I tried—once, twice—to wake up. To drag myself out of the endless white void and back to reality. Back to my cramped apartment, my too-small bed, the familiar suffocating weight in my chest.

  But when my eyes finally opened…

  I wasn’t home.

  The bed I lay in was massive—easily big enough for five people. The mattress was soft, the sheets impossibly smooth. This wasn’t my bed. Hell, this wasn’t my life.

  And yet, I didn’t panic.

  No gasping for air. No clutching my chest, waiting for my heart to stop trying to kill me. For the first time in years, I woke up without feeling like I was drowning.

  But why?

  Why—

  The thought shattered when I saw my hands.

  My breath hitched. My eyes went wide. So did my mouth, my nostrils—every part of me frozen in silent horror.

  Because the thing I raised in front of my face wasn’t my hand.

  It was a stick.

  Thin, frail, the skin stretched too tight over sharp, bony knuckles. Veins bulged like they were trying to claw their way out. It didn’t even look real—more like a prop from some horror movie.

  But it moved when I told it to.

  My stomach flipped. My throat closed up.

  This… this couldn’t be mine.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Am I hallucinating?

  I tore the white blanket off—and what I saw made my stomach drop once again.

  It wasn’t just the hands.

  These legs… God, my legs were the same. Thin, skeletal things stretched tight with pale, papery skin. Like a corpse someone had forgotten to bury.

  My chest rose and fell too fast, heart pounding against bones that shouldn’t be mine.

  What the hell is this?

  I tried to think—tried to make sense of it. Coma? Maybe I’d been in a hospital bed for years, wasting away… but no. This room—this wasn’t a hospital. The walls were stone, the furniture heavy and ornate. Medieval, almost, though there was just enough of a modern touch to throw me off. Elegant, old… and nothing like any place I’d ever seen.

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  I swallowed hard and tried to speak.

  “Wha—”

  The sound that came out wasn’t even a word. Just a rasp of pain. It was dry—so dry it felt like it might crack open if I forced another sound.

  Before I could try again, I heard it—noise from outside the room. Loud. Sharp. Voices rising in the unmistakable rhythm of murmurs, or even cheers.

  Something was happening.

  And I had no idea where I was, whose body this was, or how in the world I’d ended up here.

  I had to move.

  The problem was this body. These stick-thin legs looked like they’d snap if I so much as sneezed. And my hands—if you could even call them that—weren’t much better. But I didn’t have a choice.

  I grabbed the edge of the bed, my bony fingers curling around the sheets as I tried to push myself upright. My arms shook, my knees wobbled, and for a second, I thought I was going right back down—

  But somehow, I stood. Barely.

  That was another confirmation: I was alive. If you could call this living.

  The noise outside grew louder the closer I got to the window—shouts, the sharp clatter of something metal. Urgency bled through the walls, and curiosity pushed me forward. I needed to see what was happening.

  But this body had other ideas.

  My foot caught on the floor. My balance tipped, and before I could stop it—

  Blag!

  Face. Meet floor.

  “Shi—” The word cut off in a hiss of pain, my throat too dry to finish.

  I stayed there a second, my face pressed against cold floor, and for a moment, I just lay there, feeling the sheer patheticness of it all. Walking shouldn’t be this hard.

  But I didn’t have time to wallow. The noise outside hadn’t stopped. If anything, it was getting worse.

  So I did the only thing I could.

  I crawled.

  Dignity was a problem for later. Right now, I needed answers—and that window was the fastest way to get them.

  Climbing the chair damn near killed me.

  It wasn’t just big — it was massive, carved from dark wood and built like a throne. And me? I was… whatever this body was. Weak. Shaky. The kind of thin that made me wonder if a stiff breeze could snap me in half. By the time I finally hauled myself up, my vision blurred at the edges, and my chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

  I gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. My lungs burned, every breath shallow and ragged, and for a second, I thought I was gonna puke.

  This body’s worse off than I thought.

  But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

  Using the chair for balance, I reached for the wide stone ledge beneath the window and dragged myself up. The cold bit into my skin, and my arms trembled so hard I almost slipped. But I made it — barely.

  And when I looked outside… everything stopped.

  Knights. Actual, honest-to-god knights.

  They stood in formation below, armored and armed, their polished steel gleaming under the sun. I recognized the shape of swords at their waists, the heavy shields strapped to their backs — but these weren’t museum pieces. They looked ready for war.

  Then there was the carriage.

  It was huge, bigger than any vehicle I’d ever seen, and made of dark wood and shining metal. Ornate, expensive. The kind of thing royalty would ride in. The driver — coachman, right? — sat rigid at the front, reins in hand. The horses were massive too, powerful and sleek, with armor covering their heads and chests.

  And the flag…

  It fluttered above the carriage, a rich fabric bearing a golden emblem. I squinted at the shape — something round, almost like… bread? No, that couldn’t be right. But whatever it was, it was the first time I’d seen anything like it.

  My mind raced. Knights? Royal carriages? This wasn’t some historical reenactment. This was real — too real.

  Where the hell am I?

  A monarchy, maybe? Some old-fashioned country clinging to tradition? That made sense — or at least, it would’ve.

  If I hadn’t died.

  Because I had died. I was sure of it. I remembered the sleep, the blackness — the way everything just stopped. So what in the world was this?

  Reincarnation?

  The thought hit me hard, and my breath caught.

  Damn.

  Was that even possible?

  I stared down at the scene below, mind spinning. The knights. The carriage. The golden flag.

  If this was some monarchy type of country — and it sure looked like one — and they looked like they were headed straight for this estate. Which raised a much bigger question: who in the world was I right now?

  I hadn’t gotten a good look at myself yet, but the clues weren’t great. The stick-thin limbs. The short height. The way standing felt like it might actually kill me.

  This has to be a kid’s body. A weak, fragile one at that.

  Before I could dig deeper into that disturbing thought, the door behind me groaned.

  Creak.

  My head snapped toward the sound just in time to see it open — and a figure stepped inside. A woman. Dressed in white, the fabric crisp and familiar in a way that took my brain a second to catch up on.

  A maid.

  The word clicked just as she spotted me. Her eyes went wide.

  “Young master!” she gasped — and then she rushed toward me.

  I froze. Half because moving still felt like a terrible idea, and half because — Young master?

  Me? This frail mess of a kid?

  The title slammed into my thoughts, dragging a whole new wave of questions with it. I’d read enough to know what it meant — a formal address for the son of someone powerful. Nobility. Wealth. Influence.

  And considering the massive room I was in — all gold trim and rich colors, with furniture that screamed “expensive” — it tracked.

  Then there w

  as the carriage outside. The knights. And now this maid, running toward me like I was the center of the damn universe.

  What kind of life did I just wake up into?