Pain. Sharp, insistent, pounding behind his eyes like a blacksmith's hammer. Kaito groaned, consciousness returning reluctantly, dragging him from a deep, unsettling darkness. He felt… wrong. His head throbbed with a deep ache that wasn't just lack of sleep. He was lying on something soft, too soft – not his familiar futon. The air smelled different too – woodsmoke, beeswax, and something faintly floral, replacing the usual city air of his apartment.
He forced his eyes to open. Not his ceiling. Instead of plain white plaster, intricately carved wooden beams stretched overhead, shadowed and unfamiliar. Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle beneath the fog of pain. He sat up too quickly, the room spinning violently, the headache intensifying into a nauseating wave. He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, breathing slowly, trying to regain control.
Where is he?
The room slowly swam into focus. It was large, opulent in a way that felt ancient. Heavy velvet curtains blocked most of the light. A stone fireplace stood cold against one wall. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes hung opposite. Wooden furniture, dark and heavy. No electronics. No blinking LEDs, no hum of a computer fan, no glow from a tablet screen. The clothes he was wearing weren't his own either – a loose, fine-spun linen shirt that felt strange against his skin.
He swung his legs over the side of the high bed, his feet landing on a thick, patterned rug instead of cool laminate flooring. He needed a mirror. He needed to see himself, ground himself in something familiar. His reflection wouldn't lie.
Steadying himself on a carved bedpost, he scanned the room. A tall, ornate mirror stood near a heavy wooden wardrobe. He walked towards it, unsteady, the floorboards cool beneath his bare feet. He braced himself, then looked.
His own face stared back. Kaito Ren. Same messy black hair, same tired grey eyes, same sharp features. But the context was utterly wrong. The face was framed by the unfamiliar collar of the linen shirt. The reflection showed him, Kaito, standing in this impossible, medieval-looking room. It wasn't a dream filter; it was him, somehow here.
He reached up, touched the face in the mirror, then his own. Solid. Real. The headache pulsed, a painful counterpoint to the rising tide of disorientation. This wasn't his room. This wasn't his world. Where is Ayane? The cluttered desk? The book...?
A soft knock echoed through the room, making him jump. Before he could answer, the door opened cautiously, and a young boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, peeked inside. He wore simple, rough-spun servant's clothes. The boy's eyes widened slightly when he saw Kaito standing by the mirror, then filled with hesitant relief.
"Oh! Young Master Lian, you're awake!" the boy exclaimed softly, stepping fully inside. "Thank the spirits. How is your head, sir? The Master Physician was quite worried after that fall from the horse."
Kaito blinked, turning slowly. Lian? Horse? The names, the situation – none of it computed, lost in the fog of his headache and confusion.
"It's been two full days you were unconscious, sir," the boy continued, his expression earnest. "You must be terribly hungry. Shall I fetch you some broth? Or perhaps something more substantial?"
Hungry. The word cut through the confusion. Beneath the headache and disorientation, Kaito realized he is hungry, ravenously so. A deep, gnawing emptiness that two days without food would explain. He needed energy. He needed to think clearly.
"Yes," Kaito managed, his voice rough. "Food. Please."
"Right away, Young Master!" The boy gave a quick, awkward bow and hurried out, closing the door softly behind him.
Alone again, Kaito leaned against the cool wood of the wardrobe, trying to force his analytical mind online. Okay. Facts. One: I am Kaito Ren – the mirror confirms my physical identity. Two: I am not in my apartment or anywhere familiar. Three: This place appears pre-industrial, possibly medieval based on architecture and clothing. Four: A servant boy addressed me as 'Lian' and mentioned a horse accident and two days unconsciousness. He shook his head, wincing as the pain flared. It doesn't connect. A horse accident? I haven't ridden a horse in my life. 'Lian'? Unfamiliar. Was this some elaborate prank? A kidnapping? A stress-induced hallucination?
Before his thoughts could spiral deeper, the door opened again, and the same boy entered, carefully balancing a tray laden with food – steaming broth, bread, cheese, sliced meats. The aroma made Kaito's stomach clench with hunger.
