The grand hall echoed with the sound of footsteps as a man walked purposefully across its marble floor. The high ceilings and ornate decorations made the room feel cavernous, almost echoing the gravity of the conversation about to take place. He approached the throne at the far end, where a figure sat, cloaked in shadow, a crown resting atop his head.
The man reached the foot of the throne and knelt, bowing his head in deference. "We succeeded, my lord," he said, his voice reverent and steady.
From the shadows, the man on the throne leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. "Good," he replied, his voice carrying a chilling calmness. "Now, prepare for the war."
[The Royal Infirmary]
Sam's eyes fluttered open, his head throbbing with a dull ache. He blinked against the bright light, his surroundings slowly coming into focus. He found himself lying on a bed, surrounded by a group of doctors. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the quiet hum of medical equipment.
"Where… where am I?" Sam croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse.
The doctors, upon seeing Sam awake, erupted into tears, their faces a mix of relief and joy. Sam frowned, taken aback by the display of emotion. "Why are you crying?" he asked, confusion evident in his tone.
One of the doctors, barely able to speak through his tears, managed to say, "These… these are tears of joy! We're just so relieved you're awake!"
Before Sam could process this, the door to the room was thrown open with a loud bang. Masha stormed in, her face twisted in anger and frustration. "What kind of doctors are you?" she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at them. "You couldn't wake a boy up in two days?! What are we even paying you for?"
But as her eyes landed on Sam, her demeanor changed in an instant. Her anger melted away, replaced by a flood of emotions. Her eyes filled with tears as she rushed to his side, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "You're finally awake," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I thought… I thought you wouldn't wake up."
Sam, still groggy and disoriented, patted her back awkwardly. "I'm… I'm fine. What happened?"
Masha pulled back slightly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "You became senseless after the fight," she explained, her voice softening. "We somehow managed to get you out of that place and bring you here."
Before Sam could ask more, the door creaked open again, and this time, the King himself entered the room. His regal presence filled the space, and everyone quickly stood at attention. But instead of the usual formalities, the King did something unexpected—he bowed deeply before Sam.
"Your Majesty!" Sam exclaimed, trying to rise from the bed, but the King gestured for him to stay put.
"I cannot thank you enough," the King said sincerely, his voice heavy with gratitude. "You saved my precious daughter. For that, I am in your debt."
Sam's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly whispered to Masha, "Wait, you told him everything?"
Masha shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I only said you tried to help me escape from the terrorists and got beaten up. Pretty pathetic, according to me, but whatever."
Sam rolled his eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, thanks for the glowing review."
Turning back to the King, Sam said, "Your Majesty, I need to inform my parents. They'll be worried."
The King nodded. "It's already been done, Sam. Your father and I are very good friends. Rest assured, they know you're safe."
Sam sighed in relief, but his expression quickly turned serious. "I appreciate that, but I'm okay now. I should head home."
The King shook his head firmly. "Not according to the doctors. They say you need to rest for at least two more days."
Sam groaned, slumping back against the pillows. "But I feel fine…"
The King smiled kindly. "That may be, but it's important to follow the doctors' orders. You've been through a lot, Sam. Take this time to recover fully."
Realizing he had no choice, Sam reluctantly agreed. "Fine, two more days."
As the evening drew closer, Sam found himself growing restless. After spending most of the day lying in bed, he decided to take a quick walk to clear his head. The cool night air was refreshing as he stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the palace gardens. He leaned against the railing, a cup of coffee in hand, savoring the peaceful moment.
As he stood there, lost in thought, a soft voice broke the silence. "You're still awake?"
Sam turned to see Sara standing behind him, her expression calm, yet her eyes held a hint of curiosity. "I could ask you the same thing," Sam replied with a smirk. "What's keeping you up?"
Sara shrugged, walking up to the railing beside him. "It's my habit to sleep late. I'm more of a night owl."
Sam chuckled. "Well, I guess we have that in common."
There was a brief pause, and then Sara spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "Thank you… for saving my sister."
Sam glanced at her, noting the sincerity in her tone. "It was nothing. I'm just glad she's okay."
They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets. As they talked, Sam found himself studying Sara more closely. She was so different from the Sara he remembered in his past life—more distant, colder. Yet, there was something familiar in the way she spoke, in the way she carried herself.
His mind drifted back to his previous life, where Sara had been his closest friend. She was always cheerful, always smiling, even when she was patching him up after one of his many fights with the mafia gangs. Her laughter had been infectious, her presence a source of comfort.
But now… she was different. Sam couldn't help but smile at the memory, a mix of nostalgia and sadness filling him.
"You seem happy," Sara observed, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Who were you thinking about?"
Without thinking, Sam blurted out, "You."
Sara's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, they both stood frozen, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Sam's face turned bright red, and in his flustered state, he spilled some of his coffee.
"N-no, I mean… I was just…" Sam stammered, desperately trying to change the subject. "You don't talk to anyone in class. Why is that?"
Sara, still looking a bit shocked, regained her composure and shrugged. "I just don't find any of them interesting. That's all."
Sam nodded, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the moment. "Fair enough."
Sara gave him a small smile, her usual cool demeanor returning. "I should go. It's getting late."
Sam nodded again, watching as she turned to leave. "Goodnight, Sara."
"Goodnight," she replied softly, disappearing into the shadows of the palace.
As Sara entered her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her mind racing. She walked over to her bed and sat down, her hand brushing against something soft. There, beside her pillow, was a small sketch of Sam, drawn with surprising detail.
She picked up the sketch, her fingers tracing the lines of his face. Her expression softened, a mixture of emotions playing across her features.
"Who are you, really?"