A weary figure sat on a wooden bench, his haunted eyes fixed on the orange sea waves. The sunset reflected on the clear water, creating a beautiful dance of colors.
Children's laughter faded at a distance as soon as their mothers called for them. An elderly couple strolled along the shore, their hands intertwined and soft, wrinkled smiles on their faces. Everyone appeared at ease. After a decade, he too felt a sense of relaxation.
Witnessing sunsets had never been part of his routine. After working three jobs a day, exhaustion would take over him, and his body could no longer resist sleep. Today was different; he finally settled his debts.
Now, he could rest, leave his demanding jobs, and pursue his desires. He leaned back as the cool breeze caressed his skin. He sighed and pulled out his only possession: a worn book, his constant companion. He had bought it years ago, drawn in by the vibrant cover and its low price, and it had captured his heart.
The novel follows Evren Draven, the main protagonist, who embarks on various adventures and defeats demons along the way. The character he liked the most was Evren, but the one he despised the most was Arzoth Draven. Arzoth was an arrogant bastard. The younger prince from another mother, always trying to get in the way of the great Evren. The man, cruel and arrogant in his interactions with others, abandoned his illegitimate child, his daughter, in the dimly lit basement, leaving the innocent life to fend for itself, all to preserve his own tarnished reputation.
A CHILD!
That same child grew up to kill the man, which suits him. He put the book down after reading the final note from the author. After years of hardly having time to sleep, he finally finished the book today. The elderly couple retreated; the place was now empty and dark. The water still made soothing noise, now reflecting the moon.
A Sudden, sharp sting in his chest made him wince. He closed his eyes tightly. Instinctively pressing his hands to his chest, he realized how much it hurt. He rolled down the bench, getting on his knees. He wanted to scream but couldn't. There was no one around to hear his muffled gasps. Breathing became a struggle before his body completely relaxed. His death was here, and he had no control over it. No final prayers or words escaped his lips, there was no one to listen to them anyway. He was born alone, and he will die alone. Everything faded into black until a warm, bright light embraced his soul.
****
He stirred in his unconsciousness on an unfamiliar, soft mattress. The warm sunlight danced on his face. Adjusting to the bright light, he opened his eyes, examining the alien surroundings. The soft bed beneath him felt nothing like the worn-out mattress he used in his small apartment. He marveled at the soft cotton-like blanket draped around his lower body. The age-old blankets he used all his life were now gone. Instead of the rough, worn clothes on his skin, he felt soft, rich silk. He looked around the alien place.
The room was spacious, screaming luxury and royalty. It was strange how one moment he was on that wooden bench, experiencing the worst pain of all, and the next moment there was none. He reached out to his chest and felt no pain there. He remembered the exhaustion, the air knocked out of his lungs, his body going limp. He died; he knew it. But it was the unfamiliar place that left him scratching his head.
"Where am I? I was supposed to be dead. Afterlife? Perhaps." He thought.
The door opened, and a lady entered. He wasn't expecting anyone to enter, let alone a woman who looked like she was in her late fifties, dressed in a formal long black dress reaching up to her feet. The long sleeves of the dress were puffed from her shoulders to her biceps, after which it was skinny fabric that clung to her skin. Over the simple dress, the woman wore a plain white apron, ending at her knees. Her hair was done in a neat, elegant bun, without a single strand of hair misplaced. She halted in the centre of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, her movements were practiced and graceful. The woman bowed, her eyes flittering close before she looked up at him, her eyes exhausted and hesitant.
"Your highness, the breakfast is ready. Please get ready and head to the dining area. Everyone is waiting for your arrival." Her voice was soft yet firm. But what caught the man off guard was the title she used to address him.
He blinked twice. "Your highness?"
"Who are you? And why are you calling me that?" His eyes widened. The voice that had escaped his throat did not sound like him. This wasn't the voice he recognized, at least not the drained-energy one he knew. He touched his throat, as if searching for some pain or soreness, but instead touched a smooth, flowless skin which wasn't his own.
He yanked the blanket off his form and stood on the clean, spotless floor. He didn't mind the slippers kept near the bed and took quick, large steps towards the giant mirror placed in the right corner. His steps halted in front of it, and the reflection he saw was not him but someone else. He touched his face and realized his hair had transformed, now silver in colour, flowing down his shoulders. He hadn't noticed it until now, along with the much younger appearance of his skin. His blue eyes were a stark contrast to the dark brown ones he had lived with all his life.
"It can't be."
The woman stared at him for a moment, her gaze following his movements, but she couldn't process the man's strange behavior and question. She decided to voice her reply, trying to keep her tone as composed as she could.
"I am Alvi, Your Highness." She hesitates, "And you are the prince of Eldrakai, it's only becoming of me to address you as such."
The man looked at Alvi, his posture tensed, and his breath caught in his throat.
"Alvi? Eldrakai?" he repeated those names over and over again in his mind. Eldrakai was the place where Evren was born, where he grew up along with his siblings, where he ruled, and where the setting of the novel he read was situated. It was a fictional world, of course - there was no way it could be real. He looked at the mirror again, his white hair and lavish clothes. It was a far cry from his usual appearance. A slow, uneasy realization drew on his face as he reached out to touch his reflection in the mirror.
"Did he enter the…..novel?" The thought was almost laughable, and yet so terrifying. If he were truly inside the novel, with his white hair, and Alvi, here in his room.
"What is my name?" He knew the answer, but he still hoped that it wasn't. Prayed that she would say some random name, but not the one he was thinking of. Alvi looked taken aback, she probably thinks he is gone insane if he wasn't before, yet her posture never wavered.
"Arzoth Draven, Your Highness." She answered.
He cursed under his breath. "This is a nightmare. It has to be!"
His heartbeat quickened; he felt relief at being alive and dread at having become someone he hated the most.
No matter how long he stared at the mirror, the white hair dude refused to vanish. Alvi hesitated, unsure what new tricks the prince was playing at, "Your highness, the meal." He turned around to face her directly. His posture remained tense, his throat going dry, but he forced a reply, "Yeah, I'll be there."
Alvi gave a curt nod before she bowed her head and left the room. The door closed right after she left, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He sat on the bed, feeling the soft mattress again. He gazed down at the floor.
"Arzoth Draven, huh?"
This was worse than the nightmare; he never signed up for this, and yet he had no choice. That's right, he wasn't going to let Arzoth's horrible reputation weigh him down. He now has a second chance at life, he will make the best use of it. He knows the story, nothing can go wrong.
His stomach growled. He hadn't consumed anything other than those cheap cup noodles and water several hours back. Normally, he would have ignored it; skipping meals was something he had mastered. But this time, he won't ignore it, because he is not his previous self. He is Arzoth Draven, a prince. Princes have no reason to skip meals.
He stood up and searched for the wardrobe inside the room. When he found the massive walk-in closet beside the mirror itself, he was stunned by the sheer volume of luxurious clothes stored for one person. After browsing through the clothes, he finally selected an outfit and got ready. The soft fabric felt strange and unfamiliar, yet it was not unwelcome.
"It's time to meet them."