The sound of dripping water echoed through a dim, tiled room. Pale fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, casting sickly white light over grime-streaked walls. Rust clung to the pipes. Mold painted the corners. The school bathroom stank of bleach and neglect.
A boy sat alone inside one of the stalls.
Lunch hour.
His tray rested beside him—plastic-wrapped tuna sandwich, a lukewarm carton of milk, and a crumpled napkin. He didn't eat immediately. Instead, he unwrapped the sandwich with methodical care, carefully adjusting each slice of cucumber so they lined up perfectly. A quiet ritual. Something predictable. Something he could control.
Just as he was about to take a bite—
A sudden splash.
Freezing, foul-smelling water poured down on him from above.
His sandwich hit the floor with a wet splatter.
He gasped, stunned.
Laughter erupted.
The stall door burst open with a violent kick. Three boys stood there, sneering down at him like hunters over their prey.
"Rotten freak."
"Filthy mutt."
"Just die already!"
One of them grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the stall, dragging him across the filthy floor toward the sinks. He didn't fight back. He didn't scream. Fists met ribs. Palms struck his cheek. A foot slammed into his side. He simply curled in on himself, arms weakly shielding his head.
Only tears escaped.
Silently, shamefully.
Then his eyes met the cracked mirror across the wall.
But the reflection wasn't his.
It was someone else.
White hair. Pale skin. Eyes like molten gold.
A stranger.
And then—
Darkness swallowed everything.
-----------------------------------------
Kael awoke.
His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the soft, golden light that filled the chamber. For a long moment, he simply stared upward at the high ceiling carved in elegant stonework. He didn't move. He didn't speak. But his breathing—shallow, uneven—betrayed the storm beneath the silence.
A chair creaked beside the bed.
A woman leaned forward slightly. Her silver-gray hair glinted faintly in the morning sun. Sea-blue eyes—steady but tired—searched his face. Her expression was composed, but something behind her eyes trembled.
"You're awake," she said softly. "How… Do you feel?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't even look at her.
His gaze drifted across the ceiling again, unfocused.
The woman—Elric, if he recalled the name correctly—glanced away. Her hand lingered at her chest, fingers curling slightly as if trying to steady her breath.
The door opened behind her.
"Young Master is awake?" a voice asked, surprised but calm.
The man from before—Robert—entered the room, balancing a silver tray with practiced ease. On it sat a folded towel, a cup of warm water, and a small ceramic pitcher. His emerald eyes met Kael's briefly, then softened with a mix of relief and concern.
He approached slowly. "I brought some warm water and a cloth, just in case."
Kael shifted slightly. His body ached. His fingers trembled as he pressed a hand to his chest. Elric moved closer and helped support his back as he sat up properly.
"Here," Robert said gently, holding out the cup. "Let me help you drink, Young Master."
He hesitated but allowed it. The water touched his lips. It was warm—soothing, grounding. The cup trembled in Robert's hand, though he tried to hide it.
"Young Master Kael…" Robert began carefully. "Can you remember anything?"
He didn't answer right away.
He only blinked slowly, his eyes scanning the faces in front of him—Elric and Robert, two people who spoke to him like they knew him.
Like he should know them.
But he didn't.
Everything was empty.
Still, something stirred inside him. A name—faint, almost whispered.
His voice cracked. "…My name… is Kael?"
Elric froze.
Her eyes widened. Hope bloomed across her face like dawn through clouds. "You… remember?"
He didn't nod.
He didn't shake his head either.
He simply stared forward—expression blank, eyes vacant.
The silence that followed spoke louder than any words.
Robert exhaled slowly and lowered his gaze. "You've been in a coma… for five years," he said gently. "You collapsed during the final battle. Since then, you've remained asleep… until now."
His eyes twitched slightly. Five years?
He turned to look at the man fully, something between disbelief and quiet fear flickering in his face. Five years? Asleep? After… a battle?
None of it made sense.
This place, this bed, these people—it all felt like a storybook. A fantasy world. But the ache in his limbs, the throb in his skull, the soreness in his chest from his fall yesterday—those things were real. Painfully real.
"It's alright," Elric said quietly, trying to soften the truth. "You don't have to remember everything right away. We're here for you."
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"There's no pressure," she added. "Let's take it one step at a time."
There was a pause. Then she added, more gently, "I'm Elric Caen Vaelthorn. You can just call me Elric. And this is…"
She looked at Robert, prompting him to speak.
The butler gave a respectful bow. "Welcome back, Young Master. Mine is Robert Dandelian. I have follow you since before the war."
He lowered his head slightly, acknowledging the gesture. But he said nothing.
Again, the silence returned.
Thick. Suffocating.
Elric broke it with a soft breath. "For now, just stay here and rest. This mansion is safe. You don't need to worry about anything else."
There was a flicker of hesitation in Robert's eyes before he glanced at Elric. "Should… should we inform the Emperor?"
Elric turned sharply to face him. Her expression shifted. Her calmness hardened.
"You already know what he might do if he finds out," she said, her voice still soft—but firm.
Robert pressed his lips together. "He will not take it lightly if we conceal this from him."
He watched them speak. Their voices were muffled in his mind, distant and indistinct, as if he were underwater. His hand pressed to his forehead. Names. Faces. Tension. Politics. None of it made sense.
It felt like being dropped in the middle of a life already in progress.
Not his life.
Someone else's.
Robert must've noticed his discomfort because he immediately quieted and lowered his tone.
"My apologies, Young Master," he said. "We shouldn't overwhelm you. Your health is what matters right now."
He paused.
"If anything comes to mind… even a fragment… Please let us know."
He looked up slowly.
His voice was quiet. "I… don't know."
It wasn't just an answer.
It was the truth.
He didn't know who they were.
He didn't know who he was.
He didn't even know if Kael was truly his name—or just something someone else had left behind.
But he was here.
In this body.
In this strange, elegant world.
Still breathing.
Still lost.
Still not himself.