Silence and darkness. That’s all that can be seen and heard. Nothing can be felt, not even gravity. Death is near, searching for prey but never finding it. It’s a cycle of never-ending eternity between life and death. Is it purgatory, perhaps? Something should have happened by now, but something is stopping it. The inevitable is delayed once more.

Waking from a long and deep slumber, his eyes slowly open. His hazel eyes revealed, Ken’s senses return, and his mind works to absorb his surroundings.

Ken feels soft fabric over him. He’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling. His breathing is slow, his eyes still half-closed. He’s tired but not sleepy. He has slept enough already, and he feels no desire to fall asleep once more.

Something’s wrong. The ceiling Ken is staring at looks strange. It’s white with engraved patterns, something that is unfamiliar to him. Using whatever strength he can accumulate, he sits up in the bed he suddenly found himself in and glances around.

Immediately noticeable is that there is a maid in the same room he’s in. To his right, on the side of the room, a maid is folding towels on top of a dresser. It is odd, Ken notices the black and white stereotypical maid outfit, but why?

The maid notices that Ken has awoken and is visibly spooked. With a hardly noticeable gasp, she stops what she’s doing and scurries away and out of the room. Ken watches as she disappears, and his mind is trying to understand the situation.

Ken looks around to take a better look at his surroundings. It’s a very luxurious room that feels almost antique. It’s not comically luxurious, as seen in media representations of pre-industrial luxury. Much like the ceiling, the rest of the room is primarily white in color. Intricate carving and ornaments are scattered everywhere. The walls have wavy patterns on them, and even the bedsheets are fancy. To the left of the room, there are large windows with a gold outline in the frame. The curtains also look fancy, probably made out of silk or some other exclusive materials. It has a yellow tint to it, likely to compliment the gold outline of the window.

The usage of gold seems conservative as it’s sparingly applied to the walls. Silver is more heavily used in the ornaments and trinkets that are spread across the finely polished furniture. Looking up, Ken sees a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling, providing a light source to lighten the room but something is off. It doesn’t have candles, nor does it have light bulbs. The candles should be on the chandelier’s arms, but there are instead strange glowing balls of white light.

Ken squints his eyes, trying to make sense of the orbs of light but can’t understand. A slight pain goes through his head as a headache takes his attention. To ease the pain, he raises his hands to hold his head but feels cloth instead. There’s cloth on his head. He runs his hand from his forehead to the back of his head to realize his head is bandaged.

Is he injured? Why is he injured? Ken tries to remember why he would be wounded, but his headache prevents him from recalling anything. He opens the bedsheets and tries to get up onto his feet, but he feels wobbly. His balance isn’t all there, and he holds onto the dresser next to him to stabilize himself. Then he sees that he’s wearing a white nightgown reaching down to his ankles. Whatever clothes he had before are now gone.

Breaking Ken out of his thought process, the door to the room opens wide, and several people enter. The maid from before has brought along an older gentleman dressed as a butler wearing a white shirt, black pants, black shoes, a black vest, and a black tailcoat. The third person to enter is a knight wearing all but a helmet on his head.

Ken is baffled. He has absolutely no idea who they are, and the appearance of a man in heavy armor with a sword on his waist makes him question just what the hell is happening.

“Good morrow, Sir Ken. It seems you have finally awoken,” says the butler in a calm voice.

“Who are you?...” Ken asks. “Is this some sort of medieval reenactment?”

The butler ignores Ken’s comment on medieval reenactment and instead says, “I am Wilfred Hulle, steward of this household belonging to Countess Maida Thorne of the House of Thorne. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Ken stares in confusion. This whole scene feels like a fantastical dream that he’s suddenly been thrust into. He can’t comprehend what the butler said and tries to make sense of every word.

“Right…” Ken mutters.

“Sir Ken, I am sure you have questions, to which I will answer. However, first, I must ask who you are.”

Ken doesn’t thoroughly think much of the question and fails to notice that the butler already knew his name. Given his head injury, his guard is naturally down.

“I’m… Kenneth Morgan. Special Forces. I still don’t understand what is going on here.”

