The days following my presentation ceremony were a whirlwind of new responsibilities and expectations. Being granted the title of Viscount at five years old was an honor that weighed heavily on my small shoulders. The silver signet ring felt cold against my skin, a constant reminder of the legacy I was now obligated to uphold.
This morning, I found myself in the grand study, a room adorned with intricate tapestries and shelves overflowing with ancient tomes. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the polished wooden floor. Sir Gabriel, my etiquette tutor, stood before me—a tall man with a stern demeanor, his silver hair neatly combed back, and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Young Viscount," he began, his voice measured and precise, "the art of diplomacy is as much about what is unsaid as what is spoken. A true noble must master both."
I nodded, attempting to absorb his words. "Yes, Sir Gabriel."
"Now, let's review the proper greeting for foreign dignitaries," he instructed, demonstrating a graceful bow. I mirrored his movement, focusing on the angle and the placement of my hands.
As the lesson progressed, a peculiar sensation settled over me. A subtle warmth began to radiate from deep within, slowly intensifying. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and my vision blurred at the edges. The room seemed to shift, the walls breathing in and out as if alive.
"Raimon, are you paying attention?" Sir Gabriel's voice pierced through the haze.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, bringing a hand to my temple. "I don't feel well."
He stepped closer, concern etching lines on his otherwise stoic face. "Perhaps we should take a break."
Before I could respond, a searing heat exploded inside me. It felt as though my very blood had turned to molten lava, coursing painfully through my veins. My knees buckled, and I grasped the edge of the desk to steady myself.
"Raimon!" Sir Gabriel exclaimed, reaching out to support me.
The world around me distorted. Colors intensified to a blinding degree, and sounds warped into an incomprehensible cacophony. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, each pulse sending waves of agony throughout my body. It was as if an unseen force was tearing me apart from the inside.
"Help!" Sir Gabriel shouted, his voice seeming distant. "Someone, get the physician!"
Darkness encroached upon my vision, narrowing my world to a single point of unbearable pain. The last thing I saw was Sir Gabriel's panicked face hovering above me before everything went black.
An abyss enveloped me—a void where time lost all meaning. Then, slowly, fragments of memories began to surface. Images of towering skyscrapers piercing the clouds, streets teeming with unfamiliar vehicles, and faces both familiar and foreign.
I was someone else—Jonathan Miller, a man who had lived thirty years in a world vastly different from this one. Scenes of my past life played out like a fragmented film. Late nights hunched over laboratory equipment, the sterile scent of disinfectant, and the glow of computer screens filled with complex data.
"Alexander, the board has decided to terminate your project," a woman in a sharp suit informed me coldly. Betrayal and disbelief surged through me. Years of dedication dismissed without a second thought.
The scene shifted. I was at a family gathering, tension thick in the air. My parents sat on opposite ends of the table, their faces etched with resentment. Words left unsaid hung heavily between us. My attempts to bridge the gap only widened the chasm.
Regret washed over me—a profound sense of loneliness and isolation. Despite professional accomplishments, my personal life was in shambles. I had devoted so much to my work that I had neglected the bonds that truly mattered.
Amidst the turmoil, flashes of scientific breakthroughs emerged. Genetic sequences, molecular structures, and advanced biotechnological concepts floated before me. CRISPR gene editing, viral vectors for gene therapy, and the potential to cure hereditary diseases.
Wait—the curse.
A realization struck me with the force of a lightning bolt. The curse afflicting my family in this world could be a genetic anomaly—a mutation passed down through generations. If I could apply my knowledge of biotechnology to this realm, perhaps there was a way to eradicate it.
The void began to recede, and sensations of the physical world seeped back in. The softness of the bed beneath me, the distant murmur of voices, the faint scent of herbs and antiseptic.
With great effort, I opened my eyes. The canopy of my bed came into focus, its rich velvet drapes a comforting sight. My body felt weak, every muscle protesting as I attempted to move.