The bitter chill of the pavement seeped into his bones as he lay sprawled on the unforgiving ground, the distant hum of traffic blending with the harsh whisper of the wind. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a battle against the darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision.
"I can't die. Not yet... There's still so much I need to do, so many dreams left unfulfilled."
His voice, barely more than a whisper, trembled with desperation. The thought of leaving it all behind filled him with a deep, aching sadness. Old memories surged to the surface like a relentless tide. He saw his mother's face, beaming with pride as he crossed the stage at his college graduation, her eyes shining with tears of joy.
"Mom," he murmured, the word laden with a yearning so profound it brought tears to his eyes.
Her voice echoed in his mind, full of warmth and unconditional love. But now, as he lay on the cold, unforgiving ground, he felt the cruel hand of fate tightening its grip around his heart. The world around him blurred, the edges of reality fraying like an old tapestry coming undone.
How had it come to this? How had his life taken such a dark and twisted turn? The vivid images of happier times now clashed violently with the harsh reality he faced. The laughter, the dreams, the promises—all seemed to mock him now, as if they were ghosts of a life he once knew but could never reclaim.
The darkness seemed to close in, but he refused to succumb. With a surge of willpower, he clung to the fragments of his past, drawing strength from the memories that had shaped him. He couldn't let go. Not yet. Not when there was still hope, still a flicker of light in the overwhelming abyss.
Ivan Mendoza was just an ordinary man from the Philippines, a dreamer with ambitions of becoming a successful mechanical engineer. His family had little, but his mother worked tirelessly to see him through college.
Her sacrifices finally bore fruit when he gained recognition for developing an AI-powered robot that outperformed competitors both locally and internationally. Offers from prestigious companies poured in, but one contract seemed exploitative, so he declined it. Little did he imagine that decision would lead to this moment.
The memory was as vivid as the pain in his chest. He was on his way back to his lab after buying coffee, the comforting warmth of the cup in his hands. The day had been promising, filled with the excitement of new discoveries. But then, out of nowhere, a truck roared into his path, its monstrous frame barreling toward him with deadly intent.
The impact was a brutal, unforgiving force, stealing his breath and leaving him in a crumpled heap on the ground. The world spun out of control, colors and sounds blending into a chaotic blur. Through the haze of pain, he saw the truck come to a stop, only to catch a glimpse of the driver's face, twisted into a sinister grin, as if mocking his helplessness.
"You... damn... dirty... bastard," he cursed, the words barely escaping his lips, each syllable a struggle against the encroaching darkness.
His vision blurred, the edges of his consciousness fraying as he fought to stay awake. He clung to the flicker of anger and defiance that still burned within him, but it was futile. The void, relentless and unyielding, claimed him, pulling him into its cold embrace.
Everything was black—an endless expanse devoid of light. Yet, he felt as though he stood in a vast space. His voice was silent, his body unresponsive.
"Where am I?" he tried to speak, but no sound escaped his lips. Was he truly dead?
Suddenly, an invisible force yanked him forward. He moved, not of his own will, hurtling through the cosmos at an unimaginable speed. Stars, planets, and entire galaxies blurred past him.
"WAAAAAAAHHH!" he yelled, though no sound seemed to reach his ears. "What the hell is happening?!"
And then, just as abruptly as it began, it stopped.
***
He awoke to the sound of a woman's voice.
"Young master! Are you finally awake?"
Her language was unfamiliar, yet he understood it perfectly. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. His body felt foreign—weak and uncooperative.
"Where am I?" His voice sounded strange, foreign, yet fluent in a language he didn't know.
The woman's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You are in your room, young master. I will notify the Count immediately."
He stared after her as she hurried out, the word "Count" echoing in his mind. His head swam with confusion. 'Where was I?'
He couldn't quite place the language she was speaking, which was strange. He had always prided himself on his linguistic skills—languages were one of his obsessions. Over the years, he had mastered many, moving on to the next as soon as he achieved fluency. While he hadn't learned every language in existence, he was familiar enough to recognize most of them.
But this one? It was completely foreign. No familiar syllables or patterns to hint at its origins. Yet, somehow, he understood every word she said. The meaning came to him as naturally as if it were his native tongue.
It was baffling. How could he comprehend a language he'd never even encountered?
A few minutes passed, and the young lady in the maid outfit returned with two more people he didn't recognize. They all looked like foreigners. One man, with a muscular build and gray hair, even had a sword at his side. He rushed towards Ivan and immediately embraced him while he was sitting on the bed.
"Kael, I thought I'd lost you," he said, his voice trembling. "You scared me."
"I can't breathe..." Ivan wheezed, struggling for air. His mind raced with questions. 'Is this guy trying to kill me? Who is he? And why does he call me Kael? That's not my name—I'm Ivan Mendoza.'
The other man, dressed in a black robe, placed a hand on the gray-haired man's shoulder. "My lord, please, let him go. He needs air."
The older man released him, his face softening.
"I'm sorry. It's just... you've been unconscious for three months. After you caught that terrible fever, we thought..."
"Three months?" Ivan repeated, stunned. "That's impossible."
Well, it would make sense. If a person gets hit by a truck, it's possible for them to be in a coma. But what he's confused about is why he's here in an unfamiliar room and not in a hospital. And who are these people? A sense of unease washed over him as he tried to piece together the confusing situation he found himself in.
There was a lot to take in. First, the young lady had called him 'young master.' The older guy with gray hair had called him 'Kael.' And why was he even carrying a sword?
"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Ivan asked, his voice edged with desperation. "Why are you calling me Kael?"
"What? Can you not remember your name?" The gray-haired man exchanged a worried glance with the robed figure and asked, "Healer, what's wrong with him?"
