Adrian Augustine — Backstory
Adrian Augustine was never meant to exist.
He was born of a mistake whispered behind closed doors—an Archduke's indiscretion with a maid whose name history chose to forget. By the time Adrian learned to speak, his mother was already gone. No grave. No farewell. Only absence, sharp and unanswered.
The Archduke did not deny the child. That would have required acknowledgment. Instead, he chose something crueller.
Adrian was kept.
Not as a son.
As a servant.
He grew up in the same halls that should have belonged to him, polishing floors his half-siblings walked across without looking down. He learned early how to make himself small, how to stay quiet, how to endure cruelty without flinching. His siblings called him bastard when no one was listening. Sometimes, even when they were.
His father never raised a hand against him.
He never needed to.
Silence did the work well enough.
The only kindness Adrian knew came from an unlikely place—the Crown Prince of Gloricia.
They were children when they met. One born to rule, the other born to serve. Yet somewhere between shared lessons and stolen conversations, a bond formed that defied rank. The prince saw strength where others saw shame. Adrian saw loyalty where the world had offered none.
For the first time, Adrian felt seen.
When he was old enough, Adrian left the estate without ceremony. No goodbyes. No inheritance. He joined the military with nothing but a sharpened blade and a stubborn refusal to break.
War shaped him.
He learned discipline, restraint, sacrifice. Pain became familiar. Fear became fuel. Rank followed—not through privilege, but through blood and resolve. Soldiers trusted him because he never asked of them what he would not endure himself.
By the time the kingdom stood on the brink of collapse, Adrian Augustine commanded the Royal Knights—the most formidable force Gloricia had ever known.
He was loyal. Unwavering. Deadly.
He was still never the hero.
In the story Beyond Our Beliefs, Adrian was a constant presence at the prince's side. The strategist. The shield. The man who walked into danger so the crown would survive.
And then—he died.
Not in battle.
Not gloriously.
He was murdered in his own room, by a comrade whose mind had been twisted by the enemy. There was no warning. No final stand. Just steel where trust had been.
His death shattered the prince.
It was the moment everything changed. The war hardened. Victory came, but it tasted like ash. The prince honored Adrian's memory by ending the conflict—but peace arrived too late for the man who had made it possible.
Adrian Augustine was mourned.
Remembered.
And then forgotten by the world that had never truly claimed him.
Until now.
Because Adrian Augustine was never meant to leave his story.
And yet, somehow, he did.
---
[Return to the present]
Adrian Augustine never asked for help.
Not once in his life.
Which made the words that left his mouth feel foreign—like they belonged to someone weaker. Someone else.
"Wait—s-stop… pl-please." His grip loosened, fingers trembling. "C-can you h-help me?"
Divya froze.
She had been bracing herself to pull away, to raise her voice, to call for help if she had to. But the sound of his voice—unsteady, stripped of arrogance—stopped her cold.
This wasn't acting.
She turned fully to face him.
Up close, his expression wasn't threatening. It was terrified.
"I—I think I got transferred to your world," he said quickly, like he was afraid she'd leave if he paused. "I was in my room. One moment, I was there. The next—here." His breath hitched. "My kingdom is at war. The prince—my best friend—he needs me."
Divya's stomach dropped.
Transferred.
The word echoed in her mind, pulling something loose. In the novel, transfer wasn't metaphorical. It meant being torn from one realm and dropped into another.
She scanned the area instinctively—crowds, vendors, phones, laughter. No hidden cameras. No prank reveal.
Her pulse spiked.
This was ridiculous.
This was impossible.
And yet—
"Do you know how I can go back?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer right away.
His hand was still around her wrist. Not tight. Not threatening. Just… there. Anchoring him.
Running wasn't an option. Not without escalating things.
"Okay," she said carefully. "Okay. Let's… let's go somewhere safer first."
He watched her closely, like a soldier awaiting orders.
"There are people here who help," she continued. "They're called the police. They're not enemies."
"Police," he repeated, uncertain.
"They won't hurt you," she said—hoping that was true.
After a moment, he nodded.
---
Getting him dressed turned out to be its own challenge.
The largest T-shirt the vendor had barely made it over his shoulders. Divya tried not to stare as the fabric stretched dangerously.
"This will have to do," she muttered.
He glanced down at himself, expression unreadable. "Armor would be preferable."
"Yeah. Not an option."
The walk to the police station was tense.
She asked him if he had any form of identification.
"What is… identity proof?" he asked, genuinely confused.
That was when unease tipped into something colder.
---
Inside the station, Divya approached the front desk alone, leaving Adrian near the entrance.
"Um," she began. "There's a man outside. He says he's from another world."
The officer blinked.
She sighed. "He claims he's a fictional character. From a book. He has no ID, doesn't understand basic concepts, and won't leave me alone."
"A grown man?" the officer asked flatly.
"Yes."
She gestured toward the door. "I'll bring him in."
But when she turned back—
"HEY! What do you think you're doing?"
Adrian had another man by the collar, eyes blazing. A watchman was struggling to pry him off.
Divya's heart slammed into her ribs.
"Let him go!" she shouted.
Adrian released the man instantly.
The stranger stumbled back, pale and shaken. The watchman shoved Adrian away. "Are you insane?"
"I—he grabbed me," Adrian said stiffly.
Divya stepped between them. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "He's not well."
The man said nothing. He didn't need to.
When the watchman backed off, Divya rounded on Adrian.
"What is wrong with you?" she hissed. "I asked you to stay put."
"He touched me," Adrian said quietly. "I reacted."
She exhaled sharply. "This isn't a battlefield. You can't do that here."
"…I'm sorry," he said.
The word was barely audible.
She paused. There was something in his eyes then—regret. Real, heavy regret.
"Come on," she muttered. "And don't speak unless I tell you to."
---
Back inside, the officer listened again. His expression shifted from amusement to mild irritation.
"In that case," he said finally, "you can file a report. We'll look into it."
"That's it?" Divya asked. "You're not taking him in?"
"He's an adult," the officer replied. "We're not a shelter."
Divya clenched her jaw but said nothing.
She filled out the report in silence.
Beside her, Adrian sat stiffly, hands folded, gaze fixed on the floor. Smaller somehow. Less like a warrior. More like a man who had lost everything familiar.
When she finished, she glanced at him—just once.
This man, who claimed to be a character from her favorite novel, was sitting here.
Powerless.
Lost.
And for reasons she couldn't yet explain, walking away no longer felt simple.
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