In a hospital room on a pristine white bed lay a young man in his mid-20 with IV-s pumping yellow liquid into his arm. The boy looked frail and thin. So thin that it seemed like a small breeze could knock him down from his bed. His face was handsome if not for the fact that it was so thin you could almost see every bone on his face. Even his baldness did not manage to make him less appealing. But even that pails in comparison with his beautiful and striking emerald green eyes. He was looking through the window as if trying to find something that escapes his vision every time. It was silent. The only thing you could hear are the slow beeps of the machinery that he was hooked on to monitor vital signs.
"Why?"
He was asking that question each day.
"Why me…..Why is life so unfair?"
The boy clenched his fists but failed to apply any strength so they just trembled. If he could muster any strength the nails would sink into the flesh until blood seeped out. Even this action left him tired, almost breathless. He wanted to cry but the tears did not come almost as if the tears have already dried out.
5 years... That is how long the boy was already nailed to his hospital bed. 5 years… 5 years of pain, suffering, isolation and…..loneliness because of an illness that was newer his own but forced onto him.
He never thought of himself as a tragic character in this crazy world. There are things far worse happening but his story was so downright crazy or laughable, depending how you view it, that I could have been written by a drama screenwriter.
It all started with his mother. The boy's mother was a tragic woman. A naïve girl coming to the big city being taken advantage of and finally racing to a downward spiral into drugs, alcohol and prostitution. Until she fell in love. Unfortunately into the wrong guy…. The boy's father was even worse than her. Even after suffering from abuse she still would not leave him and together why danced the perfect dance of self-destruction. And that is exactly what happened. After one night he was to violent and hurt her badly so she went to the hospital where and discovered that….. she was pregnant. But bad news often does not come alone. The second bad news she got is that she was HIV positive. Utterly devastated. That is how she felt. But even in that despair she made a decision to give birth and raise the child just because there was a glimmer of hope that the disease would not transmit. Also after her solemn conviction she almost turned her life around…. But hope is a bitch. After the boy was born the worst news struck her like a hammer. The child was born HIV positive. The news was so shocking to her that after receiving it she threw herself from the rooftop of the Hospital that her son was born. And that is the end of it. But it seemed that God or whoever the sick bastard is was not done. The child grew up only to suffer. Day after day he spent his life in an orphanage. No one wanted a child with HIV. No matter how smart he was no matter how cute he was, no one wanted him.
The boy was smart.
Frighteningly smart. He understood everything what was happening but never harbored any resentment in his heart. How could he?
It was only logical.
Being smart and also a bit hopeless a dreamer he started to learn medicine. Hoping or rather convincing himself he could find a cure for a disease that was incurable to this day. So his pursuit of knowledge and the fight against his, fate raged like Don Quijote with his fight against the windmills.
But fate is also a bitch.
After thoroughly exploring the medicine world he came to the realization that his path forward was already broken. There was nothing he could do. Even when he was hailed as a genius from doctors all over the world for his research at the tender age of 15 he could not see the path forward.
But no. He didn't want to give up. If not modern medicine then he would try the alternative path. Alternative medicine was still unexplored so he started his research even with his degrading health. His obsession with the finding the cure flared more intense than ever before. Biology, Histology, Botany, Zoology, Immunology even freaking herbal medicine he greedily absorbed it all but it was all for naught.
At the age of 20 even after his daily ART medication his body started to break down. The HIV virus progressed to full blown AIDS.
Maybe it because he was exhausted from everyday learning and experimenting or maybe it was life just being a bitch he soon discovered that, because of the disease, he gained a new friend called cancer.
And he was a bitch too.
It did not take long for it to evolve to stage IV travel all around the body and shackle him to his hospital bed and here he is. Unable to eat, sleep, urinate or doing anything that was normal without feeling like his body turning inside out. He didn't even know how much time he had. Doctors gave him from a week to a month to a year. But it didn't matter. Because he was defeated. Utterly defeated.
He sighed to himself flinching after inhaling because even the air felt like it was burning hot to his lungs.
"Damn it."
