Virgil felt as though he was adrift in a formless, floating darkness. Time and space seemed to blur together, and he couldn't discern anything around him. It was a disorienting sensation, which lasted beyond the quantification of time. After what felt like an eternity, faint light began to pierce the darkness, and his consciousness slowly coalesced. Virgil's vision sharpened, and he found himself lying in a lavish bed within a room that exuded opulence.
The room was richly adorned with opulent furniture and fine tapestries, a stark contrast to the dark and cramped cell he had known before. He felt the softness of the bed beneath him and the warmth of the blankets. It was a world away from the suffering and torment he had endured as Virgil.
The surroundings were foreign to him, and another sense of disorientation washed over him as he tried to sit up. A sudden flood of memories rushed over him, scenes from the life of the young master—the body he inhabited—a boy whose existence was vastly different from his own, yet strangely familiar in one distinct way, played out in his mind.
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Virgil, now inhabiting the young body of Vhal, stood in a well-appointed study. The room was lined with shelves filled with books and scrolls, a testament to the pursuit of knowledge. His mother, a kind and doting woman, lavished praise upon him for his intelligence and academic achievements. Virgil basked in her love and approval, fully immersed in the emotions coursing through the body he now inhabited.
He didn't just watch; he felt everything, experiencing the warmth of her affection…
An amalgamation of memories played out in his mind, a montage of Vhal's childhood. He experienced the bond he had shared with his mother, a connection that went beyond anything Virgil had ever felt before; it was unbreakable and filled with unconditional love. Although his father had been present, duty often pulled him away, yet he was never unkind and always caring toward his wife.
Virgil learned that his mother had borne no children besides him, deeming him a miracle due to her condition. He felt the giddiness of the young Vhal and found himself in a strange, almost meddling state with his past thoughts. His existence stood on the precipice of both identities, a complex fusion of memories and emotions.
The memory then shifted, and Virgil found himself in a grand hall filled with people dressed in black, fake mourners shedding crocodile tears for their own gain. His mother's casket lay before him, and grief weighed heavily on his heart. The loss was almost too much to bear, and he felt the pain of her absence keenly, to the point where it was nearly unbearable.
Virgil experienced this loss with the childish fervor of young Vhal, and it was so intense that even his long-numbed heart had shattered in pain.
Time passed, and Virgil continued to grapple with these conflicting memories. Virgil experienced how the young Vhal's health began to decline further and further, even with the constant support of Salazar, a man who, with Vhal's emotions and thoughts merged with him, deeply loved the young master.
The darker aspects of the young master's personality, his anger and pain, grew more pronounced. With the lack of love and a fatherly figure from his father, who was buried in work and likely felt the pain of loss as well, Vhal further descended into self-isolation.
Scenes of cruelty and arrogance intertwined with moments of vulnerability and pain. It was as though he was living two lives at once, trying to make sense of this jumbled mosaic of experiences, each memory a piece of a complex puzzle that made up the young Vhal's fractured identity.
Virgil watched as his, or perhaps Vhal's—his confusion continually muddled with the experiences—younger self, the young master, strode through the corridors of the manor with an air of arrogance. He passed by servants and maids, his gaze filled with disdain as he barked orders and made snide remarks.
Then the scene switched, and the young master approached a group of girls, commoners who worked in the manor. His face twisted into a malicious grin as he began to harass them, making lewd comments and reveling in their discomfort. Virgil felt a surge of disgust at the cruelty he was witnessing.
It was an act of cruelty that left a bitter taste in Virgil's mouth, a stark contrast to the kind and compassionate boy he once was.
But then, the memory shifted once more, and Virgil saw the young master alone in his chambers, tears streaming down his face as he stared at a portrait of his late mother. Virgil felt a surge of sympathy for the boy, regardless of how vile the boy may be, realizing that he carried his own burdens and sorrows.
Even so, Virgil's heart raced as the memories continued to play out, each scene revealing a darker aspect of the young master's character. He had been a cruel tyrant, using his position to inflict pain and humiliation on those beneath him. But what left Virgil reeling was the treatment of the one person who had genuinely tried to care for him since they were kids, ever since his mother died.
Scenes flashed once more:
The next memory showed a younger version of the young master, sitting alone in his mother's private garden, his face contorted with grief after his mother's passing. He clutched a locket that she had given him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Suddenly, he heard approaching footsteps and turned to find a beautifully pale blonde girl with bronzed skin in an emerald dress, which accentuated her forest green eyes, meekly approaching him.
The two kids sat in silence, and he leaned against her, crying.
Virgil watched and experienced first-hand as the young master's shoulders shook with silent sobs. It was another vulnerable moment, a stark contrast to the cruelty he had witnessed in the previous memories of vile acts.
The randomness of the scenes continued to play out, some being vile acts, other moments of reflection or despair, and other lessons about the world he found himself in, along with insights into his torturous relationship with his cruel stepmothers and bastard brothers, who were fended off by the only truly loyal person Vhal—and now, Virgil acknowledged—Salazar.
