I don't know how long I sat there on the cold floor, but eventually, I pulled myself up, gripping the edge of the desk for support.
Once I was on my feet, I let myself collapse into the leather chair without a second thought, my eyes drawn back to the letter lying in the center of the desk.
That same letter from the Duke of Manchester—who, as unlikely as it seemed, was now me.
"Why did I even say 'probably'?" I muttered. "As if there's another Duke of Manchester out there!"
I slammed my fist down on the desk, hard enough to make the quill jump, and drew in deep, rapid breaths one after another.
I hated not understanding something. Absolutely hated it.
"Why can't I remember… anything? Not a single proper memory, not even a dream?"
With trembling hands, I picked up the letter again and began reading it for the second time.
I was halfway through when a sharp knock sounded at the door. Knock, knock, knock.
A voice followed, calm and respectful.
"My lord, the House of Lords convenes in two hours."
I froze, staring toward the door in stunned silence, then whispered to myself as always,
"My lord? He called me my lord? That… that was meant for me?"
Another knock.
The warm, elderly voice returned. "My lord, please, you must wake."
Still dazed, I cleared my throat and managed a short reply.
"I'm awake…"
What kind of answer was that?
What if he was an assassin?
No, assassins don't attack people who are already awake!
But… damn it… why was I thinking like this?
Had I always been this way?
Lost in these strange, swirling thoughts, I barely noticed the door opening.
An elderly man stepped in—white hair, white beard, white mustache—dressed impeccably in servant's livery.
I didn't know whether to hide or smile, so I settled for a stern expression, watching him from the corner of my eye.
He smiled gently and bowed his head.
"My lord, you must prepare. The House of Lords begins in two hours."
That was exactly the problem.
The House of Lords. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to act?
How could I speak in a chamber like that when I knew nothing about this impossible world—George V in 1878?
I lifted the letter I'd just reread, slammed it back onto the desk, and said firmly,
"Very well. You may go… I'll dress myself."
The trouble was, I had no idea where the clothes were kept.
The old man simply smiled again, bowed, and withdrew.
Once more, I was alone in this vast room.
But one thing had become certain.
Whatever I'd forgotten—whether amnesia or something else I couldn't name—I was truly a duke.
Not as a joke or some idle pretense. The way that man had spoken to me, the respect in his voice… it confirmed I held real, official rank.
I glanced at the letter once more.
"And I probably know exactly what a duke is… and what my name is."
Slowly, I rose from the chair and walked back to the windows, their heavy curtains still drawn.
I pulled one aside again and studied the city more closely this time.
The rain must have stopped just before I woke; the streets below glistened with fresh wetness.
"Why would it rain in spring…?" I murmured.
Then I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool glass.
"Of course it rains. Why wouldn't it?"
I tilted my head upward—and froze at something utterly astonishing.
A massive airship balloon drifted across the sky.
"This… what…!"
I stumbled back and sank to the floor beneath the window.
"I'm certain now—this world isn't real. It can't be."
My hands trembled again as I stared at them.
But why couldn't it be real?
How would I even know?
Who… who am I?
I was sinking deeper into these thoughts when another knock came. Knock, knock, knock.
I shot to my feet and called out, a little too loudly,
"I'm coming… I'm coming!"
A soft "Yes, my lord" answered from the other side.
I ran a hand through my hair and turned toward the wardrobe and coat rack.
"Right…"
Hanging there was a long, dark navy coat—almost black—with an embroidered "M" on the back.
Why an "M" on the coat?
What did it mean? Or who was it for?
I started toward it when suddenly my muscles seized.
Pain exploded through every fiber of my body, and my vision filled with erratic streaks of red and black.
My legs gave out; I dropped to my knees, then fully to the floor.
My mouth tasted of blood, and my heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped animal.
Those same haunting words echoed in my mind once more.
"You do not belong to this world…!"
"Everything here was never yours…!"
"This world is not for you…!"
I couldn't move. Perhaps this was death.
Then the door opened, my vision went completely black, and I felt only the hard, cold impact against the floor.
───────────────────────────
I felt weightless.
Where was I?
Even I didn't know.
I forced my eyes open with great effort—and faced a scene beyond comprehension, beyond understanding.
Suspended in a vast sea of gray and deep crimson mist.
A strange red glow filtered down from a nearly clear yet ash-gray sky.
A blood-red moon hung in that gray expanse.
I tried to stand, but I only spun slowly in the air.
Why was I floating
Or perhaps the better question: Where was I?
The truth was, I didn't recognize this place at all.
Not in the slightest. Not even a flicker of memory.
Suddenly, the gray and crimson mists parted with unnatural speed.
In an instant, a gigantic black forefinger appeared directly in front of me.
A voice boomed, layered with echoing depth.
"Who are you?"
A good question—one I desperately wanted answered myself.
"I don't know!"
The finger withdrew and opened into a colossal, smoke-like black hand with five fingers spread wide.
Everything seemed almost ordinary—until a deep blue eye snapped open in the center of its palm.
The mists around me shifted; not only gray and crimson now, but swirls of dark blue began forming in the distance, filling this fog-shrouded realm.
And there I was—the only being that could even be called human—floating alone before a monstrous hand of darkness bearing a deep blue eye in its palm.
Was this the right thing to do?
Was it necessary?
Would it change my future?
I didn't know any of those answers.
But standing—floating—before that dark hand with its piercing blue eye felt, in that moment, like the only logical choice I had.