~ Just Another Day Going To The Office ~

  William had barely crossed the street, when the traffic light turned green again. He gave a quick glance at his smartwatch—just before 9 AM—and exhaled with relief. At least he wouldn't get another lecture from his boss for being late. Not today anyway.

  He turned left to walk towards his office in eastern London when he noticed a girl—barely 4 years old—still crossing the street merrily with an ice cream in her hands. Why was she out alone this early in the morning? Where the heck were her parents?

  He looked around, hoping to see them nearby but the pavement was deserted. That's when he saw something large approaching from the corner of his eyes. It barely took a moment for him to realize that the girl was right in the path of a speeding lorry moving on the same lane.

  "Hey, get away from the road!" he shouted loudly, hoping to gain her attention.

  The girl glanced at him, looking lost, when he heard a loud horn being blown by the lorry.

  "Hey! Move!!!" William called out to her again, yelling at the top of his voice. But the girl was frozen on the spot while gazing at the approaching lorry in confusion, which was only a few seconds away. He heard the screech of the brake being applied, however his mind knew it wouldn't be enough...

  But he couldn't just leave her to die, her missing parents be damned!

  "Fuck it!"

  Barely taking a moment to make the decision, he sprinted faster than he had ever thought possible, and dived towards the girl, pushing her away from the path of the speeding lorry.

  Time seemed to have slowed down as he saw everything happening in slow motion from that moment onwards. The girl yelped in surprise as he pushed her, but at least she went out of harm's way—although she would get a few scratches from the asphalt and would have to buy a new ice cream again, with her previous one already splattered on the street.

  As gravity pulled his body to the ground, he turned his head to the left and noticed the lorry was just a few meters away from him. He even caught the sight of the panicked face of the driver as the lorry blew its horn again—nearly deafening him this time—coupled with the ear-splitting screech of the brakes, but it was far too little, far too late.

  "Well, shit..."

  ~ A New Beginning ~

  William woke up to the sound of birdsong drifting through the room. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and it smelled of... smoke?

  At first, he thought he was in his dingy old flat in London, with the city noise muffled by cheap glass panes. But no - this wasn’t the hum of engines or the occasional siren. The air carried only layers of birdsong, calls he couldn’t name, and the faint scent of grass and wood smoke. He flexed his hands and felt coarse linen scratch his palms, with a rustle of straw beneath the thin sheet. Huh...

  He opened his eyes with some effort. His chest rose easily—no tubes, no broken ribs, no bandages. But instead of the white ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights he expected, there were beams of rough-hewn wood overhead, warped slightly with age. Cobwebs clung to the corners. He snorted. If this was a hospital room, someone had done a terrible job cleaning it.

  He lay still, his head feeling heavy against the pillow. For a moment, he let himself drift, clinging to the last memory that had carved itself into his mind. A little girl frozen on the asphalt, a lorry rushing closer, his own body moving before he had much time to think. He’d shoved the girl aside, seen a massive metal grill fill his vision, heard brakes scream—and then nothing. That was supposed to be the end. Right...?

  His chest tightened thinking about the little girl. Had he pushed her far enough? Did she make it? Or maybe neither of them did. Maybe I am lying somewhere hooked up to tubes, dreaming this whole thing inside a coma.

  He lifted his hands and froze. These weren’t his hands. The skin was darker, rougher, marked with small scars. Whose hands are these?

  He sat up way too fast, wincing as pain stabbed through his skull. The room around him was plain—a chair by the half-open window, a wooden chest in a corner, a swept timber floor worn smooth by years of use. No hum of electricity, no blinking lights, no machines. Nothing of plastic, nothing modern. His chest tightened again, this time from disbelief. Where the hell am I?

  William rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed. This wasn’t London. This really wasn’t his dingy flat with half-finished blueprints taped on the wall and the hum of traffic outside.

  Panic nudged his chest, but it was dulled, like he had been pushing it down for days—maybe he had...

  As his headache died down slowly, some faint memories started to come back to him. Moments of drifting in and out, voices by his bedside, the sting of warm broth on his lips. But not at any modern hospital in London. Those memories belonged to this room located in a different world in this small village of...

  No! This is insane!

  This isn’t real!

  He exhaled loudly. Maybe I really am dreaming in a hospital bed... Maybe this is what being in a coma felt like. For a while, he kept staring at the roof as though it were part of some unfamiliar museum exhibit, until the hinges of the wooden door creaked.

  A man stood there, dressed in well-used leather armor, with a short sword at his hip. He froze when he saw William sitting up. For a moment he just stared, mouth opening and closing, then turned and bolted down the hall. His boots thudded hard against the wooden floor, the sound echoing long after he was gone.

