Who is she? Is she knows who this boy is?
He staggered to his feet, but immediately felt a sharp, throbbing pain shoot through his eyes.
"Ugh!"
Instinctively, he rubbed at it, hoping to ease the agony, but the pain only intensified. He pressed his hands harder against his eyes, the pressure growing unbearable, until suddenly, someone gently grasped his wrists, halting his movements.
"Stop that." a soft, familiar voice chided.
It was the woman who had called him Theo. Her touch was firm yet gentle, as though she had done this before. He could hear her rummaging through a bag, the soft rustling of items being shifted and searched for.
What's she doing?
The pounding in his eyes persisted, but he waited, trusting her, sensing she knew more about him—about this body—than he did. Then, he heard the soft pop of a bottle opening, followed by the cool sensation of something being applied to his hand.
"Rub this on your eyes." she instructed, her tone calm but commanding.
Though hesitant, he had no choice but to trust her. She was the first person he had encountered since awakening in this world, and she seemed to know the boy whose body he now inhabited. With a slow, steady breath, he dabbed the cool liquid over his eyes. The relief was almost immediate; the throbbing faded, and soon, the pain was entirely gone.
He blinked, his vision clearing, and finally looked up at the woman. She was kneeling beside him, packing her black leather bag with practiced ease. Her dark hair framed a face etched with concern.
She sighed softly. "Hah... Why did you leave the house without telling your mother?" Her voice was tinged with worry, her hands still moving as she organized the items in her bag.
He hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Thank you," he finally managed, his voice tentative.
She paused, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Hm? It's rare for you to say something like that. Did something good happen?"
Her gaze locked onto his, and for a moment, her expression shifted from concern to confusion. She leaned closer, studying his face intently.
"...Huh?"
She reached out, cradling his face in her hands, her fingers cool against his skin. Her eyes widened, narrowing as they fixed on his. She tilted his head, inspecting his eyes with the precision of a doctor.
"What in the...?"
Her voice trembled with shock. She let go of his face, stepping back, her hands trembling slightly.
"Holy Mother..." she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.
His heart quickened., "Uh... What's wrong?"
Without responding, she hurriedly rifled through her bag, her movements frantic. She finally pulled out a small, ornate mirror and thrust it towards him.
"Look."
He took the mirror, still bewildered, and held it up to his face. What he saw shocked him. Staring back at him was not his own face but the reflection of the boy from his vision—black hair, fair skin, delicate features.
Wait... this boy is... kind of handsome.
He found himself momentarily distracted by the thought, before snapping back to the strange situation.
"Why are you staring at your face? Look at your eyes!" she urged, exasperation clear in her voice.
He shifted his focus to his eyes and froze. The once-deep red irises were gone, replaced by a gleaming gold. Not gold exactly, but like the intricate face of a clock, with delicate Roman numerals circling the outer rim. And in the center, a needle slowly ticked forward, as though tracking time itself.
What in the... I'm sure his eyes were red in the vision... Maybe it's just a contact lens.
But as he leaned in closer to the mirror, he saw the needle move—smooth, deliberate, and undeniably real.
No... it can't be...
He snatched the mirror from her, inspecting his reflection more closely. He rubbed his eyes, blinking several times, but the clock-like mechanism within his irises remained, the ticking motion continuing. It was no illusion.
This... This can't be possible...
A mixture of awe and fear washed over him. He was no longer in a world bound by the laws of his old life. This was something far more mysterious—far more dangerous.
I really in a fantasy world huh...
"Did you have that dream again?" the woman asked, her voice breaking the silence.
"A dream?" he repeated, confused.
"Didn't you mentioned you having a strange dreams before?" she continued, her tone softer now, as if piecing something together.
So... the vision I saw earlier... was that a dream? Or was it this boy's memory?
The more he tried to unravel it, the more tangled it all became. Nothing made sense.
"You're acting strange today." she said, her brow furrowing, "What happened?"
Does she know? Can she tell I'm not really this boy?
Before he could respond, she looked more closely at his eyes, her own widening in surprise. "Wait... your eyes... they're changing."
