The world as Matthew Harper knew it was gone. One moment, he was lying in his bed, worn out from another grueling day of high school, the next he was standing in the middle of a field under a strange, sky full of clouds. His heart raced as confusion flooded his mind. His body felt foreign, lighter, as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. But that sensation was short-lived, for the world around him was anything but peaceful.

The air smelled of damp earth and something faintly metallic, and a cold wind whipped across his face. The sound of galloping horses echoed in the distance. But the most jarring of all was the sight before him: a group of men and women dressed in clothes that seemed from another era—long tunics, woolen cloaks, and shoes made of leather, not sneakers.

His heart pounded as a strange wave of dizziness overcame him, and the world around him began to spin. He stumbled backward, only to collide with the rough bark of a tree, grounding him for a brief moment of clarity.

"What… what is happening?" Matthew murmured, his voice hoarse and panicked. He ran his hands through his hair—longer than it should have been. His clothes, once familiar, now felt out of place—strange rags of wool that smelled of the earth, not the scent of his favorite shampoo. He had been thrown back in time.

Matthew had no idea how. His mind was in chaos. He was just a normal 12-year-old boy from modern-day England, a boy who had only just begun to grow up. His life had been dull, lonely even. But that didn't matter. In the world he'd left behind, there had been hope, and he had always believed that, no matter how rough things got, he'd make it through. But this? This was a nightmare.

Matthew had always been an outsider, a lonely child. He was orphaned at a young age, his parents dying in a tragic car accident when he was only four. His aunt and uncle took him in, but they never truly treated him as family. His uncle, a cruel and distant man, often used Matthew as a scapegoat for his frustrations. His aunt, while kind, was always too busy to spend time with him. School was an escape, but even there, Matthew was invisible. The kids picked on him for his quiet nature, calling him names, leaving him out of group activities, and in some cases, mocking his height and skinny frame.

Yet, Matthew never showed his pain. He became an expert at hiding it. At home, he'd lock himself in his room, reading books or playing video games, trying to forget the way the world made him feel insignificant. If he could just make it through each day, he believed, things would get better.

But now, in this strange new world, it seemed there was no escape. He wasn't sure where he was, but the surroundings looked vaguely familiar. That was until he caught sight of a castle in the distance—a towering stone structure rising against the sky. He had read about such places in history books. The Elizabethan era, he realized, feeling his stomach drop. This was England during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, the late 1500s. And if the crude language of the people around him was any indication, it was not the welcoming, open world of modern society that Matthew had known.

His pulse quickened as the full weight of his situation hit him. He was stranded. Alone. And worse, there was no way back.