  William's pulse quickened. Whoever that was, he looked far more like a guard than a nurse.

  Footsteps returned, slower this time. An older man stepped inside, robes plain but neat, his balding hair streaked with gray. The lines on his face eased when he saw William awake. Behind him came the same guard, as well as an older woman and a young boy, both of whom looked relieved when seeing William.

  “Alden, you’re awake!” the older man exclaimed as he took a seat on a nearby chair, before pulling it closer to the bed. "We feared…” His voice faltered.

  William tried to speak, but only a dry rasp came out. The older woman immediately passed him a wooden mug filled with water. He took it in his hands, glancing at what looked just like a beer tankard, before taking a sip.

  “I… I’m still here,” William somehow managed while looking at the expectant faces of everyone, choosing the safest truth with his memories still feeling muddled. His throat felt dry even now, the sound of his own voice strange.

  For a moment, he felt dazed, like he was feeling the after-effects of drinking way too much last night, before memories started to flow into his mind slowly. He wasn't William here. He was Alden—the 19 year old son of the baron of this manor. The older man in front of him was Vusato—the majordomo of this manor, as well as his former teacher. The woman was one of the maids, while the young boy helped around in the manor.

  However, it was very clear to him that their relief wasn't for him—not really—but for the boy whose body he had found himself in. But that was him now...

  "Your fever just wouldn't go down, and it'd been weeks... We all wished we had a healing mage here to cure you, but..." The majordomo shook his head. “I'm just glad to see that you're awake again. How are you feeling? Any pain? In your head? Chest? Do you feel dizzy?”

  William blinked. Wait, mages...? Like fireball-throwing, magic-wielding mages? He exhaled, pushing that thought for later. “No. Just... tired.”

  The boy edged closer. “Does it hurt?”

  William flexed his fingers. Strong. Whole. No broken bones. No tubes. “No. I feel fine.”

  The woman made the sign of a cross—or something like it—and whispered a silent prayer. Vusato blinked a few times, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s a miracle from God...” he whispered. "With your persistent high fever, we all thought we’d lost you... You barely woke up once in the past few days..."

  William wasn't sure what to say to that, so he kept quiet for now.

  “Do you remember where you are?” the majordomo asked after a moment, watching his face closely.

  William’s lips parted, but no answer came. His memories were still in a mess, even though he remembered more about this place now. He still could have said 'a room,' or 'a manor,' but none of those seemed right. Finally, he admitted softly, “I'm not sure...”

  Vusato studied him for a long moment before exhaling. “You are home, milord. In your father’s manor.”

  The words hit hard. Home. Father. Manor. None of them matched anything from the life he remembered. He looked down at the sheets, trying to think of something to say.

  The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Tell me something. What year is it?”

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  His mind gave the answer before he could think about it. “Year 1397 of the New Era.”

  Vusato gave a small nod. “And the season?”

  “Autumn,” William said, glancing toward the half-closed window where sunlight spilled across the wood. “Early autumn.”

  Vusato smiled faintly, shoulders easing. "I think you'll be just fine..."

  William could only give a nod.

  The majordomo stood up and adjusted his tunic. “You've been asleep for nearly five days now, and have been bedridden for weeks, so it's okay if you feel weak. Still, walk a little when you can, and try to eat something, but don’t push yourself. I will send word to your father that you're awake. He's out visiting the iron mines right now, but he'll be glad to see that you are up when he returns in the evening.” He bowed his head slightly and exited the room with slow steps, the guard following behind him.

  The woman—whom William's newly gained memories had told him to be a maid—smiled at him. "I'll tell the kitchens to heat up some soup for you. Rest here for now. I'll be back in a snap!" She quickly exited the room, the young boy already running ahead of her with a grin.

  William stood up carefully, his legs holding better than he had expected. He crossed to the window and pushed the shutters open. Pale autumn sunlight spilled in, barely holding any warmth in it. Outside, the courtyard spread wide—dirt ground packed hard by countless feet and wooden wheels. Chickens scattered as a giggling boy ran after them, his arms spread wide like wings. Beyond, the roof of the stable sagged slightly, its roof patched with new straw. He noticed smoke curling lazily from a chimney as unfamiliar sounds hit his ears—the muffled cluck of hens, a cow lowing, and a guard’s firm voice calling for a change of watch.

  He stood near the window for a moment, soaking up the medieval scene from his vantage point on the second floor. Servants hauled sacks of grain on small handcarts, a dog barked wildly near the stables. A maid strained at the rope of the well, pulling up a heavy bucket. Two guards leaned on spears at the gate, scanning the road beyond. The air smelled of dirt, manure, and smoke—raw but alive. Looking at the courtyard felt like a scene of chaos compared to London, but not unpleasant chaos.