“Sir Kenneth Morgan, you are in Scorrest. It seems that on your travels outside the city, you found yourself the subject of a bandit ambush. You have been brought here to heal.”

Scorrest? Bandits? Ken stands in confusion as nothing is making sense.

“May I ask where you were headed?”

“Uh…”

Ken’s mind races to figure everything out, but he can’t. Where was he headed? He has no idea.

He can’t remember.

The last thing he remembers is an engagement in the deserts of Mexico. The raid on a camp controlled by cartel members went sideways. Hostages that weren’t supposed to be there added to the heavy security turned the operation upside down. He took several risks to complete the mission. One of those risks was to draw fire upon himself so his teammates can rescue the hostages. The bullets, the explosions, everything was momentarily directed at him. So much firepower being thrown at him eventually led to him getting shot, but he shrugged it off and continued to fight. Somehow, the operation succeeded, but he had to be airlifted back to base, where the bullet had to be removed.

He should be waking up in a hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Instead, he’s here, in an unfamiliar bedroom with unfamiliar people.

“I… don’t remember,” Ken says, much to the butler’s confusion.

“You don’t remember? How so?”

“I was with my ODA in Mexico. Where’s the kid?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what or who you reference—”

“Don’t bullshit me, where’s the kid?! Where are we?!”

Ken walks around the bed and approaches the three people but stops when the knight draws his sword on him.

“Sir Morgan, you need be calm. I can assure you no harm if you display no aggression. Please, let’s discuss.”

“And you threaten me with this guy in a knight costume? Just answer the fucking question.”

“I’ll repeat. We are in Scorrest, in Lady Thorne’s estate. You were ambushed in the forests by a group of bandits. Your carriage was destroyed. Have you no memory of this?”

Ken continues to stare and listen to the ridiculous story he’s given. He can’t believe a single word, especially with the knight showing no sign that he’s acting or playing. No one seems to be bluffing.

Ken turns around and impatiently walks to the large windows to take a peek outside. He moves the fancy curtains away and looks out to have a better sense of location. But all he can see is an image found only in movies or pictures of old European estates. The room he’s in is on an upper floor that oversees a fountain in front of the house. It’s a fountain in the middle of the roundabout that connects the entrance to a road leading to the outer edges of the property. Green grass surrounds the house, with a few gardeners attending to the various plants planted to decorate the property. Down below in front of the house is a carriage sitting idly with horses attached.

The whole scene is unreal; it’s like he suddenly found himself on a plantation from the American south, with people acting as if they’re from the middle ages.

“What fucking year is this?” Ken ironically asks.

“We are in the year 666 Glasse Era,” the steward plainly says.

Ken turns around to look at the steward and says, “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“I don’t believe it is,” the steward replies. “It’s just been six hundred and sixty-six years since the start of the Glasse Era.”

“Nothing satanic?”

“What?”

“Right…” Ken whispers.

So far, nothing is very believable. He still wonders if he’s somehow being played or pranked by his friends and teammates, but the joke should have been over already. They should already be blasting cameras in his face and turning him into a laughing stock.

Then he looks up at the chandelier, where he sees the weird orbs of light. His mind is a complete mess. It’s like he found himself in a real-life RPG game he played when he was in college.

“And what the hell is that?” Ken asks, pointing at the chandelier.

“Crystals. Magic crystals. They are excellent in producing light.”

“Magic, huh? This is a load of shit, no way it’s real.”

“It seems you appear to have lost your memories, Sir Morgan.”

The steward, Wilfred Hulle, motions his hand at the maid who first discovered that he woke up, and she promptly leaves the room.

“I suggest you rest until we can sort out this situation.”

“No, I haven’t lost memories. I know who and what I am. All this shit, it’s a movie set, isn’t it?”

Seeing that Ken is refusing to accept reality, Wilfred Hulle turns to the knight and says, “Demonstrate, if you will.”

The knight, still holding his sword, nods and takes a big breath in. Flames appearing from seemingly nowhere engulfs his sword, and a wave of heat washes over Ken.

Ken stares in complete shock as the flaming sword in front of him resembles that of video games. He doesn’t see any propane tank, no gas line connecting anywhere. The blade simply caught fire randomly. This defies any logic and shouldn’t be possible.