Suddenly he heard the room door opening and a nurse in full body protection with a cart walked in.
"Well good morning Jonathan! How is my favorite patient today?"
The nurse that came in was Jenny. A carefree and cheerful young lady that has tended to Jonathan every day for the past couple of months. Only the joyful eyes could be see behind her mask understandable because he definitely did not need another disease on top of his current condition.
Jonathan sighed again rolling his eyes.
"Only you can be this lively in the morning Jenny"
"Oh come on! Look how beautiful the weather is. Nice sunshine. The air is fresh. You being alive and not having to drag your corpse to the morgue. It's a good start of the day."
Jonathan could not contain it so a small chuckle escaped his lips. Even this small chuckle turned into strong coughing the next second.
"Are you trying to kill me woman!"
"Oh stop being so dramatic. You won't die. You promised me that."
She was right. When he was bedridden the first time it was hard to accept. After all he was really proud. So he got a little irritated and violent with the staff. His emotions were not in the right place. After Jenny barely calmed him down through gritted teeth he swore that he will not die from this stupid disease…..Well he did not use the word stupid.
"Yea yea I promised."
"Yes you did. Now let me remove the books from the bed. You need to eat your breakfast. My God what is this stuff anyway "Animals who heal" "Herbalism the answer to healing through nature" "Fungi: The start and ending of life"? Can't you be like the other patients and just read porn? It's not like you believe in this nonsense"
She grumbled while storing the books away and bringing the cart with food and medicine to his bed.
"I do not. But still it never hurts to broaden ones horizon. Right?"
Jenny just grumbled something under her breath and started to change his IV because it was empty.
"Let's see this is already the 5th one so only 3 more to go. After that well do some tests and see the progress. Even if it is just a trail version the doctors are optimistic."
Jonathan just smiled at her. The trail drug that he was taking was the latest crown achievement of a company that had high hopes of stopping the spread of cancerous cells and even in some cases eliminating it.
"So I'm going to go now. Just finish your breakfast! You need some nutrition. Sorry I can't stay longer but Mr.Agler next door is already getting grumpy. As soon I'm finished with the rounds ill come to you and we can play a round of chess. How does that sound?"
After a moment of silence.
"Perfect…"
She nodded and took her cart out the door gently closing it behind her. Jonathan just followed her with his eyes. Optimistic? He scoffed.
Optimistic my ass. He knew he is going to die the only question is "When?".
He already read all the information and did some digging about the "Miracle Cure". Safe to say it was all just smoke and mirrors. It had some potential but only if you had an immune system that can actually fight the cancer. But if you had AIDS and your immune system was on its last legs… Tough luck buddy.
He slowly leaned onto his bead gripping the long metallic item he stole from the cart while Jenny was not looking. Taking a deep breath he slowly brought it in front of his eyes. It was a shiny metal scalpel. Twisting it left and right the light reflected from the metal onto his pale face.
"I don't want to suffer any longer. If I'm going to die it will be on my terms with my mind intact. I can already feel my sanity slipping away."
This decision was made a week ago when the pain was so intense he actually felt his mind breaking. Jonathan slowly raised his other hand and his skinny fingers started to feel around his neck. He was feeling his Carotid artery . Yes…He was planning to stab the scalpel into this artery. Why that in particularly? The average human being has between 4.5 and 5.5 liters of blood circulating at any given time, and they can only afford to lose about 14% of that blood before their vital signs start to suffer. Without immediate intervention, a person can bleed out from an artery in as little as 2 minutes.
And Jenny needs at least 15 minutes to return.
Not only that he would lose allot of blood and no one can touch him without proper equipment out of fear from infection. So he would definitely die. Also enduring the pain from multiple cuts to his arm….yeah… not a big fan. Jonathan steadied himself, closed his eyes and brought the scalpel to his artery. A single push was all it takes.
"Jenny I'm so sorry for what I am about to do. I just hope you are not the first to enter the room."