  As his stomach grumbled again, he decided to find the kitchen himself, and walked to the door. The hallway extended to the left, while a staircase was visible on the right. He descended slowly, hand brushing the smooth rail.

  He reached the first floor, recalling that the ground floor was further below, and continued to walk. Before he had reached halfway down the final set of stairs, he saw a broad-shouldered man coming up from the ground floor—his muscular bulk nearly blocking the staircase. A scar grazed down from his temple to his jaw. His brown hair was cropped short, and his leather armor bore the wear of someone who had lived in it for years.

  “Alden! Finally up for more than a minute?” the man asked with a lopsided smile, his voice rough and gravelly. He shifted his stance, leather boots scraping against the floor.

  William hesitated. “I guess so...” Even his own voice sounded different - slightly deeper, but younger.

  The man folded his arms. “You’ve been half-conscious for days now. Baron Edaroc’s been worried.”

  Baron Edaroc Rinarius. The name stirred something in his mind—a memory that didn’t belong to him. Edaroc was the name of his father. William, no—Alden—was the oldest son. He had a younger brother and sister, with their mother dead long in the past. The man in front of him was Roderic—captain of the manor guards. It all came to him in flashes, still not giving him the full picture.

  “I’m… alright now,” William muttered.

  Roderic eyed him for a moment longer. "Good. Eat something. Hilda’s kept food ready in case you woke. Don’t make her wait.”

  Hilda, the name jogged his memories. She was a middle-aged woman who worked as the head maid for the manor. “Right...” William stepped aside, the guard captain giving him a nod as he passed him to the upper floor.

  Starting to walk down the stairs again, William looked around as he reached the ground floor. The manor was not grand stone, like the castles he had seen in movies. Everything was made of planks and timber—dark and solid—the beams blackened by years of smoke. A wide hearth with embers glowing low kept the hall warm on the other side, with benches drawn up to long trestle tables filling up the hall. Servants moved about with practiced ease—a maid carrying pails, her patched-up skirt brushing the floor; a boy balancing a stack of firewood against his chest; the clatter of pots from the kitchen to his left.

  The scent of cooking drew him onward. Reaching the wide door of the kitchen, he glimpsed inside, heat hitting his face. Fire roared in a low hearth. Two maids were plucking chickens in one corner; another stirred a pot that smelled of onions and herbs.

  A girl looked up from kneading dough on a flour-dusted table and squeaked, elbowing the one beside her. “He’s here,” she whispered.

  They all froze, then bobbed quick curtsies. “My lord,” they said in unison.

  William's cheeks burned. “Please, don’t stop on my account. Seriously... It smells amazing here.”

  The younger maid giggled. “He’s back to himself already."

  The older maid from earlier was speaking with a stout woman near the hearth. The woman with gray-streaked hair turned at the sound of voices. His memories supplied the name. She was Hilda—the head maid—the one who had cared for him and his siblings after their mother had died years ago.

  “Alden!” Her voice carried over the noise. She wiped her hands on her apron, then strode over quickly.

  She had a kind, lined face and warm eyes that studied him like a mother sizing up her son after a near-death encounter. She caught his shoulders in her flour-dusted hands, studying him for a moment and pulled him into a firm hug before he could react.

  Wiliam stiffened, then slowly relaxed against her. It had been years since anyone had hugged him like that. Something in her voice stirred a memory that wasn’t his but belonged to this body: afternoons spent sneaking bread from her kitchen, her scolding softened by the smile tugging at her lips.

  She pulled back to look him over. “You’re too thin...” She steered him out of the kitchen to a bench by one of the tables in the main hall.

  He took a seat on her insistence, as she sat across from him. “You really scared us, milord. Sleeping like the dead, not moving no matter how we tried. I barely managed to feed you some broth. Your sister cried herself to sleep more than once. Your brother tried to act brave, but I saw him sitting in your room every night, waiting for you to wake up.”

  William’s mind stumbled for a moment, remembering his siblings' names. "Where are Caelen and Lira anyway?”

  Hilda’s eyes softened as she smiled. “Caelan's in your father's chamber again, reading a book from his shelves as usual. Lira went back to sleep. You know that she needs all the rest she can get with her poor health. But I'm sure they'll come running the moment they hear that you're up again.”

  She reached across the table, patting his hand. “Don’t go scaring them again... They’ve lost enough already. Your father also wouldn't be able to get over losing his heir.”

  A lump rose in William’s throat. He gripped the edge of the table, forcing himself not to break. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t the brother of those kids which she thought him to be. That he wasn’t anyone’s heir. That this was all a mistake. But the warmth of her hand, the sternness in her voice, her care for his siblings who'd never known their mother, made it impossible. So he just nodded.

