The silence wasn't a lack of sound; it was pressure—a weight that crushed inward, causing my head to pound as if it would burst.
No whisper. No brush. No catch of breath on the air. Nothing but the silence, dense and suffocating, shrouding all but the raw pain in my chest and the fiery burn at the back of my eyes.
This was not the slow drift of slumber or the swoon of a new dawn. This was agony. Burning, unyielding, and unforgiving.
My body would not listen to me. It was numb, foreign—as though my veins had retreated to some inaccessible place inside of me. I was suspended, caught between the darkness above and the unyielding cold of the rock below.
My eyelids creaked open, every movement a grind, a slow torture. Above me, the ceiling was a blur of angular stone—old, strange. Torchlight danced along the rough walls, sending long, ghostly shadows. Every trembling movement duplicated the staccato thudding of my heart.
The room was a fortress, constructed of unyielding stone. But it was more than that. It was a cage. Not for my body, but for my mind—which beat its head against invisible bars, scratching for something, anything, that made sense.
Nothing did.
A dull ache throbbed at the base of my skull. I forced my hand up, to press against the pain. It wouldn't budge. My arm was a dead weight.
The control over my body, once instinctive, was lost. Panic replaced it—cold, crisp, and cutting. But I clenched my teeth and struggled to remain motionless.
"Young Master Kael. You're awake!"
The voice cut through the fog—steep and quick, like light piercing heavy mist. Female. Soft, but edged with need and unambiguous relief.
A shadow shifted at the edge of my sight, obscuring the light of a torch. She was a blur at first. But slowly, she came into focus.
I shifted my head in her direction.
A girl. Seventeen at most. Pale blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes, an electric blue, were filled with worry.
She had on a maid's uniform—plain, white, with a starched apron. But in her eyes was something more than obedience.
It was fear. Actual, personal. My breath caught as I watched her completely awake, a strangled cry flung from her mouth.
"Young Master Kael, you're awake! Bless the gods. I was so frightened. We all were."
Her voice shook, the final word breathed almost too softly.
She crept closer. Her hand hovered in the air, as if she wished to touch me but was afraid.
I attempted to talk. My throat was seared, as if I'd not had water for days. I croaked a harsh, cracked rasp:
"Where. where am I?"
"You're in the fortress, Young Master," she replied hurriedly, her gaze darting nervously towards the door. "Don't worry. You're safe now.
You were struck by a blast of magic. You've been out three days. I've called for the doctor. He's on his way."
Magic blast.
The words reverberated. Loud and meaningless.
Magic? Like some terrible fantasy book.
But the pain. the smell of damp rock. the light of the torches—all seemed too real.
I wished to question more. Insist upon answers.
But the dull headache burst into something savage. Pain flooded, overwhelming thought. My eyes tightened shut, and a gagged gasp hissed through my teeth.
The floor lurched. The darkness moved. And just before darkness took me, the door creaked open.
A man came in. Late fifties, perhaps older. His coat dark, long. His face creased by time and too many tales. But his eyes were tranquil.
He walked with a doctor's assurance. His steps measured. Considered.
"How are you feeling, Young Master kael?"
His voice was deep, even. Heavy.
He touched my wrist, cool fingers on my pulse.
"Like I was run over by a train," I rasped, the words dry and acrid.
He gave a quiet huff—half chuckle, half sigh.
"That's a fair assessment."
"Your body took a tremendous hit. It's a miracle you're conscious, let alone coherent."
I frowned. Why did they keep calling me Young Master Kael? Who the hell was Kael?
The name tasted wrong, unfamiliar. Yet. heavy.
Memories clawed their way back. Not mine. Not truly.
But pieces of something else.
Fragments. A narrative.
Kael Thorn.
A name from a story. A web novel.
A kingdom of magic, monsters. A hero, Kaiden Reagers.
Kael Thorn—a noble's son. A villain. A heartless manipulator.
Doomed to crash.
At the blade of Kaiden.
The epiphany hit me like a thunderclap.
I was the villain.
The throbbing in my chest turned to thunder. I felt sick to my stomach.
I was Kael Thorn.
My breath caught. I struggled to sit up, to flee the vile truth.
But my battered and weak body would not comply.
I had no strength.
But why? Kael Thorn had been strong.
Ruthless. Cunning.
Now? I could hardly raise a hand.
The memories came flooding back. His life. His schemes. His downfall.
I had read it all. The build-up. The ascendancy.
But not the conclusion.
I hadn't reached the end of the book.
I didn't know Kael died.
The terror in me ran deeper. This was not just a new life.
It was a death warrant I couldn't foresee.
A stinging chill settled in my chest. Where power should have been, nothing. Or something shattered.
Something missing.
"Doctor." I ground out, each word an effort. "What's going on? How did I end up here?"
He hesitated. Brows converging.
"You were severely wounded. A monster attacked. You were found at the edge of the territory. Barely alive."
"It released a huge surge of magic".
The outskirts.
Flashes came back. Claws. Teeth.
Seared pain.
A strength I'd never known before.
It brought me here. To this keep. To this reality.
Kael Thorn.
Bad guy.
Alive.
But for how long?
The doctor stepped over to a side console, mixing together a concoction. "You need to rest. Rest will aid in your recovery."
The maid stood nearby, speaking in a gentle tone. "Young Master. are you okay?"
How could I respond to that?
How could anyone be okay knowing they were going to die?
Not as a hero.
But as the villain in another person's tale.