A young man was walking slowly along the edge of the road when he noticed an old woman.
She was hunched over, holding a bundle of papers, her tired eyes darting left and right.
He approached her without hesitation.
"Do you need help, Grandma?"
She lifted her head with difficulty and gave a shaky smile.
"Ah… thank you, my boy… Could you help me look for my grandson?"
She handed him the papers.
They were pictures of a young boy.
Pointing at the trembling photo between her fingers, she said,
"He disappeared… some time ago… He must be lost… he must be waiting for me…"
He stared at the photo for a long time.
He knew the truth.
The boy in the picture… had died two months ago.
Yet he said nothing.
He lowered his head slightly.
"It's okay, Grandma… I'll help you."
He walked with her for a while, showing her faces, asking passersby, even though he knew no one would tell her what she wanted to hear.
She smiled at him whenever he glanced her way.
Finally, she spoke gently,
"Thank you for helping me look for my grandson."
He nodded.
"It's okay, Grandma… Alright, take care."
He walked away slowly.
He sighed.
"She really saddens me… her grandson is dead… but because of Alzheimer's, she thinks he's missing… I'm only helping out of pity."
He looked at the papers still in his hand.
He stopped.
Then he tore them and threw them into a nearby bin.
"In the end… he's a dead man. I'm not crazy to search for the dead."
He turned to cross the road.
And at that moment—
A bright light surged toward him.
A man shouted.
A truck was coming fast.
His eyes widened.
"No… no, no… I can't… I can't die like this!"
His feet froze.
The sound drew closer.
"I was a good boy… so why die like this?!"
Everything slowed down.
The screech of brakes.
A white light engulfed his vision.
Then—
Darkness.
"… What… where am I?"
Darkness surrounded him on all sides.
Then—
A thin thread of light crept through the gloom.
He opened his eyes slowly.
An old wooden ceiling, uneven planks, faint strands of dust hanging down.
The scent of damp wood mixed with the cold morning air.
He tried to move—
But the bed creaked sharply, protesting the slightest motion.
He froze.
He looked around.
A shabby wooden room.
Unpainted walls.
A small window letting in weak light.
A thick, coarse blanket.
"This isn't from our era…"
He sat up slowly, each movement causing the bed to groan.
He shifted slightly, and the creak echoed through the room.
His breathing quickened.
"Is this a dream? … No… it can't be a dream."
He raised his hand in front of his eyes.
It wasn't his hand.
Longer fingers.
Different skin.
Rough joints.
"But… what brought me to this strange place?"
Suddenly—
A mild pain struck his head.
Then came the images.
Memories that weren't his.
An accident.
A broken carriage.
Blood on the road.
A man and a woman… motionless.
Then two crying children.
The memories flooded more.
A boy who lost his mother and father in an accident.
Only his brother remained.
A name echoed in his mind.
Aemon Devallia.
"… My name… is Aemon Devallia."
He whispered slowly.
According to memory… the body he now inhabits was a student at an academy.
And the one supporting them is their father's friend.
He had an older brother.
I must get out. I feel uncomfortable lying on this bed.
"Alright… I'll get up."
He put his feet on the floor.
As soon as he stood—
The wooden floor shook under his weight, emitting a faint creak.
He looked down.
"What is this old house… Was I meant to find myself a poor man? If only I had entered the body of a rich family's son…"
Silence.
"But what should I do now…"
Before he could finish the thought—
The door suddenly opened.
He spun around.
A tall young man stood at the entrance.
Dark black hair.
Clear blue eyes.
Strikingly symmetrical features.
A calm yet sharp presence.
In a moment, he realized the truth.
James.
The older brother of this body.
James looked at him steadily, then said,
"Finally awake, huh?"
He hesitated a little, then replied,
"Ah… yes."
He paused, then added,
"Do you have something you want to say?"
James watched him quietly, then spoke in a calm but direct tone,
"Did you feign illness to avoid the test?"