  The maid from before brought a steaming bowl of soup from the kitchen and set it down with a soft thud. “Eat. Slowly.”

  The broth was hot, looking thin but rich with herbs and floating bits of veggies. He lifted the spoon and took a sip. Warmth spread through him, heavy with salt and vegetables. He hadn’t realized how empty he felt until now.

  Hilda crossed her arms, watching him, with her foot tapping faintly on the wooden floor. “Don’t just sip once. Keep going.”

  William smiled faintly at her insistence and obeyed.

  “You look better already,” Hilda said after a while, as her eyes traced his face like she was measuring color in his cheeks. “Still pale, but not like death sitting up in bed.” She got up from the bench. “Call out for more soup when you're done. I know you must be half-starving, but no solids for now. Maybe at dinner. I’ll also roast a chicken tomorrow with the herbs you like. That’ll put some strength back in you.”

  William let the spoon rest for a moment. “Thank you."

  Hilda turned around to go into the kitchen but paused, gazing at him with a fond smile, before she blinked a few times. “Don’t scare us like that again...”

  “I’ll try not to,” William said softly.

  The younger maids lingered nearby, whispering to each other, while the older maid who had visited him earlier was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. “He’ll be just fine if he listens.”

  “Which he won’t,” Hilda muttered, loud enough for all to hear, making the maids giggle.

  William huffed, a sound somewhere between laugh and sigh.

  For a little while, he simply ate, letting their presence soothe him. It was unfamiliar, all of it—the wooden walls, the firelit kitchen, the people who seemed to know him so well—but it wasn’t unkind. And that made the ache sharper.

  He stirred the broth, appetite thinning as he thought of London again. The rumble of buses outside his flat. The lofty office towers. The clink of glasses on a Friday night. Friends whose names he couldn't bear to bring to mind right now. His job as an underpaid but overworked mechanical engineer—with his phone screen lighting up his dark room as he devoured more and more articles about his chosen field of career on the internet, hoping for a long-delayed promotion.

  All of it gone—fading like smoke slipping through fingers that weren’t even his own anymore. Replaced by this. By a new name that came too easily, by a world that breathed in wood and fire instead of glass and concrete, by a family made up of an overburdened father, an overly studious brother and a frail sister—all of whom he hadn’t truly met, but it was a family he was now a part of. He forced himself to eat as more and more memories of this new body flooded into his mind.

  That's when he remembered something which shook him to his bones. This world didn't just have mighty mages wielding magic—it also had ferocious monsters. A lot of them. Some of them were the size of a large wolf—fully capable of tearing a grown man into pieces, while others were the size of horses and elephants, who could destroy a village like this one far too easily. Some rare ones were larger than a few rooms of this manor combined, and were known as city-killers, since they could even break through the massive stone walls of a big city and wreak all kinds of destruction inside before a group of powerful mages managed to take them down.

  He also recalled that the village of Sarnok—where he had inexplicably found himself in—was located at the frontier of the kingdom, and autumn was already here. Once the snowfall started, the monsters would start coming in droves from the north and the northeast, and would kill anything they found alive for food. Every year, this whole village needed to be emptied to a nearby fortress city before the first snowfall—just so the monsters wouldn't tear apart the villagers for dinner.

  He took a deep breath trying to calm himself. By now he had no doubt that this was an extremely dangerous world. However, his memories also told him that apart from the prevalence of magic, this world was similar to medieval earth in its technology level. So couldn't he try to help the people of this village survive the winter by using some of his modern knowledge?

  He gave a deep sigh. What am I even thinking?

  Here he was, in the body of a completely different person, in a new planet located who knew where in the universe. Was it even the same universe in which Earth was located? He had no idea. He didn't even know how long he could hide his true origin before others found out about him and maybe tried to burn him at a stake. What could he even do to help others from this position?

  He shook his head. There was no point in thinking about what kind of problems he would have to deal with in the future. All he could do was to focus on the present. If he saw a way to help others using the advanced knowledge from Earth, he would. But for now, he had to survive first. It certainly wasn't going to be easy in this world, with winter not far away.

  He heard the manor residents go about their daily activities nearby as he continued eating—hushed voices, quick footsteps, the crackle of fire. It felt both utterly alien and strangely familiar, as though some part of him had always belonged here.

  He lowered his spoon, staring into his blurry reflection in the bowl of soup. He wasn't William—the mechanical engineer—anymore. He was Alden Rinarius now. Whoever this person had been before was gone, even though he retained all the memories. At this point, he had no idea how he was going to live in this world or what he was going to do, but he would manage it.

  One step at a time...