He quickly glanced back into the mirror. The golden clockwork in his eyes was fading, melting away like a mirage, and slowly, the deep crimson hue returned. Once again, he saw the reflection of the boy from the vision—the same pale skin, the same red eyes.
"...Hm?"
The woman's eyes flickered toward something behind him, and her face suddenly went pale, drained of color as though she had just seen a ghost. Confused, he followed her gaze and turned to look.
Blood. Splattered on the tree behind him.
Ah!
The memory hit him like a wave—there had been blood on the tree, a remnant of sharp tree branches had caused the wound on the back of his head.
"Theo!" she shouted, her voice trembling with urgency.
Startled, he whipped around to face her. Her expression was one of sheer shock, her eyes wide as if the sight of him had confirmed her worst fears.
"Uh... Yes?" he responded cautiously, uncertain of what exactly had unsettled her.
Without another word, she rushed to behind him, kneeling down and gently cupping the back of his head with her hands.
"Don't move," she commanded, her tone a mixture of concern.
Ah... right.
he remembered, the wound on his head. He hadn't thought about it since the strange vision, but now that she touched it, the faint sting returned. He could feel her fingers gently probing the injury, her cool touch contrasting with the heat of his skin.
"Fuh...," she exhaled in relief. "Thank Holy Mother... it's not as bad as I feared."
Not... as bad?
His brows furrowed. That didn't make sense. The pain he'd felt before, the amount of blood—surely it had been a serious wound.
How could it be nearly healed already?
"Let me tend to it," she said, her voice more composed now. "Stay still."
She rummaged through her leather bag again and pulled out a small glass vial of green liquid. The contents swirled ominously, their strange color giving him pause.
Green? He eyed it warily.
What kind of concoction is that?
Pop—! The sound of the bottle uncorking was sharp in the still air. She parted his hair at the back of his head, preparing to apply the liquid. But then, after a few moments of hesitation, she still hadn't poured it.
"Uh... what's wrong?" he asked, a touch of anxiety creeping into his voice.
"Your wound..." She paused, her tone incredulous. "It's... already healed."
...What?
The words struck him like a bolt of lightning. Disbelieving, he immediately reached up to feel the back of his head, his fingers searching for the wound that had once been there. But now, all he felt was smooth skin.
How is this even possible?
"Hah..." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if fighting off a headache. "Just looking at you making me have a headache."
She stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, then walked past him without a second glance. She moved with purpose, heading down the hill.
"What're you waiting for? Hurry."
Still in shock, he scrambled to his feet and hurried after her. As they go down the slope, he noticed a flowing river in the distance and, beneath the shade of a large tree, a magnificent black horse.
The closer they got, the more impressive the horse became. It wasn't just large—it was colossal, standing at least fifteen hands high, towering over them both. Its glossy black coat shimmered in the sunlight, and its eyes gleamed with an almost sentient intelligence.
Oh my...
He swallowed hard, awestruck by the creature's size and beauty.
"Wow..." he whispered to himself, his heart pounding in his chest with excitement. He had never ridden a horse before, and now the prospect of mounting such a beast filled him with a strange exhilaration.
The woman walked calmly toward the horse, stroking its mane with practiced ease. The animal responded to her touch, snorting softly and stamping its hooves.
"Theo." Her voice called him back from his reverie.
"Yes?" he answered quickly, trying to suppress the nervous excitement bubbling within him.
"Hold my bag," she said, handing it to him without waiting for a response. He took it, the weight of it feeling unfamiliar in his hands. Then, with smooth, effortless motions, she gripped the reins and mane of the horse, placing her foot in the stirrup. In a single fluid movement, she swung herself up into the saddle, her posture steady and confident.
Once seated, she extended her hand to him. "Theo, my bag."
He handed the bag up to her, watching as she secured it in front of her. Then she held out her left hand to him once more, this time with an expectant look.
"Hurry, Theo."
It was clear she intended to help him up, but he hesitated.
How do I even get up there?
The horse was enormous, and the idea of climbing onto it feel daunting.