“No fucking way…” he mutters.

“I hope this demonstration is enough.”

The maid from before returns and enters the room alongside another maid. One of them brings along a tray while the other brings folded clothes. Both are set on the dresser next to the bed.

“We have brought forth food and clothes. Take all the time you need to rest and think things over. Should you need anything, one of the servants will be outside. I will inform Countess Maida Thorne of your recovery, who will summon you to discuss your circumstances.”

The steward turns to leave the bedroom, followed by the maids and, lastly, the knight. Ken is left alone in the bedroom as he remains to stand, still stunned by the magic demonstration.

He turns to look at the food and falls in thought. There is no way it’s memory loss. He clearly remembers the raid in Mexico. He should have woken up in a twenty-first-century hospital. To instead wake up centuries back in time with the addition of magic is so outlandish, he would continue to deny it if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s all right in front of him.

So then, what happened?

He still has a minor headache, and he definitely feels a bandage around his head. Maybe it really is memory loss? If so, it still wouldn’t explain the existence of magic or the location he has woken up in.

He turns to look at the tray of food the maids brought in and decides to approach it. He’s hungry enough to try it, but he can’t get the thought of his bizarre situation out of his head. Everything looks and feels so real; there’s no way it could be a dream. It has gone on long enough. He should have woken out of a dream already. A more drastic possibility is that this is no longer earth.

Waking up in another world are ideas only found in fantasy, such as reincarnation and transmigration. He got injured, after all. So if magic exists, who’s to say this isn’t another world? Whatever truly happened, he has a feeling he’ll find out soon enough.

.

.

Later in the day, Ken has gotten himself settled in. The food wasn’t too great, but it was enough to rid his hunger. He has also put on the clothes that were given to him to replace the gown. They are a simple pair of shoes, a white shirt, and a frock coat. The materials aren’t suitable and are a bit too rough, but he assumed that he wouldn’t get anything better if he asked.

Now staring out of the window, Ken continues to wrap his head around his circumstance. He still doesn’t understand what happened. If he lost a part of his memory, it is yet to return. He’ll just have to survive without it if it’s permanent.

The door opens behind him, and Ken turns around. The steward from before has returned with the same knight who showcased his magic.

“Not bad,” the steward says. “I worried these clothes would not fit. However, it seems they fit just fine.”

“So what now?” Ken asks. “Like you said before, I lost memory. I don’t know anything about anything. Didn’t even know magic was a thing, but you act like it’s natural.”

“Indeed. You seem to lack basic knowledge. This may be a problem, but I believe there’s someone who may help.”

“I sure hope so. Because none of this shit feels right.”

The steward frowns at Ken’s words and says, “You seem to speak much differently. Your vocabulary sounds vulgar, but I can’t quite figure out why. I suppose you don’t remember where you are from?”

Ken immediately thinks to say he’s American but doesn’t. Why would he? If Ken told him everything he remembers, it might just cause more confusion. First, he wants to see what these people have to say. Then he’ll decide what he wants to tell them.

“No idea,” Ken replies.

“Right. Well, the Countess has requested your presence. You can direct any remaining concerns to her. Please, follow me.”

The steward walks out of the room, and Ken follows behind. The knight accompanying them lags behind Ken for security which makes Ken feel slightly uncomfortable. Navigating through the building, they quickly reach a small dining hall with a large table in the middle.

A single woman is standing at the end of the table. She wears some sort of dress or gown, likely with a high price tag. She also has chestnut-colored hair and a voluptuous figure.

Beautiful, Ken thinks.

“Stand or sit, dear, whichever you wish,” the woman says with an authoritative tone.

Ken approaches the table and decides to sit in a chair, thinking it would be disrespectful if he stood.

The woman remains standing for whatever reason, and she stares at Ken with a neutral face. She isn’t as young as Ken; instead, she seems older and more mature. She’s most likely in her thirties.

“Awake at last, are you darling? Mister Hulle tells me you have lost your memory.”

“Yeah…”

“Yet you remember your name. What is it? If you will.”

“I am Kenneth Morgan.”

“A pleasure, Mister Morgan. My name is Maida Thorne of the noble House of Thorne.”

