Mike stood frozen before the mirror, his eyes locked onto a reflection that bore little resemblance to the man he once knew. The face staring back at him was older, more dignified, brimming with a charisma that seemed almost regal. A finely sculpted beard framed his jawline as if shaped by the hands of an artist, and though his physique wasn't imposing, it radiated a strength steady enough to shoulder the weight of a crown.
"Is this me?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though seeking an answer from the figure in the glass. He reached out, fingertips brushing the cold surface of the mirror, hoping perhaps foolishly for a revelation. Yet the glass offered nothing but silence and chill.
As his gaze lingered, a virtual button suddenly materialized beside the reflection. Oval and glowing like a gemstone, it bore text that seemed to hover in midair: "Change Clothes."
Mike squinted, trying to decipher its purpose. "This feels like something out of a video game," he muttered, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he tried to temper his unease with humor. Tentatively, he pressed the button, and a cascade of clothing options appeared in holographic display.
The garments descended one by one: a grand crimson robe embroidered with gold filigree, shining battle armor that exuded power, and sleek casual wear that whispered of untold wealth.
Yet among these lavish choices, a small but striking button stood apart: "Naked."
He stared at it for a few moments, an amused grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Without overthinking, he tapped it. In an instant, his attire dissolved, folding itself into the air before vanishing like dust. There he stood, utterly bare, his reflection unadorned save for the natural frame of his being.
A soft laugh bubbled from his throat part nervous, part incredulous. "This is even more ridiculous than a dream," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Before he could delve further into the absurdity of the moment, a knock shattered the quiet.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
The sound was firm, deliberate, bearing the cadence of authority.
Mike flinched, nearly stumbling. Panic rose like a tide as his eyes darted to the holographic wardrobe, his fingers fumbling clumsily over the options.
"Alright, what should I wear…" he muttered, scrolling through the choices in a frenzy. An ostentatious golden robe? Gleaming battle armor? A uniform fit for royalty? Each option passed before his eyes until he stopped at a simpler choice: a long black robe accented with subtle silver embroidery.
"This will do. Elegant, but not over the top," he decided, tapping the selection. In a breath, the robe materialized on his body, as though spun from the very air. The fabric felt both soft and unyielding, a balance of silk and steel.
The knocking resumed, louder this time.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
"Damn, why does no one show proper courtesy to a king?" he grumbled, his voice laced with irritation. His thoughts briefly wandered. Was Erika behind this lack of decorum?
Drawing a deep breath to steady his nerves, Mike strode to the door. His heart pounded like a drumbeat, each step heavier with anticipation. Who awaited him on the other side? A mysterious wife from a life he didn't remember? A palace guard? Or something far more menacing?
His hand found the doorknob. Slowly, deliberately, he twisted it and cracked the door open, just enough to glimpse the figure standing beyond.