When you first wake up, you might stretch your arms and feel the warm rays of the sun caress your skin. For me, waking up was nothing like that. It was disorienting, as if my mind were a stubborn mule being beaten into submission. My head throbbed, and a nauseating sense of vertigo settled in my chest.
I opened my eyes and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling—vaulted and impossibly high. It shimmered faintly, as though it were carved from obsidian but polished to perfection. My first thought was, Where am I? The second, Whose body is this?
I sat up, and immediately, my senses screamed at me. My muscles ached, not from weakness but from sheer power, as if they had been forged under years of grueling labor and training. My arms brushed against soft fabric, and I froze. My bed was too smooth, too luxurious—silk, unmistakably—and far too large.
The panic set in.
I looked down at my hands, my bronze, tanned hands, not the dark chocolate skin I'd known my whole life. These weren't my arms, my legs, my veins. My heart raced as I turned toward the room itself, hoping for answers, though none came immediately.
The chamber was enormous, fit for a king or a god. It wasn't just the size; it was the craftsmanship. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings—strange, abstract patterns that seemed alive, twisting and turning in the flickering light of chandeliers that floated without chains. Twelve-foot curtains hung from gilded rods, their heavy velvet swaying gently as if stirred by a breeze I couldn't feel.
A pair of grand double doors stood at the far end of the room, each one carved from what looked like ancient wood and inlaid with veins of gold that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The air smelled faintly of ozone and sandalwood, a mix that felt oddly calming.
My chest tightened. This isn't my room. This isn't my body.
I swung my legs off the side of the bed, the cool marble floor biting against my bare feet. When I stood, I realized just how tall I was now. My head didn't spin, but my mind reeled. I moved to a mirror hanging on the far wall, its ornate frame set with black diamonds.
When I looked into it, I didn't see myself.
The man—no, the boy—in the reflection had bronze skin that gleamed like burnished metal. His hair was a halo of golden waves that fell just above his shoulders. But what struck me most were his eyes. They glowed faintly, a piercing gold that seemed to drink in the light and reflect it tenfold.
I stumbled back, gasping. "What the hell is going on?"
And then it hit me.
A flood of memories surged through my mind like a broken dam. It wasn't just memories—it was a life. A boy's life. No, a man's life. A Gold's life. I saw glimpses of a grand castle, of the cold peaks of Mars, of a family name spoken with reverence and fear. Aurelius.
I pressed my palms to my temples as the memories overwhelmed me. His name rose unbidden to my lips. "Caius," I whispered. "Caius au Aurelius."
This was my name now.