If a man loses his past self, does he also lose the right to his own pain? Perhaps memory is not a record of what happened, but a measure of what we can endure before we break.
The ballroom was alive with light. Crystal chandeliers floated near the ceiling without any chains to hold them, spinning slowly and casting prisms of blue and gold across the floor. The air smelled of roasted fowl and expensive perfumes.
Adrian stood by the entrance, clutching the hem of his mother's velvet dress. He was seven years old and the world seemed enormous.
"Go on," his mother said softly. She smoothed his hair down, her fingers warm and gentle. "You cannot stay attached to my leg all night, little wolf."
His father laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound that made Adrian feel safe. "Let the boy breathe, Elara. But she is right, Adrian. Go make friends. The alliances we forge today last a lifetime."
Adrian nodded obediently and stepped into the crowd. He did not care about alliances. He mostly just wanted one of the honey cakes the waiters were carrying on silver floating trays.
He navigated through the forest of tall legs and rustling skirts until he found a quiet corner away from the noise. He stopped. Someone was already there.
A girl sat on a velvet stool. She looked about his age, perhaps a year younger. She wore a dress of black lace that looked too heavy for her small frame. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, and she stared at the floor with an intensity that frightened him.
Adrian forgot about the honey cakes. He walked over to her.
"Hello," he said.
The girl did not look up. She did not even blink.
"My name is Adrian," he tried again. "Do you want to play tag? The hall is big enough if we dodge the waiters."
The girl finally raised her head. Her eyes were red, contrasting sharply with her pale skin. She looked at him as if he were a nuisance, like a fly buzzing near her ear.
"Go away," she whispered. Her voice was cracked and dry.
Adrian frowned. He had been taught that nobles were supposed to be polite. "You look sad. Why are you sad at a party?"
"I am not sad," she said, though her lip trembled. "I am busy."
"Busy doing what?"
"Thinking."
"That sounds boring." Adrian looked around. He saw a waiter passing by and quickly snatched a small sugar flower from a tray. He held it out to her. "Here. Sugar makes thinking easier."
The girl looked at the white flower in his palm. She hesitated. Slowly, her hand reached out and took it. She did not eat it. She just held it, twirling the stem between her fingers.
"Watch this," Adrian said.
He concentrated. It was difficult for him at this age, but he focused on the small ring on his finger, a toy his father had given him. He channeled a tiny bit of mana. A small, illusory butterfly, no bigger than a coin, fluttered out of the ring. It glowed with a faint green light.
The butterfly landed on the sugar flower in the girl's hand.
For a second, the gloom cracked. The girl's eyes widened. A small giggle escaped her lips. It was a light, musical sound, brief and fleeting.
"It tickles," she said.
"It likes you," Adrian beamed.
Then, the butterfly faded. As the light vanished, so did the smile on the girl's face. The heavy curtain of gloom fell back over her. She dropped the sugar flower onto the carpet and pulled her knees up to her chest, building a wall between herself and him.
"You should go," she said, her voice cold again. "Leave me alone."
"But—"
"Adrian! Come on!"
Adrian turned. Three other boys were waving at him from near the buffet tables. They were laughing and pointing at a juggler.
He looked back at the girl. She had buried her face in her knees. He wanted to say something else, to bring that giggle back, but he did not know how. He was just a child.
"Coming!" Adrian yelled back to the boys. He ran off, leaving the girl in the shadows.
Later that night, as their carriage rumbled over the cobblestones, Adrian sat between his parents. The carriage was warm, heated by the glowing runes etched into the floorboards.
"I met a girl," Adrian said. "She was strange. She would not play."
His father's expression grew serious. He exchanged a look with Adrian's mother.
"Was she wearing black?" his mother asked gently.
"Yes."
"That was likely the Duke's daughter," his father said, his voice lowering. "Her father passed away last week, Adrian."
"Was he old?" Adrian asked.
"No," his father said, looking out the window at the passing gas lamps. "He was sick. A sudden, terrible sickness that strikes only the powerful."
There was a weight in his father's tone that Adrian did not understand then, but he felt the danger of it.
"She looked very lonely," Adrian murmured.
His mother pulled him into a hug, kissing the top of his head. "You have a good heart, my love. The world is a hard place. We must protect that heart."
Adrian leaned into her warmth. He closed his eyes and made a silent promise. Next time he saw that girl, he would make sure she didn't have to be alone.
The memory dissolved into the gray morning mist.
Adrian stood before the massive iron gates of the city. He was eighteen now. The softness of his childhood face was gone, replaced by sharp angles and a jaw that was currently set in stone.
He adjusted the collar of his coat. It was a simple traveler's coat, not the silk he was used to.
Behind him, the city of Oakhaven rose into the sky. It was a sprawling mix of the old and the new. Ancient stone castles sat next to towers of glass and steel. Mana conduits ran like glowing blue veins along the fortress walls, powering the defenses that had stood for a thousand years.
A crowd had gathered at the gate. They were commoners, merchants, and guards. They did not block his path, but they lined the sides of the road.
"Young Master Adrian, please don't go!" an old woman cried out, clutching a basket of bread.
"Who will protect the trade district?" a man shouted. "The other lords do not care about us!"
Adrian did not stop walking. He kept his gaze fixed on the black carriage waiting for him outside the city limits. His face was a mask of calm authority. He acknowledged them with a curt nod, nothing more. If he spoke, the mask might crack.
Three months.
It had been three months since he woke up in this bed with a fever that should have killed him. It had been three months since the memories of a man from Earth merged with the soul of Adrian, the heir to the House of Valerius.
He knew this world. He had played the game on a screen in another life. He knew the history of the six Great Noble Houses. He knew the secret plots and the location of hidden treasures.
But knowledge did not stop the pain.
When he merged with Adrian, he didn't just get facts. He got feelings. He remembered the warmth of his mother's hug from that carriage ride. He remembered his father's laugh. He loved them. The love was woven into his very DNA.
And that was why the betrayal burned like acid.
He reached the carriage. The driver, a silent man hired from the guild, opened the door.
Adrian paused. He looked back at the city one last time. His eyes drifted up to the high spires of the Valerius estate, piercing the clouds.
The expulsion had not been a grand conspiracy. There were no assassins, no framed crimes. It was simpler and crueler than that.
They just stopped loving him.
Over the last few years, the warmth he remembered had turned into ice. His parents looked at him with indifference. His siblings treated him like a stranger. When the decree came to strip him of his title and exile him, his father had signed the paper without looking up from his desk. His mother hadn't even come to say goodbye.
It made no sense. In the game lore, the House of Valerius was a beacon of honor. In his memories, they were loving.
Why?
The question gnawed at his gut, but he pushed it down. He was not just the Adrian who cried over a lost toy anymore. He was also the man from Earth who had lived a hard life, who knew that sometimes, there are no answers.
He had begged. He had pleaded. He had tried to prove his worth. They crushed his heart until there was nothing left but dust.
"Are you ready, sir?" the driver asked.
Adrian let out a long breath. The white vapor vanished in the cold air.
He felt the fracture in his chest, the deep wound where his family used to be. It hurt. It would always hurt. But he would cauterize it.
"Yes," Adrian said. His voice was steady. Cold. "Drive."
He stepped into the dark interior of the carriage. He did not look back at the crying crowd or the towering spires.
From this moment on, Adrian Valerius was dead. The man sitting in the carriage had no father, no mother, and no home. He had only the road ahead, the terrifying knowledge of the future, and a will of iron.
The door slammed shut, sealing him away from his past.