And with that last sentence he plunged the scalpel into his neck accurately hitting the artery. Pain assaulted him almost immediately. Strange enough it was not as bad as he had thought it would be. Opening his eyes the blood was already bursting out of the wound but it was not enough he needed it to flow faster. So the scalpel traced the artery accurately ripped it open another 5 centimeters. Blood flowed like a small river onto the white bed and his vision started to blur.
"Yeah….this is it"
The heart rate monitor beeped and was getting slower.
Bip—Bip----Bip---------Bip-----------------Bip----------------------------------------Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.
The last thing he heard before losing his vision was the life support alarm going off.
And after what seemed like an eternity he heard a bloodcurdling shriek that was getting further and further away.
Date 07.09.2025
Patient name: Jonathan Clark
Time of death: 08,16
Death: Suicide- Cutting his Carotid artery-Blood loss
****
"Finally no more pain..."
"Wait...….."
" What in the name of…."
"What is going on? Am I not dead? How can I think? WTF is going on….am I in a coma? Did they manage to save me? "
"NO! Impossible. There was no way. The blood loss was substantial. And there is no surgeon in the hospital that could even sew up the wound much less get ready for a operation in such a short time. So what the hell is going on???"
Even with millions of questions on his mind there was no answer. Only darkness.
"Wait. Stop. Think."
He tried to calm down only to feel …..Nothing. Hed didn't even feel his body. The feeling was hard to explain. He felt that only his mind was there but other than that….nada, niks, zero.
"What kind of situation is thi...…"
")%&/&/=(/?&%$%&$%/&))=?(//(7776098?09"
Suddenly he was assaulted by something. His whole being almost shattered into nothingness from the pure pressure or whatever it was.
"%&$%&$ ChilD"#$#"
" i &%$/&/ am %$%#$ so %%$$ sorry"
He heard it. Something was speaking to him. It was getting clearer.
"You &%6%$ did nothing wrong"
"%&$ Never suffer %&#$%# Again"
"Be free and $#" Live #$#$ However you wish"
Something pulled him somewhere. He felt it. Unexplainably he could feel accelerating towards something until....
--------------BOOOOOOOOM!!!!!
An earthshattering explosion deep within his soul resonated with the darkness and everything turned white... It was blinding…..
Suddenly he gasped for air.
"Wait...… gasping?"
He felt it he was breathing air again. He could feel his body again. The white screen before his eyes started to clear slowly and beautiful blue sky came into his vision. Taking a deep breath beautiful smells of grass and nature assaulted his senses. Grass touching his neck and ears felt like small hands were caressing him. Slowly feeling his body he sat up. Only now could he finally see where he was. Jonathan stood at the edge of the forest, the morning light spilling like honey through the canopy. Mist clung to the underbrush, curling in silver ribbons between moss-covered roots and ferns that trembled in the breeze. He said nothing—just breathed. Each tree seemed to breathe with him, tall and ancient, their bark patterned like time-worn scrolls. Sunlight broke through in shifting beams, painting the forest floor in gold. Somewhere deep within, a bird called out—a sound so clear, it seemed to echo from another world.
"Where am I….."
Stunned and confused he looked at his own body. His clothes were clean, well-made, and fit him perfectly — clearly not something worn by an ordinary man. But something was wrong these are not modern clothes. Blue pants and a white linen shirt thick leather belt with a small dagger rested at his side, more for show than for fighting. His boots were polished and reached up to his knees, and a fine ring glinted on his finger. Noticing his hands they were not thin and frail. Startled he touched his face. This was definitely not his face. Where are his bones? His face was... normal? Feeling around his head he felt another thing witch should not be there. At least it wasn't there a long time.
"HAIR???"
His hair—his golden hair—hung down in thick waves, catching the light in a way that seemed almost unreal. It was a brilliant shade, like sunlight itself had woven through each strand, glowing faintly even in the shadowed forest. He ran his fingers through it, half expecting it to change, to be the brown or black he was used to. But no. The golden strands slipped through his fingers like liquid sunlight, and he was left staring in disbelief at the untamed mane. How had this happened?
"Wait...it doesn't hurt?"
There was no pain in his body. Nothing. Other than feeling a bit cold from the morning dew there was no discomfort.
