The first sensation Luis noticed was weight.
Not only physical weight, but something that seemed to press inside his head, as if every thought required effort just to exist.
He slowly opened his eyes.
The dark wooden ceiling of the room appeared before him, familiar and strange at the same time. Morning light slipped through the pale curtains, drawing soft lines across the walls.
For a few seconds, he simply lay there, breathing slowly.
Then the world spun.
A sudden dizziness forced him to close his eyes again.
"… what the hell…"
His voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper.
His throat was dry. His whole body felt heavy, as if he had run miles during the night.
Luis brought one hand to his forehead.
Hot.
The memory of the previous night surfaced vaguely in his mind: heat, sweat, an uncomfortable fever, voices in the distance. He vaguely remembered his mother entering the room, someone replacing wet cloths.
But everything felt distant.
He took a deep breath and tried to sit up.
The movement was a mistake.
The dizziness returned stronger.
The room tilted as if it were a ship on a restless sea.
Luis clenched his teeth and remained still for a few seconds until the sensation faded.
"Get up… slowly…"
he told himself.
Carefully, he placed his feet on the cold wooden floor.
His body reacted with slight weakness, but he managed to stand.
He took two slow steps toward the small table beside the bed.
There was a white porcelain basin, partially filled with water. Next to it lay a folded cloth and a small pitcher.
Without thinking much, Luis plunged his face into the cold water.
The shock was immediate.
The icy water awakened his senses like a silent thunderclap.
He stayed there for a few seconds, breathing deeply, feeling the freshness travel across his face and forehead.
When he lifted his head again, the dizziness had lessened.
It was still there, but farther away.
Luis grabbed the cloth and slowly wiped his face.
Then he returned to the bed and sat on the edge.
For a few moments, he simply looked around the room.
The dark wooden wardrobe.
The desk near the window.
Several books stacked together.
His pocket watch resting on the table.
Everything was exactly as it had always been.
And yet…
Something felt different.
That was when the memories began.
First came an image.
A hallway illuminated by white lamps he had never seen before.
Then another.
Cars moving along a wide avenue.
People wearing strange clothes.
A huge glass building reflecting the sky.
Luis blinked.
The pain came instantly.
Like a sharp blow inside his skull.
He brought both hands to his head.
"Ah…!"
The pain grew quickly.
It was not the ordinary pain of a fever.
It felt like pressure.
Memories.
Many memories.
Images began to appear in sequence.
A classroom.
A man wearing glasses explaining ancient maps.
The smell of books.
History.
Then another memory.
A hospital.
White corridors.
A woman with a firm gaze wearing a lab coat.
A doctor.
His mother.
Another memory.
Military training.
An open field.
Soldiers running.
Short commands.
Himself… wearing a uniform.
Temporary sergeant.
The pain increased.
Luis squeezed his eyes shut.
For several minutes, all he could do was endure.
The memories came like a flood.
Studies.
University.
Chemistry books.
Laboratories.
Formulas.
Then mechanical workshops.
Disassembled engines.
Gears.
Projects.
The weight of complex calculations.
The smell of oil and metal.
More memories.
Years of life.
Thirty… thirty-five years…
Experiences.
Failures.
Achievements.
And then…
Silence.
The pain disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Luis slowly opened his eyes.
His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
The room became quiet again.
He remained seated on the bed, trying to organize his thoughts.
Five minutes had passed.
Maybe more.
It was hard to tell.
But something had changed.
Deeply.
Luis took another deep breath.
Then he rested his elbows on his knees and ran his hands over his face.
"Was that… a dream?"
The question came out in a low voice.
But he already knew the answer.
It wasn't.
The details were too clear.
Too complex.
He could remember everything.
Not just fragments.
Everything.
An entire life.
Thirty-five years.
A life lived in another time.
In the same country.
In the same world.
But in a different century.
He remembered his parents.
His father was a history professor.
Patient, passionate about books and teaching.
His mother was a doctor.
Intelligent.
Practical.
Direct.
They had died when he was thirty.
The memory brought a quiet sadness.
But also something more.
Longing.
Luis took another deep breath.
Then he lifted his head and looked around the room.
And that was when the second realization came.
He also remembered perfectly his current life.
There were no gaps.
No emptiness.
Eighteen years of life.
Here.
In that house.
On that farm.
With those people.
His mother.
Helena.
His father.
Augusto.
Miguel.
Maria.
Matheus.
Teresa.
Everyone.
Nothing had disappeared.
Both lives were there.
Mixed together.
He spent a few minutes in silence, simply organizing his thoughts.
It was strange.
But it was not chaos.
The memories were not competing.
They were… integrated.
Like two different libraries occupying the same building.
Luis leaned back on the bed.
His head was still heavy, but the confusion had lessened.
Almost an hour passed like that.
Thinking.
Reorganizing memories.
When he finally felt stable, he let out a long sigh.
"Alright…"
he murmured to himself.
Then he fell silent again.
A specific thought was beginning to form.
A thought that would never have existed before.
Luis looked toward the window.
Outside, the morning sun illuminated part of the property.
Green fields.
Trees.
The roof of the barn in the distance.
Everything looked as familiar as it had always been.
But now there was something different in the way he saw it.
Because, besides the memories of his current life…
He also carried the knowledge of another time.
Another century.
Another Brazil.
And that changed a few things.
One of them was his own identity.
Luis ran a hand through his still-damp hair.
Throughout his life, his name had always been just that:
Luis de Alcântara Bragança e Castro.
A long name.
An old name.
A name linked, even if distantly, to the old imperial family of the country.
Something that had always been, for him, just a detail of birth.
A family curiosity.
Nothing more.
But now…
Now that name felt different.
Heavier.
Because the newly arrived memories also carried the clear memory of the country's history.
Of the Empire.
Of the monarchy.
And of the man who had ruled Brazil for almost half a century:
Dom Pedro II.
Luis observed the horizon through the window.
Thoughtful.
His surname was not just a surname.
It was a distant fragment of that history.
A collateral branch.
Nothing that granted him power.
Nothing that changed his daily life.
But still…
A piece of something greater.
He remained there for a few minutes, simply reflecting on it.
On the past.
On the present.
On the two lives now gathered within the same mind.
Finally, he let out a small sigh.
His head was still a little heavy.
But the confusion was gone.
All that remained was the strange feeling of having woken up… a little different.
Luis stood up slowly.
He walked to the window.
And watched the quiet farm under the morning sun.
Life outside had already begun.
Workers walking between the fields.
A horse being led to the stable.
Light smoke rising from the kitchen of the main house.
Everything followed its normal rhythm.
And somehow, that calmed him.
Because despite all the new memories…
Despite the headache…
Despite the strange feeling of having lived another life…
One thing was still true.
This was still his home.
And this was still his life.
Luis placed his hands on the window ledge.
Took a deep breath.
And murmured to himself:
"Let's take it slow… one step at a time."
Outside, the day was only beginning.
And, without anyone knowing, something inside him had just changed.