The test…
The word triggered a new memory.
According to the original body's memory—
This was a test to determine if a person was among the chosen…
Or rather, among those with supernatural powers.
They went to the temple.
A ritual was performed.
And if chosen… you gain…
But the details… were unclear.
His thoughts scattered.
Suddenly—
"Are you ignoring me?"
James's voice pierced his mind.
He shook his head quickly.
"No… I was just lost in thought."
James sighed lightly.
"Alright. We must go. Uncle Simon shouldn't be overworked."
A pause, then he continued,
"He raised us after our parents died. He even paid for the test… though the temple doesn't give him much money, despite his hard work."
His gaze fixed on him.
"So be careful not to disappoint him."
Then he turned and left.
The door closed.
He remained standing in place.
James… was completely different from Aemon.
James already had power.
But Aemon—
Was a burden.
Always quarreling.
Always causing trouble.
Tiring Uncle Simon for no reason.
He lowered his gaze to the shaking floor beneath his feet.
"At this rate… I won't be able to live with them if I remain as Aemon was."
He lifted his head slowly.
"The first thing I must do… is learn about this world properly."
But at that moment—
His stomach growled loudly.
He froze for a second, then placed his hand on his abdomen.
"Oh… really? Am I hungry now?"
He sighed lightly.
The sensation was very real.
Not a fleeting hunger in a dream… but a genuine, slightly painful emptiness.
"Alright… I need to eat. After food, I'll search for the history of this ancient world."
He wiped his face with his hands, as if preparing himself.
"Alright… I think I'm ready now."
He headed to the door, grabbed the handle, and opened it.
The moment he stepped outside—
The world before him was nothing like his old one.
A cobblestone street, unevenly laid.
The sound of hooves striking the ground in steady rhythm.
Wooden carts pulled by horses passed slowly, wheels grinding against the stones.
The air carried mixed scents…
Fresh bread, faint tobacco, and road dust.
He looked around slowly.
Men wore simple long coats.
Women wore modest dresses and head coverings.
Children ran through narrow alleys.
It was completely different from his world.
"Interesting… in a way."
It wasn't advanced, nor did it have the modern touches he was used to…
But it was alive.
His eyes stopped on a small shop across the street.
A dark wooden facade.
A simple glass window behind which neatly arranged loaves sat.
"How beautiful… that bakery… as I remember."
He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the body's memory.
"Alright… I think it's the one."
He crossed the street carefully, avoiding a slowly passing cart.
As he opened the shop door, a small bell above it rang.
The warm smell of bread hit his nose immediately.
A gentle warmth, contrasting with the cold outside.
The place was simple, yet organized.
Wooden shelves held loaves of various sizes.
A basket of apples in the corner, pale red but tempting.
He approached the front table.
A middle-aged woman emerged from behind an inner curtain.
Her features calm, eyes showing the fatigue of a day's work.
"May I know what you would like?"
He glanced at the loaves.
"I'd like a loaf of bread."
He paused, then added,
"No harm in an apple… it looks delicious. I'd like an apple too."
She smiled lightly.
"Alright, here you go."
She placed the loaf in a coarse paper bag, then carefully chose an apple and placed it with him.
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out cold silver coins.
Handed them to her.
She took the coins, producing a faint metallic clink as they hit each other.
"Thank you for your purchase."
He nodded.
"Thank you."
He left the shop, the bell ringing behind him again.
He stood by the roadside.
Opened the bag slightly.
Light steam rose from the bread.
He broke off a small piece and tasted it.
The flavor was simple…
But warm.
He looked at his remaining coins.
Counted them quietly.
"Twenty silver pieces…"
He paused for a moment.
"That's more than enough for me to manage."
He raised his gaze to the street once more.
He tightened his grip on the bag.
The next step in his mind was clear—
Books.
History.
Understanding.
Because if he was truly going to live here…
He wouldn't live ignorant.