The door slammed shut behind me with a heavy wooden thud, and the sharp sound of a metal bolt sliding into place echoed loudly through the tiny, windowless room.
"This is your room," the servant named Ian had spat earlier with open contempt while roughly shoving me inside before I could even react.
The sudden weakness that had crushed my chest in the throne room still had not faded. My legs trembled violently beneath me, and before I could even think about arguing or defending myself, the last of my strength drained from my body.
My vision blurred as darkness slowly swallowed everything.
I collapsed onto the cold stone floor.
When I finally woke up, a painful headache pulsed behind my eyes like a hammer striking my skull.
The freezing, damp floor pressed harshly against my skin through the thin fabric of my hospital gown. A deep chill crept into my bones, and my entire body shivered uncontrollably as I slowly forced myself upright.
The small room around me barely deserved to be called a room.
It looked more like a prison cell carved out of rough stone than a place meant for a human being to live. The narrow space had no windows, no furniture, and barely enough room for me to stretch my legs.
A thin layer of dirty straw had been scattered carelessly across the cold floor.
"So this is my place in this world," I murmured quietly to myself, the bitter words barely escaping my lips.
After taking a moment to steady my shaking body, I slowly pushed the heavy wooden door open.
The smell hit me immediately.
Rotting vegetables, stale smoke, sweat, and old grease mixed together into a suffocating stench that filled the entire corridor.
Servants rushed back and forth through the hallway carrying baskets of food, heavy buckets of water, and trays stacked with dirty dishes.
Watching them move in a constant hurry, I quickly realized something.
This had to be the lowest floor of the castle.
Before I could even take a single step forward, a familiar voice snapped sharply behind me.
"What are you doing?"
I froze.
Ian the head of the servant, stood a short distance away, staring at me with clear irritation and barely concealed disgust.
"It is time to work," he said coldly.
Without waiting for any kind of response, he grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me down the corridor. I struggled to keep my balance as he pulled me along before finally shoving me through a large doorway.
I stumbled into a massive kitchen.
The heat inside was overwhelming.
Huge flames roared beneath enormous iron pots while dozens of servants rushed around the room carrying trays of food, baskets of vegetables, and stacks of plates.
The loud clanging of metal pots and utensils striking against each other echoed endlessly throughout the crowded kitchen.
"Start working," Ian ordered coldly before shoving a rough, dirty rag into my hands.
I slowly lowered myself to my knees and began scrubbing the greasy stone floor.
The thick layer of oil and dirt clung stubbornly to the rough surface beneath me.
Hours seemed to pass.
My body was not built for this kind of brutal labor.
The rough stone floor tore into the skin of my hands again and again until my palms began to bleed.
Even so, I continued working.
I Remembered my mother last wish.
She had told me to live well.
"For her," I whispered quietly to myself as I continued scrubbing the floor despite the pain.
Then the weakness returned.
My chest tightened suddenly, and a wave of pain spread through my entire body.
My breathing became shallow.
My arms trembled violently before finally giving out beneath me.
I collapsed onto the kitchen floor.
The room fell silent.
Servants slowly gathered around me, forming a loose circle as they looked down at my motionless body.
But none of them looked concerned.
Their expressions were filled only with disgust.
"What a useless hero," one servant muttered under his breath.
"The kingdom wasted the summoning," another said with a scoff.
As I lay there on the cold floor, unable to move, another voice suddenly echoed inside my mind.
"My successor."
The voice was deep, ancient, and strangely calm.
Then something impossible happened.
The blood dripping from my torn hands suddenly stopped moving.
Instead of spreading across the dirty stone floor, the crimson liquid slowly began to move backward.
The dark red blood crawled across the ground as if it were alive, returning to my hands.
It slipped back into my skin.
My wounds closed instantly.
Within seconds, my hands were completely healed, perfectly clean as if they had never been injured at all.
The servants stared at me in stunned silence.
Their eyes widened with fear.
The Head Cook slowly stepped backward as if he had just witnessed something unnatural.
No one said a single word.
I looked down at my hands in confusion.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something strange.
A shadow flickered along the far kitchen wall.
Within the darkness, a tall figure stood silently, watching everything.
In that moment, a chilling realization settled in my mind.
I had survived the first hour of my new life in this world.
But I was not alone.
And I was never going to be alone again.