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"Oh! My son!"
The voice resonated through the haze of confusion, warm yet commanding, wrapping around me like a thick fog.
Who…?
As I blinked my eyes open, I found myself enveloped in the tight embrace of a stranger—a man whose face I couldn't place. His hold was firm, exuding an authority that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Listen closely," he murmured, his voice low and intense, brushing against my ear like a whisper of wind through the trees. "If you say anything that puts us at risk, I won't hesitate to silence you. Just nod, and we'll navigate this together."
I felt an icy wave of fear wash over me. This man had a presence that demanded obedience.
What was happening? Panic surged within me; the instinct to survive kicked in. I didn't want to die again, so I chose silence, nodding mutely in compliance.
With great effort, I managed to pry my heavy eyelids open wider, taking in the chaotic scene around me. The man was bustling about, a whirlwind of movement as he prepared for something I could not yet comprehend. My mind began to sift through the fog, slowly piecing together the fragments of memories that clung to the edges of my consciousness.
That's right—I died and became a ghost.
But why was I being threatened by this complete stranger? I needed answers.
My name is Adam. At least, I believe that's what I was called in life. I was the only child of a father who had tragically perished in an industrial accident.
After my father's untimely demise, we survived on a combination of compensation and insurance payouts. It was enough to sustain us, but the burden of loss strained our relationships with relatives, prompting us to relocate to a new town.
Life was modest—filled with simple joys during birthdays and holidays, contrasting sharply with the lavish lifestyles of my peers. My mother worked tirelessly, yet the pressures of our new environment weighed heavily upon her. As I matured, I noticed her health deteriorating, her once-vibrant spirit dimmed by the shadows of loneliness.
Then, in the unforgiving winter of my second year of high school, tragedy struck again. My mother contracted pneumonia following a bout with the flu and succumbed to it, leaving me lost in a world that felt unbearably bleak.
On the day of her funeral, I was overwhelmed. My aunt, my mother's younger sister, had come to assist with the arrangements, but the responsibility of managing everything felt like a crushing weight on my young shoulders. As the chief mourner, I had countless duties to fulfill. After two sleepless nights, fatigue blurred my thoughts, and in a moment of distraction, a candle on the Buddhist altar ignited a fire that consumed our home.
In my daze, I had chased after my mother, only to realize too late that escape was no longer an option.
That was how I found myself as a ghost, wandering aimlessly until I was drawn into this bizarre new existence. My memories of life remained vivid, bittersweet reminders of everything I had lost.
Among those memories were fleeting images of Mia, a girl from school, and a classmate whose hidden charms I had once admired. Those moments of youthful infatuation lingered like echoes in the corridors of my mind.
My aunt had taken it upon herself to arrange our funeral, ensuring that my mother and I would rest together, our family united even in death. I held no grievances against her; she had cared for me, inheriting my mother's assets through a will that had been crafted long ago. All I wished for was for her to visit my grave once a year, to honor the shared memories we had.
As I floated through this otherworldly existence, a sudden force yanked me from my wandering—a sensation akin to being caught in a powerful vacuum. Then, just like that, I awakened here, wrapped in the arms of this stranger. My memories had returned with startling clarity.
Now, all I could do was wait for the man, who appeared to be engaged in an animated discussion, to settle down.
What was this talk of "marriage" he kept mentioning? The term intrigued me.
"Apologies for the disturbance. The nobles are manageable, but the diplomats from foreign lands are causing quite a stir," the man said, frustration evident in his tone.
"Yes, Your Majesty," another voice responded, barely audible but filled with respect.
After being ushered into a grand chamber, I felt an overwhelming sense of awe. The middle-aged man in ornate armor stood at the center of the room, engrossed in a heated argument with someone I couldn't see. Despite my instincts telling me it was rude to stare, I couldn't help but marvel at the opulence surrounding me.
The man's attire was reminiscent of a medieval king, and the lavish decor suggested that I was indeed in the presence of royalty. A magnificent statue of a knight, gleaming with gold, stood proudly against the wall—was it truly made of gold?
I sank into a chair as instructed, my heart racing as I faced the armored man. He stroked his long, white and gold beard, his expression serious.
"First, we need to discuss our relationship," he began, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
"Huh?" I managed to stammer, still grappling with the absurdity of my situation.
"Yes, I am your father," he declared, the gravity of his words echoing through the chamber.
I glanced around, half-expecting hidden cameras to reveal this as an elaborate prank. After all, I had been a ghost just moments ago—could this really be happening?
"What's the matter?" he asked, noticing my stunned silence.
"I just thought… this might be a prank," I admitted, trying to process the madness unfolding before me.
"A prank?" His brow furrowed in confusion. "I assure you, this is quite serious."
Relief washed over me as he acknowledged my disbelief. I was grateful he seemed to take my confusion seriously.
"You are my son… the third son, Roman Stormbringer. The third prince of the Kingdom of Tempestaria."
"A prince?" My mind reeled at the revelation. How could this be real?
My "father" nodded, a hint of pride lighting up his stern features. The dignity he exuded was undeniable.
"May I call you Father?" I asked hesitantly, desperate to establish some connection in this bizarre scenario.
"Yes, you may call me whatever you wish," he replied, a glimmer of warmth softening his otherwise austere demeanor.
"So, Dad, you realize that I'm not really your son, right?" I pressed, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Yes, I understand," he said, nodding vigorously. A sense of relief washed over me—this man wasn't delusional.
"But why do you refer to me as your 'son' when I'm not?" I inquired, my curiosity bubbling to the surface.
"There's a reason for that," he replied, his tone shifting to one of gravity. "However, before we delve into the details, there is something I need you to do."
"What is it?" I asked, anxiety creeping back in.
He extended his hand toward me, his grip radiating authority and reassurance.
"You will marry a certain woman. No… you are commanded to do so."
"What?" My heart raced at his proclamation. Just moments ago, I was a ghost, and now I was being thrust into royal obligations.
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