The first few weeks were nothing short of a nightmare. Matthew, now in the body of a 12-year-old boy, had to learn to survive in an unfamiliar and unforgiving world. He wandered aimlessly at first, unsure of how to navigate this strange new place. The language was rough and unfamiliar, with phrases that made no sense to him. He often felt like an alien among the people of this land, their eyes filled with suspicion when they saw his strange clothing and the lost look in his eyes.
Matthew had no choice but to join a ragged group of peasants who worked the land. They were kind in their own way, but they had little to give. His new life was filled with back-breaking labor, a far cry from the easy comforts of modern life. He worked in the fields from dawn until dusk, planting crops, tending to livestock, and carrying water from the village well. The tasks were simple, but exhausting, and Matthew often wondered how he had gotten here, how he had been chosen to live this life.
And then there were the rumors. Whispers among the peasants about a strange boy who could do things no one understood. Matthew's past knowledge of magic and fantasy—things he had read about in books—seemed to overlap with his new reality. He couldn't explain it, but when his emotions became too intense, strange things began to happen. A gust of wind would blow out of nowhere, a stone would lift from the ground on its own, or fire would flicker with no spark.
But these were just signs of things Matthew didn't fully understand. As the days passed, his thoughts grew darker, the pain of losing everything creeping into his soul. Every night, in the cold silence of his meagre straw bed, he longed for his old world, for the things he took for granted—a warm room, a meal in his stomach, a soft pillow. More than anything, he yearned for the chance to speak with someone who could truly understand him.
But there was no one in this time who could offer him solace.