"Cook made your favorite, sir," the boy said, setting the tray on a small table near the bed. "She was very relieved to hear you'd woken." He straightened up, readying to leave again. "Will there be anything else, Young Master?"
"Wait," Kaito said, stopping the boy before he reached the door. He had to ask. He had to get data points. "You called me... Lian? Who is that, exactly?"
The boy looked utterly bewildered. "Sir? It is... your name. Young Master Lian Vance."
Vance. The name hit Kaito like ice water. It was from the book. Aelric the Last Flame. A minor noble house. OR not?
"And where," Kaito pressed, keeping his voice level despite the tremor he felt.
"at Vance Fortress"
"Where is Vance Fortress located?"
"Why, here, sir. In the southern plains of the Kingdom of Caelum, near the border forests."
Caelum. The central kingdom from the book. Kaito's blood ran cold. One final data point needed. "The year. Tell me the exact year."
"It's the Year of the Crimson Hawk, sir," the boy replied readily. "737 by the King's Reckoning."
737. Five years. Five years before the start of Aelric the Last Flame's plot. The pieces slammed together in Kaito's mind with horrifying clarity. Lian Vance, the ignored illegitimate son. Kingdom of Caelum. Year 737. He wasn't hallucinating. He wasn't dreaming. He was inside the poorly plotted, illogical, frustrating fantasy world he'd spent months dissecting.
"Th-thank you," Kaito managed, sinking onto the edge of the bed as the boy, looking profoundly relieved to be dismissed, bowed quickly and exited the room.
He stared at the food, hunger momentarily forgotten, replaced by a cold dread. He pinched his arm, hard. Pain flared, sharp, real. He slapped his cheek. Stinging, real pain. Not a dream. Panic clawed at his throat. Ayane. His life. His world. Gone? Replaced by this? Trapped in a story he knew ended in failure, as a character who barely existed?
The illogical thought surfaced again: If this isn't real, maybe dying wakes me up? He crushed it instantly. Flawed logic. Trope thinking. Pain is real. Consequences are likely real. Suicide wasn't an escape hatch; it is just... ending. Unacceptable.
He forced himself to pick up the bread, his hand trembling slightly. He had to survive. He had to analyze. There had to be a pattern, a reason, a way back. Or, if not back... a way to change things. He chewed mechanically, the food tasteless in his mouth, his mind racing, trying to process the impossible.
He'd barely finished half the broth when the door opened a third time. The servant boy stood there, looking nervous again.
"Young Master Lian?" the boy began hesitantly. "Your father... Lord Vance... he has journeyed from the capital upon hearing you were injured. He has arrived at the manor and wishes to see you."
...
The servant boy returned with clothes laid over his arm – garments finer than anything Kaito had ever owned in his previous life. A deep blue tunic of soft wool, dark trousers, and soft leather boots. Dressing felt like putting on a costume, the unfamiliar weight and cut alien against his skin. He caught his reflection again – Kaito Ren's face looking out from the attire of a young nobleman. A disquieting paradox. Lian Vance. He had to remember the name. He had to play the part. For now, information and survival were paramount.
"Your father awaits, Young Master," the boy murmured, gesturing towards the door.
Kaito nodded, schooling his features into neutrality, pushing down the swirling panic and disorientation. He followed the boy out of the large bedchamber and into a stone corridor, cooler than the room, lit by sconces holding flickering oil lamps. Their footsteps echoed softly. This manor, fortress – whatever it was – felt solid, ancient, and utterly devoid of the technology that had defined his entire existence.
They stopped before a heavy oak door. The boy knocked softly, then pushed it open, stepping aside. "Young Master Lian is here, my Lord."
Kaito took a breath and stepped inside. The room was clearly a study or strategy room. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes. Weapons – swords and daggers – hung on display mounts on another. But dominating the space was a long, heavy table covered end-to-end with a detailed map depicting mountains, rivers, and political borders Kaito instantly recognized as belonging to the Kingdom of Caelum and its neighbours – a more detailed version than any fan-made map he'd seen online.
A tall man stood with his back to the door, leaning over the map, tracing a route with one finger. He wore dark, practical nobleman's attire, less ornate than Kaito expected, suggesting a man of action rather than courtly leisure. Lord Vance. His supposed father.