Ken can instantly sense authority in her tone. Her voice isn’t soft and is instead commanding and confident. It’s also has a style of prestige, evident by her manner of speaking.

“What do you know, darling? I’ve been told you lack common knowledge, evident by your surprise at my knight’s magic.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much, ma’am.”

The knight standing nearby suddenly takes a step forward. Ken flinches, but the knight immediately stops when Maida Thorne lifts her hand.

“I am a Countess, Mister Morgan. You shall refer to me as ‘Lady Thorne’. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” Ken says cautiously. He completely forgot that nobles have different etiquette. He will need to be careful from now on.

“Good,” Lady Thorne says as she tilts her head with a smile. “Since you have forgotten basic knowledge, I will refresh your mind. We are currently in Scorrest. The capital city of the Kingdom of Scorcia. The current monarch is his majesty, the King of Scorcia, King Carl Laess. This place is my estate, where the House of Thorne resides. Right now, dear, you are under our care, at least until you can care for yourselves.”

“Um, thank you… Lady Thorne. But I still don’t understand how I came to be under your care. I don’t remember anything about how I got here.”

Lady Thorne frowns and says, “Nothing at all?”

Ken shakes his head.

“We treated your head injury, dear, the best we could. Unfortunately, it seems it was severe enough to cause memory loss.”

“So I have amnesia?”

“It appears so, darling. We don’t know if it’s permanent or temporary, but Arierane mentioned she believes it can be fixed.”

“Wait, who is A...Aria-rane. Or whatever the hell you just said?”

Lady Thorne frowns and glances at the steward, Wilfred Hulle. Both look confused, as if thinking Ken is worse off than initially thought. For Ken, he doesn’t know who ‘Arierane’ is or even how to pronounce the name. He’s never heard of the name before, but it seems he’s supposed to be familiar with it.

“Arierane is your sister, is she not?” Lady Thorne says.

My sister? I don’t have a sister.

“Wilfred,” Lady Thorne says to the steward, who promptly exits the room.

“This doesn’t look good, dear. Perhaps seeing her may help your memory.”

Confusion envelops Ken’s mind from the mention of his nonexistent sister. He had already checked himself when he was alone. He has the same hair, same face, even the same scars from combat. He definitely didn’t reincarnate; he’s still the same person from Earth, which would also mean that his nonexistent sister should still be nonexistent.

The door opens once more, and the steward enters the room. Right behind him appears another woman who seems to be much younger than Lady Thorne. She has messy and voluminous blonde hair and wearing a cloak, concealing the rest of her clothes. Contrary to the look of a vagabond, her face is surprisingly beautiful and bright.

“Ken!” the woman yells as she runs toward Ken at full speed.

Ken is motionless as he doesn’t know how to react to the sudden revelation. The woman nearly jumps onto Ken as she embraces him in a tight hug.

“You’re awake! I thought I had lost you! Are you hurt?”

Ken almost panics at how strong the woman is squeezing him. Her hair is all in his face, and he feels like he can’t breathe.

“I’m fine! I’m okay! Get off!”

The woman lets go of the hug and grabs hold of Ken’s bandaged head to look at his injury.

“Are you sure? You were bleeding before. Can you walk?”

“I’m fine,” Ken reaffirms. “Do you always try to choke people?”

“I was just worried sick for your safety.”

“Yeah? I don’t know you.”

“What?”

The woman looks at Ken as if he just said something stupid. Undoubtedly, Ken has no idea who she is. He’s never seen her before, but she’s bluntly showing affection.

“It seems your brother has lost more than suspected, darling. He doesn’t remember who you are.”

The woman looks at Lady Thorne, then back at Ken with a sad face.

“But… I’m your sister, Arierane. Do you not remember?” she says in distress.

Ken shakes his head. Everyone in the room becomes concerned and confused. If Ken remembers his own name, then he at least would remember a family member.

Arierane hugs Ken once again in sadness. Ken can’t help but wrap his arms around her too but does so slowly. He wants to comfort her despite the strange circumstance. His mind keeps telling him that they have no relation. He doesn’t know who she is. He knows he doesn’t have a sister. But if that’s true, then who is Arierane?