Confusion. That is the only thing on his mind right now.
"Ok. Ok. Ok. Calm down. Think logically… I was in a hospital bed. I killed myself that is for sure. And after that I was in a void. Boom. And now I'm here... did I...…did I transmigrate into another body???"
That is the only conclusion to his thinking.
"I mean I read some novels about it even some mysticism books but this is just ridiculous. This is impossible. And where in God's name am I? These clothes….."
Pain! Suddenly pain! Intense and unrelenting. His head was about to split. Flashes of what seems like memories entered his mind and drilled in.
He wakes with the sun filtering through silk curtains, the scent of fresh bread drifting in from the kitchens. Servants dress him, polish his boots, and remind him of the day's lessons—history, swordplay, diplomacy. He studies in quiet halls, walks through rose gardens, and dines beneath chandeliers.
People bow when he passes. His name carries weight, though he's still learning why. He lives with rules—how to speak, how to stand, how to smile when he's bored or angry. At night, he stares at the stars from his window, wondering what the world is like beyond the estate walls.
Everyone tells him what he will become.
But he's still trying to figure out who he is.
„AAAAHHH!"
The memories became even more intense. It didnt stop. It got worse. The memories shifted to something darker.
He wakes late, if he sleeps at all. The sun through the curtains feels too bright, too loud. Servants still come—gentle, careful—but he barely speaks to them anymore. His clothes are laid out, his meals untouched. The lessons continue, but his mind drifts, heavy and slow.
Everything feels distant. His father's talks of duty blur into noise. His mother's smiles feel rehearsed, like lines in a play he was never meant to join. He nods when spoken to. He answers with polite silence. No one seems to notice the weight behind his eyes.
Sometimes he stares out the window for hours, watching people live lives that seem so much lighter. He wonders how they carry themselves so easily, while he sinks deeper every day. The sword in his hand feels heavier than it should. The world feels colder than it is.
He still walks the halls, still plays the part—but it's like wearing a mask that's slowly cracking.
At night, he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to cry, unable to breathe right. He doesn't know what's wrong with him. Only that everything feels wrong.
And though no one sees it, he's drowning in a place where there's no water. Smiling when he must, silent when he can, and hoping—quietly, desperately—that someone might look past the title and ask if he's okay.
And mean it.
The days blurred together. Seasons changed, but inside the manor, it was always the same—the same long halls, the same empty praise, the same quiet ache pressing down on his chest like stone. He laughed less. Spoke less. Thought more.
No one noticed.
They saw his good posture, his nods at the right moments, his clean clothes and polished boots. They called him mature. Disciplined. A future lord.
But inside, he was already fading.
One evening, after another long dinner full of hollow words, he returned to his chamber. He stood by the window, where he used to dream of the world beyond the estate walls. But those dreams had long turned to shadows—things he couldn't reach, things that no longer called to him.
On his desk sat a small glass vial. Not a weapon. Not a cry for attention. Just an answer to the silence that had grown too loud to bear.
He wrote no letter. There were no final words. What was there left to say?
He told no one he was leaving.
The sun had not yet risen when he slipped through the gates, dressed in a plain clothes, boots caked with morning dew. No guards stopped him. No one expected the heir of House Virell to vanish without a word. But by then, even the walls of the estate had become strangers to him—polished, suffocating, full of echoes and eyes that never truly saw.
He walked toward the forest—the one just beyond the edge of the family lands. As a child, he had stared at its dark edge from the garden, imagining beasts and wonder. Now it called to him for different reasons.
The trees welcomed him without question. The further he walked, the quieter the world became. Birdsong above. The soft crackle of twigs underfoot. The hush of wind moving through leaves. It was the first time in years he had felt something close to peace.
He found a small clearing, half-lit by the pale dawn, surrounded by moss-covered stones and the scent of pine. He sat against a tree, took the vial from his coat, and held it in his palm.
It was not a decision made in haste. It had lived in him for a long time—like a slow, gentle rot. He had tried to carry it. Tried to become the person they wanted. But the mask had grown too heavy, and the boy beneath it had withered.