The servant boy bowed quickly and slipped out, closing the door, leaving Kaito alone with the figure at the map. The man didn't turn immediately, finishing his thought over the chart. The silence stretched, amplifying the faint crackle from the fireplace Kaito hadn't noticed upon entering.
Finally, Lord Vance straightened and turned. His face was stern, lined with experience and authority, but his eyes – sharp and assessing – held a flicker of something else as they took in Kaito. Concern? Duty? Kaito couldn't parse it yet.
"Lian," Lord Vance said, his voice a low baritone, carrying easily across the room. "You are awake. Good." He gestured towards a chair near the fireplace. "Sit. How fares your head?"
Kaito moved towards the chair, his mind racing. Play the role. Gather data. Don't reveal anything. He adopted a slightly weaker posture, mimicking someone recovering from injury. "Better, Father," he replied, keeping his voice subdued, testing the unfamiliar address. "Just... a dull ache now. My memory of the fall is... hazy." A plausible lie.
Lord Vance nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on Kaito. "Fortunate it wasn't worse. Horses can be treacherous." A sigh escaped him, carrying a weight Kaito hadn't expected. "You gave the physician, and myself, quite the scare." There was relief in his voice, but it was quickly followed by a familiar shadow Kaito recognized from fathers disappointed in their sons – though never his own. "Still," Vance continued, turning back towards the map momentarily, "perhaps it is for the best you avoid the training yards. Combat... has never been your strength. Nor," he added, almost regretfully, "has the arcane."
Kaito remained silent, letting the assessment land. So, Lian Vance was unskilled in standard noble pursuits. Data point logged.
Lord Vance turned back fully, leaning against the edge of the heavy table. "But you have other qualities, Lian. You possess a keen mind. You observe. You think before acting." He paused, a different, softer expression flickering across his stern features. "You have your mother's sharp mind, if not her... resilience." The mention of the mother was brief, tinged with old pain. "And it is that mind we must cultivate."
Kaito felt a shift in the atmosphere. This was the purpose of the meeting. "Father?" he prompted carefully.
"I have made arrangements," Lord Vance stated, his tone becoming businesslike again. "Given your... aptitude for reasoning, and lack of aptitude elsewhere, the path of law seems most suitable. I have secured you a place at the "Royal Academy of Law in Caelum Primus". You leave next week."
Kaito processed this. An academy. In the capital. An opportunity to learn about this world from the inside, gather information, perhaps find a way... back? Or at least, a way to survive. But the speed, the decisiveness...
"However," Lord Vance continued, his voice lowering slightly, becoming more serious, "there are complications. Your position... as my son... is not widely known, nor can it be. For your own safety." He didn't elaborate, but Kaito's mind instantly filled the gaps – political rivals, a legitimate family, inheritance disputes. The standard dangers faced by an illegitimate child of nobility according to book he read. "You cannot attend the Academy as Lian Vance. It would draw unwelcome attention."
Lord Vance pushed away from the table, walking closer. "You will need an alias. A new identity. You will attend as a commoner boy from a rural village, granted a rare scholarship based purely on merit. No connection to House Vance must ever be made." He stopped before Kaito. "Choose a name, Lian. One you can live with, one that will serve as your shield."
It didn't seem like a offer. It sounded more like an order. To take the only path and go to the academy. There he would be alone and have enough time to understand what had happened. Kaito still couldn't believe that he was walking inside a book.
Kaito's mind seized on the opportunity. An alias. A mask. A way to separate himself from this 'Lian Vance' identity while still operating within this world. A name that felt like his own, a tether to the person he was, the employee trapped in this fiction.
"Kaito," he said, the name feeling both foreign and intimately familiar on his tongue in this context. He added a surname, one that felt right. "Kaito Ren."
Lord Vance considered the name for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Kaito Ren. So be it. Remember it. Live it. Your future, Lian, depends on your discretion."
He turned back towards the map, the audience apparently concluded. Kaito remained seated, the name 'Kaito Ren' echoing in the quiet room, a fragile shield against an impossible reality.