It was hunger that suddenly woke Jack up. The hunger was not like anything that he had experienced before. It gnawed at him from the inside, a deep, insistent pang that demanded immediate attention. Jack sat up in his bed, disoriented, and glanced around his darkened room.

Wait a second. This was not his room and he was not in his bed.

Instead, he found himself in a small, rustic cottage. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of embers in a stone fireplace, casting eerie shadows on the rough-hewn wooden walls. The ceiling was low, with heavy wooden beams supporting the thatched roof. Sparse, handmade furniture filled the room: a sturdy wooden table, a couple of chairs, and shelves lined with clay pots and wooden utensils.

The air was icy, and Jack shivered as he noticed the draft coming through the cracks in the wooden door and shuttered windows. Outside, he could hear the fierce howling of the wind and see the thick layer of snow covering the ground through a small, frosted window. Snowflakes whirled and danced in the night, adding to the already considerable drifts against the cottage walls.

A fur blanket covered him, offering some protection against the cold, but it was far from enough. Jack felt a rising sense of panic. This medieval-looking cottage, with its ancient, timeworn charm, was completely unfamiliar. The crude stone hearth and the simple, utilitarian design spoke of a time long past.

As he tried to piece together how he had arrived in this strange, cold place, the pressing hunger gnawed at him again, urging him to find food and warmth.

"Fuck this. I will figure this out later. I need food now," Jack muttered to himself. He tried to stand up, but his legs were weak and shaky. He took a few unsteady steps, his vision blurring and the room spinning around him. Before he could reach the door, his strength gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold, wooden floor.

The impact sent a jolt of pain through his body, but he was too weak to cry out. He lay there, struggling to catch his breath, his hunger now an unbearable agony. The cold seeped into his bones, and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness again.

As he lay there, helpless and disoriented, the only sound was the howling wind outside and the faint crackling of the dying fire. He needed food, he needed strength, but his body refused to cooperate. Jack's mind raced, filled with a mix of confusion, fear, and desperation.

Suddenly, as if conjured by his desperate thoughts, there appeared a tray of pizza and a cup of Coke next to him. The aroma of the hot, cheesy pizza wafted through the air, instantly making his mouth water. The sight was almost surreal in the rustic, medieval setting, but Jack didn't care. His need for sustenance overrode any questions about how the food had appeared.

With trembling hands, he reached out and grabbed a slice of pizza, the warmth of it soothing against his cold fingers. He took a ravenous bite, the rich flavors exploding in his mouth, providing a much-needed burst of energy. He gulped down the Coke, the fizzy sweetness a stark contrast to the harsh cold around him.

As he devoured the food, his strength began to return. The once insistent, gnawing hunger gradually subsided, replaced by a growing sense of relief and satisfaction. The warmth from the food spread through his body, revitalizing him and giving him the strength to sit up properly. He leaned against the wall, clutching the tray, and wondered how such a modern meal had found its way to him in this strange, ancient place.

"It tastes exactly like the one I usually get after my shift," Jack murmured to himself between bites. The familiar flavors brought a wave of comfort and nostalgia, momentarily distracting him from the bewildering situation he found himself in.

He polished off the pizza and drank the last of the Coke, feeling the warmth and energy return to his body. As he regained his strength, the surreal nature of his surroundings became more apparent. How had this food appeared out of nowhere, and why did it taste exactly like his usual order?

"If it came with a tube of cookie dough ice cream, it would be my usual dinner," Jack muttered to himself. As if in response, he glanced to the side and saw a tube of cookie dough ice cream sitting on the tray.

He blinked, astonished. This was beyond coincidence. His favorite dessert, appearing out of thin air in a medieval cottage? It didn't make any sense. But the sight of the ice cream, a symbol of normalcy in this strange situation, was too tempting to resist.

Jack opened the tube and took a spoonful, savoring the familiar taste. The cold sweetness contrasted sharply with the warmth of the pizza he had just eaten, grounding him in the present moment despite the bizarre circumstances.

As he enjoyed the ice cream, Jack's mind raced. The appearance of the food exactly as he liked it was too precise to be random. Someone or something knew his preferences intimately. Was he being watched? Was this some kind of elaborate trick or test?

Or was it him? Did he just get a cheat and it allowed him to summon food? Should he try again?

Curiosity and the lingering hunger for answers pushed him to experiment. He decided to test his newfound ability. "Okay," he muttered, "let's see if this really works." He closed his eyes and focused, imagining a large, hot cup of his favorite coffee, just the way he liked it.

When he opened his eyes, there it was—a steaming cup of coffee sitting on the tray next to the empty ice cream tube. Jack's heart raced with excitement and disbelief. This was incredible. He had somehow gained the ability to summon food and drink at will.

His mind buzzed with possibilities. This power could be a lifeline in this strange place. But it also raised more questions. How had he gained this ability? Was it permanent? And, most importantly, what was this place, and why was he here?

Not even a second after that thought popped up in his head, a flood of memories and information assaulted him.

Jack's vision blurred, and he felt a rush of foreign thoughts and images overwhelming his senses. When the flood finally subsided, he gasped for breath, his heart pounding. The memories were vivid, and they didn't belong to him—at least, not to the Jack he knew himself to be.

He realized that he had somehow transmitted into the body of a young boy who was also named Jack. He was around the age of fourteen in a society similar of medieval times. He now remembered that his parents had passed away two years ago, leaving him alone in this small, nameless village. The house he was in had been his parents' home, a modest cottage on the outskirts of the village. The village was perpetually blanketed in snow, making farming impossible. Most of the villagers survived by foraging and hunting in the surrounding forests.

Jack also remembered his uncle, the only family he had left. His uncle worked in a nearby town and returned home once a month to check on him, bringing some supplies and news from the outside world.

The memories were disorienting, yet they provided crucial context. Jack wasn't just lost ; he was living another life. The boy he had become used to surviving in harsh conditions. But now, with ability to summon food, he at least won't be starved to death.