A fierce gust of cold wind howled outdoors, swirling through the darkness of the night sky. The late hour of the night, however, found the master bedchamber of Castle Deepvein at the heart of the town aglow.
On the big bed, a black-haired, chubby boy, no more than ten years old, lay unconscious. Next to the bed, Philip, the butler of the castle, walked back and forth, glancing between the boy and the priest who was attending to him.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the priest stepped back, wiping his forehead. Philip's anxiety overcame him. "Father Anderson, how is the young master?" he inquired, his voice trembling.
The priest's face was serious. "Philip, I must apologize. The herbs we've administered and the holy water seem to have had no effect on Master Eugene's condition. I have one last recourse, but I need your permission."
"Which procedure do you recommend?" Philip's heart sank at the priest's tone.
"Bloodletting," replied Father Anderson sternly. "I learned from a traveling medicine man. It is a treatment which has been effective in some diseases throughout the Eshadian Empire and Zolux Kingdom."
At the mention of bloodletting, Philip's gut twisted. "Bleeding?" he echoed, the weight of decision upon his shoulders. After a moment of hesitation, Philip steeled himself. "Very well, Father Anderson. Do what you need to do."
May the Lord of Light protect us," the priest whispered, his hands up in supplication. He instructed Philip to bring him a brass basin and then pulled out a sharp knife from his satchel. Carefully, he moved the boy's arm out from under the covers, ready to make the cut.
As the knife brushed against the boy's skin, Father Anderson felt a jolt of pain beneath his fingertips, hard and rhythmic. Startled, he paused, observing the boy intently.
Slowly, the boy's eyelids creaked open.
"Bless the Lord of Light!" Philip and Father Anderson exclaimed in unison, relief written on their faces.
"Oh my god, what smells so bad?" the boy groaned, bewildered, his voice barely above a whisper.
When he came fully to, Eugene sat up, confusion written on his face.
Eugene Lionheart was an ordinary programmer, a man who passed his leisure time reading online books. He'd often bemoaned the niche type of books that he read, their creators often abandoning the stories half-finished. Angry with the situation, he sat down to write his own book, determined to finish something others had begun but abandoned halfway. His tale would be one that mixed magic and technology, a tale in which the hero would rise from nothing through knowledge and need.
After all those months of preparation, he had finally settled down to write. But the words hadn't flowed as easily as he had hoped. Frustrated with working on writer's block, he had fallen asleep at his desk, dreaming of the world he envisioned he was to create.
Now, taking stock, he was amazed at the opulence that surrounded him—luxuriant carpets, well-crafted furniture, and ornate decorations. This was the hero of the main character's bedroom in his story.
"Where am I? Why is my body sticky?" he mumbled, his voice sounding strange even to him.
"Master, you're in your bedroom," Philip replied, rushing to his side. "You've been unwell, and Father Anderson has been caring for you."
"Master? Who are you?" Eugene asked, his mind racing.
Philip glanced at Father Anderson, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "He doesn't remember," he said quietly.
"Don't worry, it's common to experience temporary amnesia after a coma," Father Anderson reassured him. "With rest and care, your memories should return."
Eugene took a deep breath, trying to process this bizarre turn of events. He had somehow crossed into his own story, a fantasy world where he was now the protagonist. "So, I'm Eugene Lionheart, right?" he asked, testing the name on his tongue.
"Yes, Master Eugene," Philip assured, relief crossing his face.
As he continued with his examination, Eugene himself felt a spark of hope. If he was in this world, as he was told, then perhaps he could control his own fate. He did not know anything about this new life, but he still had the language. The possibility of amnesia could be his shield against suspicion.
Thanks, thank you,\" Eugene said, a sense of thankfulness surging up inside him for the priest and butler.
"It is our job," Philip replied with a polite bow. "Rest well. If you want something, simply ring the bell cord by your bed.".
As Philip left the room, Eugene snuggled under the quilt, his mind reeling. He was in a new world, one that he had imagined. The possibilities were endless, but he needed a survival strategy.
With determination building inside of him, Eugene closed his eyes. He needed to adapt, study the rules of this world, and perhaps, possibly, be the hero he always wanted to be.