with Raenion, but his disapproving gaze, laden with disappointment, was an omnipresent force, more devastating than any of his brothers' physical assaults. William yearned for the simple, unconditional love of his parents back on Earth, a stark contrast to the cold, critical reign of his father.
The days merged into a monotonous cycle of torment and survival. In Raenion's body, William felt his old self gradually eroding, replaced by a growing despair. He desperately clung to the memories of Leonard and his family, but they felt increasingly distant, like a dream. He was now Raenion, and Raenion was drowning.
The breaking point didn't come with a sudden explosion; it was a gradual, inexorable tightening of a noose. It was a slow accumulation of despair, each passing day under the brutal weight of his brothers' cruelty and his father's chilling indifference eroding Raenion's last vestiges of hope. William, the protector, found himself in a body too beaten and a spirit too worn to fight any longer. He began to think not of escaping Aethelgard's clutches but simply of escaping Raenion's life.
Months later, a decree sealed their fate. Seraphina, his gentle and beloved sister, was to be wed. Not to a young, suitable prince, but to a 50-year-old king from a neighboring, minor kingdom. This man was notorious for his harsh temper and his numerous previous wives who had mysteriously disappeared from public view. It was a purely political match, a way for King Egron to secure a minor alliance, and Seraphina was merely a pawn in his game.
That night, Seraphina, her face pale and drawn, entered Raenion's chambers. Her hands trembled as she clutched a silken scarf, her eyes swollen from unshed tears that met his gaze. "I can't, Nio," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I simply cannot. He's a monster. I'd rather die."
A spark, dormant within William, flickered to life. His own profound despair felt secondary to Serephina's terror. He had failed to protect himself, but he absolutely refused to fail her. He thought of Leonard, the brother he had saved. Seraphina was his Leonard now.
"Then we won't," Raenion said, his voice surprisingly firm, the William within asserting itself. "We'll leave. Tonight."
Seraphina's eyes widened, a fragile hope blossoming within them. "Leave? But where would we go? Father would send people…"
"Somewhere far," Raenion insisted, already thinking, planning, his old Alexander's strategic mind clicking into gear. "A place between kingdoms, beyond his immediate reach. There are wilderness paths, old smuggler routes. We can lose ourselves."
Their planning was swift, driven by desperation and their intimate knowledge of the castle's hidden passages and the guards' routines. Surprisingly, Seraphina had a small cache of coins and a basic map of the surrounding territories, acquired years ago when she had idly dreamt of a different life. They packed only essentials: dried rations, a waterskin, warm cloaks, and the meager contents of Raenion's hidden satchel of books and simple tools.
Under the cloak of a moonless night, guided by Seraphina's quiet knowledge of the castle's secret tunnels, they slipped out of Aethelgard. The air outside the massive mountain gates was cold and crisp, carrying the scent of distant pines. They moved like shadows, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth, their hearts pounding in unison. They avoided the main roads, sticking to the less-traveled paths that snaked through dense forests and across rocky foothills. Their goal was the Silverwood Pass, a treacherous but direct route towards a rumored neutral territory, far to the east.
Days blended into nights. They ate sparingly, slept fitfully under the stars, and pressed on, fueled by a desperate hope for freedom. Seraphina, though physically less robust than Raenion, showed remarkable resilience, her determination to avoid the dreaded marriage giving her strength. They spoke little, their unspoken bond a powerful comfort in the vast, intimidating wilderness. Raenion, despite the crushing weight of his situation, found a fleeting moment of peace in the quiet companionship, a sense of purpose in protecting Seraphina. He was Alexander again, if only for her.
They journeyed through winding valleys and crossed low, forested ridges. The air grew cooler, suggesting higher altitudes. As they approached the Silverwood Pass, the gateway to their promised neutral lands, a fragile yet persistent hope began to bloom in Raenion's chest.
Then, it shattered.
They were traversing a narrow, overgrown trail when a rustle in the undergrowth sent a jolt of alarm through them. Before they could react, figures materialized from the trees, moving with terrifying swiftness and silence. These tall, ethereal beings, clad in muted greens and browns that seamlessly blended with the forest, had impossibly delicate features and ancient, wise eyes. They were Elves.
"Halt!" a melodic yet firm voice commanded. "You have trespassed into Veridian territory."
Raenion immediately recognized them as beings from Veridian, the Elven kingdom, Aethelgard's powerful and enigmatic rival. His heart plummeted. They had run from one predator only to fall into the jaws of another. He tightened his grip on Seraphina's hand, pulling her slightly behind him.
The Elves approached, their movements fluid and graceful. One of them, a sentinel with eyes like polished emeralds, stopped directly in front of Raenion. Her gaze lingered on his bright blond hair and, most critically, his vibrant red eyes.
"Well, well," she murmured, a hint of triumph in her voice. "It seems we have captured a most distinguished guest." Her gaze then shifted to Seraphina, equally piercing. "And his companion."
Before Raenion could utter a word, before he could explain, the sentinel spoke again, her voice ringing with certainty. "The Crown Prince Theron of Aethelgard. Your presence here is most… unexpected."
The world tilted, and William's mind raced. They believe I am Theron! The very features that distinguished him as Aethelgard royalty, the red eyes that had symbolized his misery, were now the very reason for this catastrophic misunderstanding. He glanced at Seraphina, whose face was a mask of sheer terror. Their desperate flight had not led them to freedom but directly into the heart of their enemy, mistaken for the very people they despised. The irony was a bitter, searing taste in Raenion's mouth.