Thud.
The impact against the wooden floor knocked the wind out of him all over again. For a moment he just lay there, tangled in heavy linen sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and smoke, chest heaving in short, frantic bursts.
Can't… breathe…
Scrambling against the bedsheet. Everything felt wrong. The air was too cold, too clean.
This isn't my room. This isn't—
"Where am I?" Foreign words came out, felt alien to him.
He pushed himself up on shaking arms, sheets pooling around his waist. The room spun into focus: stone walls, tapestries with weird crests, a massive fireplace with dying embers, heavy wooden furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. Morning light filtered through leaded glass windows.
Sleepover prank. it Has to be. Those assholes—Jake, Ryan, all of them—they must've drugged me or something— dumped me in some monastery to scare the shit out of me. God, if I ever get my hands on them…
But even as the thought formed, doubt crept in. The details were too real. The weight of the embroidered nightshirt on his shoulders. The ache in his smaller, narrower frame. The way his too-long golden hair fell into his eyes.
He staggered to his feet and nearly tripped over the trailing hem of the nightshirt. There was a polished bronze mirror on the far wall. He lurched toward it.
The face staring back at him was… beautiful. Delicate features, sharp green eyes, long pale-gold hair. A kid. Thirteen, maybe. Noble-looking in a way that screamed old money.
And familiar.
No fucking way.
The name hit him like a truck.
He staggered back from the bronze mirror, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
"Artoria?"
blonde hair, those exact eyes, that regal, untouchable beauty.
This was his face?
His hands flew to his chest first—flat. No weight, no softness. Just the lean muscle of a boy's frame under the nightshirt. Relief hit so hard his knees almost buckled.
Then, with a frantic tug, he lifted the hem of the heavy linen shirt, glancing down.
Thank fuck.
Still there. Small, sure—kid-sized—but definitely male.
He exhaled shakily, letting the fabric fall back into place. "Okay… okay, not Artoria. Definitely a dude." His voice cracked again, higher than he was used to, but at least it was a boy's voice.
He pressed his forehead against the bronze mirror.
staring into those unfamiliar green eyes.
"Who the hell am I, then?"