The Merry Andro Temple.
The golden solar orb began its inevitable retraction beneath the horizon, yielding the dominion of the sky to the encroaching obsidian tide of night which stood poised to swallow the city of Oktavira in its velvety maw. Inside the secluded sanctuary of the Maids' Quarters, the chronometer ticked relentlessly towards the ninth hour of the evening, yet the stranger remained ensnared in the stasis of unconsciousness upon the communal bed. As the retinue of temple attendants filed into the chamber to commence their nocturnal rituals, a heavy, palpable atmosphere of disquietude hung over them like a physical shroud; they cast furtive, uneasy glances towards the slumbering male, shifting uncomfortably in their vestments. To harbor a man—even one rendered comatose by exhaustion—within the sanctity of their private sleeping quarters constituted an ontological violation that left them feeling deeply vulnerable and exposed.
Perceiving the tangible discomfort radiating from her subordinates, Lady Agnes executed a decisive command born of pragmatic necessity. She ordered the stranger to be transported immediately to her own private chambers, where she deposited him upon her personal bed, effectively shielding her maids from the scandal. Exhausted to the point of physical collapse by the tumultuous events of the day, Agnes did not seek alternative accommodation; instead, she succumbed to the crushing weight of lethargy and lay down beside the stranger. The stress of the past twelve hours acted as a powerful narcotic, and Lady Agnes swiftly plunged into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Silence reigned supreme within the chamber. For five hours, the room was a tableau of stillness, undisturbed by even the faintest whisper of motion. Then, as the deep night settled into its darkest rhythm, the stranger stirred. The eyelids that had remained sealed against the world for hours finally fluttered open, revealing irises that gleamed with a newfound, piercing intellect. The Stranger sat up, blinking rapidly as he attempted to calibrate his senses to the dim illumination. He scanned his surroundings with a sharp, disoriented gaze, and to his profound shock, he realized he was sharing a bed with a slumbering female.
"What is this environment? To where have I plummeted?" he pondered, his mind racing furiously through the labyrinth of false memories he had so meticulously implanted. "I retain absolute clarity... the Enemy coalition imprisoned me within the Hell of Abyss and sealed my essence for eternity... And who is this woman?" He lay approximately one meter distant from her form. Compelled by an urgent necessity for intelligence, he scrutinized her sleeping figure, needing to ascertain whether she was friend, foe, or jailer. He scooted closer, bridging the gap between them, and extended a digit to prod her shoulder with insistent gentleness. "Hey, hey, hey. Miss, awaken."
Lady Agnes stirred, her consciousness surfacing groggily from the depths of sleep. She opened her eyes, her vision blurring, only to perceive a masculine visage looming directly over her personal space. BOOM. Instinctual defense mechanisms overrode her rationality; her hand flew out with the velocity of a striking viper. SLAP! She delivered a stinging, resonant blow across the stranger's cheek. "What are you attempting, you imbecile?! You are prohibited from approaching me!" she shouted, bolting into an upright position as adrenaline flooded her system. The kinetic force of the slap sent the Stranger tumbling ignominiously off the mattress; he impacted the floor face-first with a dull thud.
He groaned, slowly levering himself off the floorboards. He dusted off his attire and stood to his full height, recovering his composure with remarkable speed. Despite the humiliation of the assault, he placed his right hand over his heart and executed a profound bow, displaying the impeccable etiquette of a gentleman from a bygone era. "Forgive my transgression, Miss..." he articulated, his voice polite, steady, and devoid of malice. "Could you perhaps elucidate my current geographical location?"
Lady Agnes stared at him, her indignation subsiding slightly as the realization dawned that he was finally conscious. A flicker of relief traversed her heart, quickly replaced by confusion as she took a moment to properly scrutinize him. The entity standing before she appeared to be approximately twenty-six years of age, towering at a height of one hundred and eighty centimeters. His hair was a cascade of jet-black silk, matching the abyssal depth of his dark eyes, and he possessed a handsome, swarthy complexion that bestowed upon him a rugged, undeniably masculine magnetism. His bearing was majestic, carrying a natural dignity that seemed at odds with his surroundings.
However, his attire was... baffling. Gone were the corpse-like robes of the previous day; he was now clad in a simple, short-sleeved garment of white cotton known as a T-shirt, a pair of form-fitting trousers constructed from a strange blue fabric, and bizarre, cushioned footwear laced with string—artifacts of a world Agnes could not conceive of, known as sneakers. Agnes frowned, staring in bewilderment at his bizarre, form-fitting clothes which left his arms scandalously exposed. "Who are you exactly?" she inquired, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "And what is the significance of this shameless, impoverished manner of dressing?"
The Stranger lowered his gaze, observing the jarring anachronism of his attire; the short-sleeved cotton tunic and the peculiar footwear with vulcanized rubber soles were relics of a forgotten technological civilization, utterly incongruous within the sacred, mystical confines of this temple. "I solicit your forgiveness, Milady," he articulated with a bow of contrition, gesturing towards his foreign garb with a rueful smile. "If you would graciously avert your ocular focus for a mere moment, I shall endeavor to don raiment more befitting the dignity of this environment." "Expedite the procedure," Lady Agnes snapped, pivoting on her heel to present her back to him with a rigid, aristocratic posture that betrayed her lingering embarrassment at his state of undress. The Stranger moved with the fluid celerity of a veteran cultivator, accessing the dimensional storage of his Space Ring to retrieve the formidable vestments he had appropriated from the cadaver in the Ancient Ruins—the intricate, multi-colored black robes and the ominous, pitch-black hat. He donned the garments with practiced speed, fastening the belt that acted as the final seal on his transformation. "It is fortuitous that I retained these artifacts within my possession," he mused internally, feeling the weight of the ancient fabric settle upon his shoulders like a second skin. "The metamorphosis is complete," he announced, his voice dropping an octave to match his new persona.
Lady Agnes pirouetted to face him, and her breath caught in her throat; the rugged, scantily clad youth had vanished, replaced by an imposing, enigmatic figure draped in the shadows of an archaic era. They settled into the chairs, the atmosphere in the chamber undergoing a subtle transmutation from hostility to a dense, inquisitive curiosity. "My nomenclature is Agnes Albarro," she commenced, her voice regaining the cool, imperious composure of high nobility. "I am the Mistress of the Merry Andro Temple; I discovered your comatose form within the perilous depths of the forest and transported you to this sanctuary." She paused, her sharp, intelligent eyes dissecting him, attempting to pierce the veil of mystery that shrouded his existence. "And you... what is your identity?" The Stranger reclined into the chair, exuding an aura of profound, abyssal secrecy, as if he bore the gravitational weight of unrecorded histories upon his spine. "I have borne a multitude of appeals," he replied with a calm that bordered on the unnerving. "Across the eons of my existence, countless civilizations have addressed me by a myriad of distinct titles." He paused for theatrical effect, a faint, enigmatic smile playing upon his lips beneath the shadow of his hat. "However, to facilitate our discourse, I shall simplify the nomenclature... You may address me Adam Becker."