He drank the poison.
It was quiet. There was no pain—only a drifting, like falling into sleep after a long, long journey.
The forest held him as he slipped away.
By the time the estate noticed his absence, the birds had already sung over his body. Wind had woven through his hair. The leaves had covered his footprints, as if the earth itself was trying to protect his final peace.
No monuments would mark the place. No titles would follow him there.
But in the hush between the trees, he was finally free.
„ Hah…..Hah….Hah….."
Jonathan tried to calm his breath. Finaly it stoped. The pain was gone. Finaly calming down he inhaled a deep breath.
„ Huuuuu….Theodore Virell.....Why did you kill yourself? It makes no sense..."
From the memories he absorbed and still lingering in his mind there was no explanation to why his thinking changed so drastically and why his emotions became so dark and muddled something was not right. He searched deeper. The shift was too sudden. Theodore felt like he was isolated. Unimportant. Just some cog in the machine. His emotions were exaggerated. Not in control. The darkness in him just grew. But as Jonathan was looking through the memories it was like a veil of darkness and negative energy obscured Theodore's vision. Granted hi did have a toned down relationship with is parents and siblings but nothing so extreme for suicide. His mother and father loved him he could see it in their eyes. But in Theodore's vision it was cold. Too cold. Even his brothers and sisters were worried for him but he just dismissed it. As his isolation grew so did his dark thoughts take even more control over his emotions until he ended his life and only at the age of 15. Also his thoughts are were too dark for a 15 year old. Strange…. This does not seem like the middle ages something does not add up. Suddenly a sound came from the forest. Jonathan jerked his head towards the rustling.
The trees stirred.
Not with wind this time, but with something quieter—older. Leaves rustled without movement. The light dimmed without clouds.
And then it came.
From the underbrush stepped a creature few had seen, and fewer still believed. Small in stature, but heavy with presence. Its fur shimmered like morning frost—white laced with silver, even glowing faintly. Its ears stood high, twitching at the silence. But it was the horns that caught the light—twin spirals of pale crystal, curling gently from its brow like the antlers of a forgotten god.
It was a horned rabbit.
Jonathan looked at it frozen. Not in fear but shock and absurdity of the creature he was looking at.
A small shiver ran through his spine. Rubbing his eyes thinking it must be an illusion or hallucination
„What the hell..."
It walked with purpose, silent paws pressing into the moss without a sound but its presence was anything but.. Eyes like polished obsidian fixed on the boy beneath the tree—unblinking, unreadable. Jonathan felt breathless like an invisible force was pressing against his chest.
It did not approach at once. It watched.
Its head tilted slightly, as if considering what now lay in the clearing. It sniffed the air, ears flicking once. It looked like is somehow knew. This was no longer the same boy who had come to the forest to die. Something else breathed beneath that skin now—something the rabbit recognized.
No. It was real. It was there.
His throat went dry, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
The rabbit—no, this creature—paused at the edge of the clearing, its large, dark eyes fixing on him with unnerving focus. Black as the void, deep and knowing, as if it could see straight through him. Straight through his soul.
A cold sweat broke out on his skin. Jonathan's pulse raced, his mind reeling.
"Wh-what is this?" he whispered to himself, his voice barely a breath. He couldn't tear his gaze away. His hands shook, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Couldn't even look away from those eyes.
The air felt thick now—heavy, charged with something ancient. The wind had stopped entirely, and for a moment, the forest itself seemed to hold its breath, as though the trees and earth were waiting for something to happen.
The rabbit took a slow step forward, its fur rippling like liquid silver. Every motion was deliberate, measured, as if it were a being far too old to be hurried. Its eyes never left Theodore's face, and for reasons he couldn't explain, the sight of it made him feel small, insignificant, as though this creature had seen the beginning of time itself.
He felt a chill creep up his spine, and for a fleeting second, the weight of everything crushed him. His life, his title, his struggle—it all seemed so meaningless now. He was no more than a passing breeze to this thing, this ancient spirit of the forest.