As the scenes spanning Vhal's entire life continued to unfold, Virgil felt a sense of finality coming up, as the scene in front of him depicted something that tugged at his numbed heart; particularly in the context of Vhal's childhood bond and friendship, and perhaps even a growing love. Virgil found himself in a luxurious chamber adorned with rich furnishings.
The young master was seated across from a young woman, his mage-betrothed; a common practice among nobles and mages, who often profited from such arranged unions. She hailed from a powerful line of mages in the southern territories, and their union had been arranged since childhood, quite literally bound with one another. Virgil watched as the young master treated his betrothed with callous indifference.
He made snide remarks about her magical abilities, expressed envy, insulted her looks, and generally behaved in a pompous and cruel manner. The vilest of words he had uttered were spewed out in this moment, during their final interaction. Despite all the hardship she had endured, she had come to try and help with the splitting of his household.
Yet, the teenage Vhal scoffed at the binding of mana that had been in place since their youth, a magical bond that was unbreakable until they both came of age at twenty-one, sealing their marriage. He openly mocked it and expressed disgust, showing that he had no desire for her, or help, and that nothing good would come from their conversation.
The young woman, despite her prestigious background, sat with a demure and downcast expression, enduring the young master's cruelty with grace. It was a painful and uncomfortable memory to witness. Virgil's heart ached as he watched the young master's treatment of his betrothed. The callousness and cruelty were undeniable.
He understood that the young master's behavior was also a reflection of his own pain and inner struggles, a twisted way of pushing her away to protect her from harm. Even so, Virgil was disgusted at the way Vhal had treated her over the years.
With that final memory firmly in place, Virgil's mind was flooded with a ton of miscellaneous information from Vhal's memories—scenes that did not play out in such a dramatic fashion as the last. These included lessons on how the coin system worked in this world, bits of magical information, details about the landscape, and, most importantly, the history of the Ashfell Household. Virgil's mind was a whirlwind of new knowledge, and he struggled to make sense of it all.
He began to perceive the complexity and depth of the boy's character. The cruelty he had witnessed was just one facet of the story, and beneath the veneer of arrogance and cruelty, there were moments of genuine pain and vulnerability.
It became increasingly clear to Virgil that the young master's actions were often a reflection of his own inner struggles and the harsh circumstances he had faced. Moreover, Virgil couldn't help but wonder about his own role in this new reality.
If he had been thrust into the role of the young master at that time, would he too have become that person? And most importantly, as the memories began to dissipate and the clouded haze that shrouded his mind lifted, what role was he now meant to play in this world, armed with the knowledge and experiences of both Virgil and the young master?
The answers remained elusive, and Virgil felt a growing sense of uncertainty and responsibility settle upon his shoulders. As if on cue, a sudden, piercing pain jolted through his skull, and he sensed the lingering remnants of Vhal's will—his thirst for vengeance against his brothers, his pursuit of power, and his quest to make amends for the pain he had inflicted on his betrothed, Drissana of House Ultar.
The memories of Vhal and Virgil merged and interwove, giving rise to something profound. The once-distinct boundaries between Virgil and the young master began to blur and blend. Virgil, who had initially felt the emotions, thoughts, and experiences of the young master, now sensed the lingering spirit of Vhal going through a similar process.
Their memories, emotions, and identities intertwined, becoming inseparable. Shared isolation, loneliness, desires, and ideals melded into one, forging a new, unified identity. They had become a single entity, a reborn Vhal Ashfell, united in mind, spirit, and body. It was impossible to distinguish where one ended and the other began.
As this fusion of identities reached its zenith, the door to the chamber suddenly creaked open. Virgil, now Vhal in every sense of the word, watched in shock and understanding as Salazar rushed into the room. Salazar stopped a few paces away, his eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and recognition. Vhal could feel the love that the previous version of himself had held for Salazar—a deep and unwavering bond that transcended time and circumstance.
However, Vhal was no longer the same person he once was. The cynicism and cruelty of his other former self, Virgil, had been incorporated into this new amalgamated existence. He had undergone a transformation, shaped by the merging of two distinct lives.
The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: Virgil had ceased to exist, and Vhal Ashfell had been reborn. Accepting the absurdity of the situation, Vhal's distant gaze locked onto Salazar, and he spoke for the first time in his new life.
"Hello, Salazar…" His voice sounded raspier and more mature than before, a testament to the time that had passed since he had last been conscious. Then again, a great deal of time had indeed gone by with the looks of things.
Vhal couldn't help but wonder about the extent of it, prompting him to voice his question. "How much time has passed, Salazar?"
"Nearly three years, young master…" Salazar's response was filled with shock and disbelief.
Vhal couldn't help but chuckle, a hint of nostalgia touching him as he observed the bewildered look on his loyal butler—the man who had been like family to him.
As Vhal adjusted to his newfound reality one final time, the lingering remnants of Virgil's presence faded away, melting into the past.
Virgil's final thoughts echoed in Vhal's newfound mind, a sentiment that hinted at a sense of acceptance and even contentment, I could get used to this…
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Author's Note: Finally, we've arrived at the true beginning of the story. It was a challenging one to write because I was eager to dive right in, but I needed Vhal to have no lingering doubts or problems with his newfound existence. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed reading it! Happy Reading!