Rick Morgan opened his eyes to himself in a place he was not meant to be. Instead of waking up on a soft hospital mattress with a plastic tube up his nose, he awakened to himself in an opulent bedroom, faintly illuminated by flaming torches bolted to the bare stone walls.
What is this?
Did the hospital host a renaissance fair while I was asleep?
His astute observation sparked a burning desire for answers. As Rick starts looking around the room for a phone, he quickly notices that the place lacked any kind of modern technology whatsoever. There were no light switches or sockets to be found within these walls, only pieces of antique wooden furniture that looked better fit inside of a museum.
Given that he could still remember laying down on that operating table mere moments ago, about to have the cancerous tumor festering on the surface of his brain surgically removed, Rick suffered a disorienting whiplash upon waking up here.
I don't see any heart rate monitors, or I.V. Bags around; this place is a terrible recovery room.
Why would anyone bring me here?
What happened while I was asleep?
Rick paused to think about it for a second. Though many ideas popped up in his head, only one stuck out like a sore thumb.
Well, considering where I was before, this could all just be some silly dream.
Although a simple hypothesis, it provided a satisfactory answer that lined up with his timeline of events. Rick could remember the surgeons administering the anesthetic through the gas mask, causing his entire world to black before waking up here.
It would also explain the strange environment he found himself in, for dreams are merely a figment of once's imagination, after all. Only difference is that they occur when the dreamer is asleep, placing them in strange environments while providing no context whatsoever.
Rick felt more inclined when he examined his body and saw it had gone through great changes that would normally take many months to be achieved via plastic surgery. His legs had grown longer, while his body had gone slimmer. He could feel a set of hair ingrained on his normally bald head, and he could not find any of the battle scars that used to plague his skin. It was as if they disappeared without a trace.
Hm... I don't think the hospital provides any complimentary plastic surgery.
Because if I were a awake, then that means somebody had to have brought me here.
Somebody had to have treated my scars, extended by legs, given me a hair transplant, and for what?
So they can pretend I am some kind of medieval king?
It doesn't make sense!
Rick felt as if it were the perfect explanation, and one that filled with a sense of ease, comfort, and hope. But as he let his mind marinate on this hypothesis further, new cracks began to show, casting doubt on its validity.
Wait, if this were a dream, doesn't that mean I am still in surgery?
The surgeons told my dosage would last a full twelve hours, four after waking up.
But if so, then why don't I feel its effects?
How come I can think so clearly?
You can't do that when you are anesthetized.
This single hole managed to erode his truth and faith in the dream theory in under a second. Rick found it extremely dubious for him to become aware while under anesthesia for the same reason he couldn't believe he could be a better driver after having seventeen beers; the substance directly hampers his brain's ability to think.
A debate erupted in his mind, fought by two sides. One stood for the dream theory, and the other against. As the two exchanged arguments, Rick found himself more confused as his mind gets cluttered with arguments riddled with unproven assumptions. Sensing that this was no way to find the truth, he shut the debate down and paused to think of another way to come up with the answer.
Alright, I know for a fact that I am either dreaming, or I am not.
If I can figure out which one is right, then figuring out how I got here is going to be a lot easier.
The only question is how; how do I figure out if this is a dream or not?
As Rick paused to think in silence, his eyes started to prance around the room, surveying the place for anything that could aid in this investigation. They eventually land on a mirror hanging on the wall, its reflective surface covered behind a violet velvet curtain.
That's it! The mirror! I can use the mirror!
If I remember correctly, mirrors don't tend to work in dreams properly.
This is because there is no light to reflect, as everything in a dream is just inside of my head.
So if I go there and see if my reflection, I should be able to tell if this is a dream or not.
With an experiment conceived, Rick gets off the firm bed and makes his way to the mirror. But before he pulled the curtains, he looks back to examine the room, mapping out where each piece of furniture stood.
Once everything was memorized , he slid the curtains away and stares back into the reflection, on the lookout for any strange details. The mirror perfectly reflected everything in the room, showing it as the way it was. There were no monsters on the other side staring back at Rick, or any strange entity standing around, with the exception of one: himself.
Standing in his place on the other side of the mirror stood a strange young man, around the age of twenty or so. He had wavy brown hair that parted to the side, and a set of eyes with an unnatural violet coloring. His figure was slender, and his face handsome, but the man who stood there was not Rick Morgan.
Rick raises his hand, and the man follows. He touches his face, and the man obliges. It appears the strange man in the mirror followed his movements to a T, as if it were his own reflection. Just as Rick was about to examine it further, his head began being bombarded with memories of a man he had never met before.
Unfamiliar places and people flashed before his eyes, followed by many faces calling him by all sorts of strange names and titles. The information overload makes him loose his balance, causing Rick to fall to the floor. But as they continued onward, they all slowly merged into one name, one title, that explained who he really was.
"Prince John Auchter..." Rick mutters, uttering his name out loud with the voices. That is the name of the man this body belonged to. That is the name of the man Rick had taken over.
Although the memories stop coming, Rick felt his stomach shrivel from the revelation. His mind is flooded with a sense of existential horror he could not describe, for he had lost everything he had close to his heart.
Memories of his former life began to appear, detailing his time as a baby, to the shenanigans he pulled in collage, to his time fighting the war, and eventually the rest of his life as a Mechanical Engineer.
"All that work... All that suffering... was that all for nothing?" he whispers, letting the words ring in his ear.
With time, Rick could come to accept and swallow the bitter truth, but this world wasn't willing to give him that luxury just yet. As he laid there on the ground, paralyzed by shock and anxiety, his ear could hear a loud creaking sound emitting from behind.
Rick looks up and finds the door to the bedroom had been open, and from the outside came a tall figure all clad in iron. It locked eyes with Rick before swiftly approaching him, helping him stand up straight.
"Your highness! You are awake! Are you alright?"
The figure spoke in a language had never heard of before; it sounds something like a strange mix of English, German and Danish. Despite that, Rick could understand every word it muttered, almost as if it were second nature.
However, unwilling to respond given that he didn't know if he could speak the language just yet, Rick responds with a simple nod. After the Knight helped him get back on the bed, he kneels down and looks him in the eye.
"I'll bring the healers, and the advisors here! They need to know that you are alive!" he proposed, before swiftly leaving the room. Though Rick managed to keep a straight face, he dropped the act the moment the knight left.
It appears he will have visitors soon, visitors who could have been involved with the prince, who knows who John is. But given that Rick didn't even know if he could speak their language, nor knew what Prince John was really like, Rick wondered if his cover will soon be blown.