The rabbit stopped just a few paces away, its head tilting slightly, studying him with that infinite gaze. Jonathan's breath hitched, his chest tightening.
He wanted to move. He wanted to run. But his legs felt frozen, his mind scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. A part of him wanted to laugh at himself—this had to be a hallucination, a trick of the mind. But deep down, he knew it wasn't. This thing—this creature—was real.
And somehow, it seemed to understand him.
For a long moment, neither moved. The forest felt impossibly still, the air thick with the weight of some unspoken understanding. The creature wasn't just watching him—it was waiting. Waiting for something.
And then, as slowly and silently as it had arrived, the rabbit began to retreat. Its horns glinted one final time in the light, and with a delicate flick of its ears, it turned and vanished into the shadows, melting into the forest as if it had never been there at all.
Jonathan sat frozen, his heart still hammering in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened. He blinked—once, twice—his hands trembling.
He didn't know how long he sat there, staring into the empty space where the rabbit had been. His breath came in ragged gasps, his thoughts spinning out of control.
What had just happened? Was he losing his mind?
But there, beneath his confusion and fear, something else stirred—a sense of wonder. A flicker of something ancient, something deep within him that recognized the significance of what he'd just witnessed.
The forest had spoken to him.
And the rabbit had seen him.
„This is not earth….. This is not my world."
Jonathans mind buzzed. How? What? Why? Multiverse? Maybe. God? Also possible. Or not? Too many questions. Too little answers. But the biggest question if all of this was real is….Why me? No answers came. But what did he expect. Well maybe that a status screen would pop up? No? Okay…..
Slowly he started accepting the truth. He Jonathan a normal human from Planet earth had transmigrated into the body of a young noble Theodore Virrel. And not only that. He was now in another world. Jonathan had never believed in the fantastical stories—never entertained the idea of transmigration or reincarnation. They were the stuff of myths and fanfiction, the kind of thing you read to escape your own mundane life. But now…. He is Theodore Virrel now.
„I am Theodore….." he whispered to himself
A small laugh escaped his lips. He looked at his hand body touched his face it just seemed unreal. Its like the hospital bed and his illness was just a bad dream, a nightmare that haunted him for one night and he had woken up feeling amazing and refreshed. But what now…. He remembered everything like Theodore. But he still felt somewhat separated from his life. He was thinking of going far away and just living this new life but allot of information in his head was missing. He absorbed the being that was Theodore but still he had no idea what kind of world this exactly is. Judging from the creature he encountered before….Dangerous. Thinking about it sent shivers down his spine. It looked cute but man that thing had presence. But still he felt great joy for being given another chance.
"Theodore I don't know what drove you to this point in life. But I will try to live a good life instead of you…rest in peace. And thank you."
He offered a small thank you or more like a prayer. He finaly accepted it.
I am Theodore Virell.
Suddenly he heard the crunch of footsteps—heavy, urgent, unmistakable. His heart skipped a beat.
The guards.
Jonathan froze. His body tensed, and for a moment, he thought of running. But he knew it was no use. There was nowhere to hide.
A moment later, three guards appeared through the trees, their eyes scanning the ground, their armor glinting in the fading light. They seemed to move with purpose, and it was clear they were looking for something—or someone.
One of the guards, a man with short-cropped blonde hair and a scar across his cheek, noticed him first. His sharp eyes locked onto Jonathan with a mix of confusion and concern.
"There he is," the man called out, his voice breaking the stillness of the forest.
Jonathan's stomach twisted. They had found him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His hands were trembling, his body stiff with tension."Milord!" the guard with the scar said, rushing toward him. "What are you doing out here? The Duke is worried sick about you! We've searched for hours. You've—"
Jonathan could barely make out the rest of the words, his mind buzzing with static. He didn't know how to explain. How could he explain that he wasn't Theodore? That he didn't belong here?
"I... I needed to be alone," Jonathan finally managed to say, his voice shaking despite himself.
The guard's face softened in concern, but there was still an undercurrent of confusion. "Milord, you've been missing. We thought…" His voice trailed off as he noticed something near Jonathan.