'Is that other person a doctor?' Ivan mused, noting the man's black robe and the book he held, which seemed out of place for a typical doctor.
"I'll take a look," the other man said. He extended his hand towards Kael, closed his eyes, and then chanted,
"Eye of truth, open thine eyes, reveal the ailment, so the body may be healed. Revealing Insight!"
As the man chanted, a light enveloped Ivan who is now Kael, tingling against his skin. It was warm, almost comforting, yet wholly unscientific. Magic? The thought felt absurd.
'I am so confused about what's going on,' Kael thought.
As a man of science, Kael couldn't begin to rationalize what he was seeing. None of it made sense. A glowing circle had materialized on the man's hand, shimmering with an otherworldly light. It was like something out of a high-budget CGI sequence, except it was real—undeniably, impossibly real.
'What was that? How was he doing this?' Kael's mind scrambled for an explanation, but there was none. 'Could it really be... magic?'
After a few moments, the glow faded, and the man opened his eyes, a look of surprise etched on his face.
"What is it, healer?" the gray-haired man asked, his voice laced with worry.
The man lowered his hand, his face grave.
"My lord, his physical condition has stabilized, but his memory... it's fragmented. Some memories are his own, yet others seem... foreign."
The older man turned to Kael, his eyes full of worry.
"Kael, do you truly not remember us? Or who you are?"
Kael shook his head, feeling so confused.
"I'm sorry, but I don't. I remember my name, but it's not Kael."
'I remembered my name, Ivan Mendoza. My life, my family, my work as a mechanical engineer... but none of it seems to fit with what they're telling me.'
"Young master, you are Kael Valtieri, the only son of Count Edgar Valtieri," she said, her voice trembling as she motioned toward the older man. "You've lived here all your life." The young maid gasped, her eyes wide with concern.
Kael looked around the room, taking in the opulent furnishings, the grand four-poster bed he was lying in, the heavy velvet curtains adorning the windows. It was all so unfamiliar, so unlike the simple, modern life he remembered.
"I don't understand," Kael said, his voice barely above a whisper. He tried to gather his thoughts.
'I remember being hit by a truck, I remember the darkness, the stars, the cosmos... and then waking up here. But I don't remember any of them, or this place. Wait, that vision I saw, those stars and planets. It was like a dream but what if, —'
And then Kael saw himself, his own reflection, in a mirror placed directly in front of his bed. As he gazed into it, he barely recognized the person staring back. The face was his, yet different—subtly altered in ways he couldn't quite pinpoint. His eyes, once a familiar shade of brown, now held flecks of gold that seemed to shimmer in the light. His hair, usually a mess of dark curls, was now longer and had taken on a golden-brown hue. Even the clothes he wore were unlike anything he would have chosen for himself: a finely tailored tunic with intricate embroidery and breeches.
"That's... that's not me," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. Yet, even as he said the words, he knew they weren't entirely true. This was him, or at least, a version of him. A version that lived in this grand manor, that was the son of a Count, that went by the name of Kael Valtieri.
Lord Edgar stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on Kael's shoulder. "It is you, Kael," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "You may not recognize yourself now, but in time, you will come to see that this is who you truly are."
A chilling realization settled over Kael. 'Did he get reincarnated?'
He did got hit by a truck.
It seemed absurd, yet the evidence was undeniable—staring back at him from the mirror. His heart raced as the room fell silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. All eyes were on him, waiting for a reaction he wasn't sure he could give. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to make sense of the impossible.
"If what you're saying is true," Kael said finally, his voice steadier than he felt, "then I need to know more. About this world, my life here... about everything."
Lord Edgar's tense features softened with relief.
"Of course, Kael. We will help you in every way we can. Perhaps a tour of the manor and the grounds will help jog your memory."
The healer interjected with a note of caution.
"But my lord, he is still weak. We mustn't overexert him."
"Yes, yes, of course," Lord Edgar replied quickly, almost apologetically. "We will take it slow."
Lily, the maid, stepped forward, her expression warm yet hesitant as she offered Kael her arm. "Allow me to assist you, young master. We'll go at your pace."
Kael hesitated before accepting her help, grateful for the support as he pushed himself upright. His legs felt unsteady, his movements unfamiliar, as though he were adjusting to a body that wasn't entirely his own. With her guidance, he managed to walk, each step an exercise in both balance and determination. Lord Edgar and the healer followed closely, their presence both reassuring and disorienting.
The manor was nothing short of breathtaking. Its high ceilings soared above them, adorned with intricate carvings and chandeliers that glittered in the soft light. Ornate decorations and luxurious furnishings lined every corridor. Lord Edgar narrated as they moved, pointing out various rooms and recounting moments from Kael's supposed childhood—stories of laughter, learning, and a life he couldn't remember.
Kael tried to anchor Edgar's words to his own mind, to find a flicker of recognition or belonging, but it was like reaching for smoke. Each memory Edgar described felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.
Eventually, they stepped outside, and the warm sunlight washed over Kael, accompanied by the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze. The manor was surrounded by vibrant gardens, their blooms painting the landscape in a riot of colors.
Lord Edgar led them to a stone bench beneath a towering tree.
"This was always your favorite spot," he said, his gaze fond as he surveyed the gardens. "You'd sit here for hours, reading or simply lost in thought."
Kael looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the place. It was peaceful, even idyllic, but it still felt foreign—like gazing into a painting rather than stepping into a memory. His brow furrowed as the question he'd been holding back finally escaped his lips.
"What is this place?" Kael asked, his voice carrying both curiosity and unease.
Lord Edgar turned to him, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and patience. "This is Valtieri, Kael. Our land."