Jonathan glanced down, only now realizing that the vial of poison had slipped out of his hand. The small glass bottle gleamed in the fading sunlight, the liquid inside a deep, dark shade.
"Is that…?" The guard's voice faltered as he saw it too. The poison. Theodore's poison.
Jonathan's heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow. The poison. The very thing he used to end his life
"I… I wasn't—" Jonathan started, his voice cracking. "I didn't drink it."
But the guard was already moving forward, his hand reaching for the vial. "Milord, this is dangerous—"
"You can't do this," the guard said, his tone low and urgent. "Do you understand? Your family—your father, they need you. You don't need this."
The second guard stepped forward, his voice softer now. "Milord… You have a place in this world. A duty. Please don't throw that away."
Jonathan remained silent. He was Theodore Virrel in their eyes, and that was all that mattered. From the memories he remembered the old guardsman. Theodore from the memories was in a dark place but now its all clear. He felt sorrow for the things he had done to make the people who loved him worry.
The first guard—the one with the scar—seemed to notice his distress, and his face softened.
"Milord, we're not here to judge you. We're here to protect you. Please come back with us. The Duke is waiting."
"Please," the second guard urged quietly. "Come home."
The air was still, heavy with the scent of damp earth as the guards, mounted on their horses, trotted in a quiet procession. The only sound was the rhythmic clop of hooves against the mud-soaked path, a sharp contrast to the soft, steady breathing of the young nobleman riding at their center. Teodore Virell, his eyes half-lidded and distant, seemed unbothered by the chill in the air or the sorrowful weight of his recent actions. His golden hair fell loosely over his brow, and his once-pristine attire was now rumpled and stained with the marks of his time spent in the woods.
The guards, though outwardly stern and unyielding, exchanged glances, unsure of how to approach their charge. They had heard of his attempt, but there was something unsettling in the calmness he exuded now. He looked…..calm. As if nothing happened at all. They knew that their young master's mind was in a dark place before…. But now in his blue eyes flickered a strange new light. Curiosity?
"Your Grace," one of the guards called, his voice almost tentative, "we are nearing the castle gates."
Teodore's gaze flickered, as though the words had stirred him from a trance. His lips parted, a quiet sigh escaped before he nodded. His eyes returned to the road ahead, seemingly lost in thought. He knew he had do play his part.
The guard who spoke lingered for a moment, his curiosity piqued. "It was a dark path you chose, my lord," he ventured carefully, "but you've come back to us."
Teodore's lips twitched, just enough to suggest a smile that never fully formed. "I suppose," he murmured, his voice soft, distant.
The guard fell silent, uncomfortable with the deeper meaning in those words. The others said nothing, unsure how to navigate such a delicate silence.
As the procession neared the gates of the castle, the imposing silhouette of the fortress loomed larger. The towering stone walls, dark and cold, seemed to echo the weight of the young nobleman's words.
They passed beneath the great archway, and the heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung open. Inside, the courtyard was eerily quiet, the usual bustle of servants and soldiers reduced to hushed whispers at the sight of Teodore's return.
A familiar figure stood near the castle steps, his face a mask of concern and relief—Lord Roderic Virell, Teodore's father. His sharp eyes were locked on his son, a mix of anger and sorrow flickering beneath his usually composed demeanor.
Teodore did not meet his father's gaze immediately. Instead, he slid from his horse with surprising grace, the movements almost deliberate in their slowness.
"I've returned, Father," he said quietly, his voice still soft but now laced with an edge of something…..unfamiliar.
Lord Roderic's expression hardened, his hands clenched at his sides.
¸I will start to make things right by the people who were hurt by my actions. So….father….what a strange thing to say...Father is first¸
As Theodore stood before him Roderic Virell didn't know how to start the conversation with his son. He knew what he had done or tried to do. The manors alchemist already informed him that someone stole a vail of poison and thinking about the last two years of his sons strange behavior it did not take long to connect the dots.
"Follow me to my study."
Theodore just nodded and did as he was told. This was his new beginning.