When the melodious chirping of birds pricked his ears, he fluttered his eyelids open, only to be greeted by a blurry sight. Blinking a few times to clear his hazy vision, the towering pine trees stretching toward the bright blue sky came into view, sunlight filtering through the canopy leaves. The thick, earthy scent, mingled with a metallic odor, stung his nostrils.
Nevertheless, he couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion, mumbling, "A forest?" His voice was hoarse and unfamiliar, likely due to his dry throat, so he brushed it off. But as he thought about it, he clearly remembered sitting on a plane engrossing in a novel, and—'did the plane… crash?'
If that were the case, then it explained how on earth he was lying in the forest with agony rippling through his body. Using his elbows to lift himself off the ground, a jolt of excruciating pain erupted in his abdomen, slamming him back down with a thud. "Ugh!"
His breath hitched as the world spun, the pain intensifying in an insistent throb as if asserting its dominance. Inclining his head, he fixated on the source of his misery and froze at the sight of crimson liquid smeared across his brown leather vest. However, it wasn't the amount of blood that shocked him.
"This… isn't my body…" His once lean, muscular frame was gone, replaced by the slender body of a teenager. Even his clothes changed, resembling those of an adventurer from a game. Was he dreaming? But the anguish was far too vivid to be anything but a nightmare. No wonder his voice sounded weird.
'If I'm in someone else's body, what happened to mine? Am I… dead? Who is this person? Why is he injured?' Though the torrent of questions flooded his mind, he pushed them aside—he had no time for this confusion.
He pressed a hand to the stabbed wound and forced himself to sit with a grunt. When the brown half-cape on his shoulders caught his attention, he yanked it off and wrapped it tightly around his waist, wincing as he secured it over the wound. It wasn't much, but it would hold the bleeding at bay until he found proper help.
Rummaging through his body for anything useful, he was stunned to find nothing besides his clothes, which only worsened his dizziness. 'Not. Even. A. Weapon?' The corner of his mouth tugged up instinctively upon scoffing. "Could I be any luckier?"
Moving on, he surveyed the environment with his fleeting vision. The forest appeared unremarkable, dotted with unfamiliar vegetation and no sign of the plane wreckage he'd initially expected. But what relieved him most was the absence of wild animals or dangerous people. In his current condition—especially without a weapon—he wasn't sure he could put up much of a fight.
Truthfully, he wanted to stay put and wait for help. However, with no recollection of how the person he possessed ended up in this situation, finding safety was paramount. After all, he had no interest in becoming a sitting duck whatsoever.
Gritting his teeth against the agony flaring from his torso, he forced himself to stand, but his body betrayed him, causing his step to falter and compelled him to reach the nearest tree for support. His entire body trembled as he gasped for air, sweat beading on his forehead while the pain threatened to consume him. After a deep breath, he braced himself before eventually moving his legs.
As he trudged forward, his eyes darted around, scanning for signs of wild animals, potential shelter, or clues that might lead to a water source. Amidst the forest's symphony, a faint sound of flowing current reached his ears, prompting him to halt and strain his hearing to ensure it wasn't a trick of his mind. When the sound grew clearer, sparks of hope flared within him, and he wasted no time propelling himself toward it. Guided by the sound, he pushed through the dense foliage until it gave way to a small clearing.
In the middle of it, a river meandered lazily, the water glistening under the sunlight, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief as a wave of catharsis washed over him. Dragging his feet toward the edge, he dropped to his knees and scooped a handful of water to his lips, feeling the coolness slide down his parched throat and fleetingly refresh his mind.
Just as he was about to take another scoop, the reflection on the water's surface caught his attention. Squinting for a better look, a short white-haired teenager with pale skin entered his sight. The weary, cerulean eyes stared back at him. Yet, there was something unsettlingly familiar about the body he now inhabited, though he couldn't quite place it.
Shaking off the thoughts, he scooped handfuls of water to quench his thirst. Once sated, he straightened his back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But his respite was cut short as the wound throbbed unabated, constantly reminding him that this wasn't over and that he needed to find shelter as soon as possible. With one last glance at his reflection, he rose to his feet with herculean effort and staggered along the river.
Nonetheless, the farther he ventured into the forest, the more his body vehemently protested. Each step felt like feeding his consciousness to the pain. His lungs tightened, and his already blurry eyes worsened. He had to stop and lean against every tree he passed to ensure he didn't kiss the ground.
After what felt like an eternity, he emerged from behind tall bushes, only to freeze at the scene present before him. Numerous figures lay scattered on the ground, some donned in black robes and others in Renaissance-style soldier uniforms. Varied weapons and severed limbs littered the clearing, with blood splattered everywhere, painting the vegetation in crimson. It was undoubtedly the aftermath of a battle—a sight he frequently saw and might be the answer to why this person was injured.
Right before he turned around, the rustling leaves prompted him to drag his feet toward the nearby tree and hide behind it. Noticing a sword stabbed into the ground beside him, he pulled it out and gripped it tightly.
"...we must locate him at all costs," demanded a young man's voice.
"I understand," responded a deep, masculine voice.
They were undoubtedly speaking another language, yet strangely, he understood every word—it seemed this body retained some memories. Lowering his sword and tilting it slightly, he used its flat side to catch a blurry glimpse of a robust man clad in full armor, though the other figure remained obscured behind his frame.
When a glint flickered on his blade, he instinctively ducked, and the sound of metal thunking into the tree behind him echoed. Leaping forward and spinning around, he swung his sword at the incoming attack. A clash of steel thundered as their swords collided, but the knight's sheer power sent him sprawling to the ground with a heavy thump.
"Argh!" Wrenching pain crashed over him, a metallic taste blooming in his mouth. As a shadow loomed, he sprang to his feet and assumed a defensive stance.
"Cassian?!" The other man's shout froze the knight mid-strike.
The knight flinched and hastily dropped to one knee, head bowed low. "Your Highness, please forgive my impertinence!"
"…what?" Despite the confusion, he held his stance.
"Ian! You're safe!" The young man's relieved voice drew Cassian's attention; he was running in his direction. When the distance drew closer, he pointed his sword at him, causing the man to halt and raise both hands in surrender. "Ian?" Confusion tinged his voice.
"Prince Cassian, I implore you to sheathe your sword!" The knight stood and stepped forward, shielding the young man.
"Gilbert, needn't be alarmed. Ian is likely bewildered by the situation." The man eased his knight.
"But—"
"Gilbert, enough," the young man interrupted with a wave of his hand. He walked around the knight with his hands held high. "Cassian, you're injured. Let me tend to your wound."
Cassian narrowed his eyes at the figure before him, trying to lift the haze veiling his vision. As his kaleidoscopic sight gradually dissipated, a young man with fair skin, short mint-green hair, and emerald eyes, dressed in regal attire came into view. He couldn't help but stiffen at the familiar face.
"Julius?!" an exclaim escaped his mouth.
Julius offered him a reassuring smile and nodded. "Yes, it's me—your brother. I came to rescue you."
"…what in the world?" He muttered, his free hand pressed against his temple, battling the insufferable headache. The revelation felt like a slap to his face, and his stomach churned as the reality sank in. He recognized Julius right away because his face was on the cover of the novel he'd been reading on the plane! 'Did I just enter that novel?!'
"Ian, please lower your weapon and allow me to tend to your wound," Julius pleaded, pulling him back to the present.
"No. Stay back," he growled. If he had truly become Cassian as they claimed, then there was no reason for him to trust Julius at all.
"Prince Cassian—"
"Silence!" Cassian snapped, his breathing uneven as he staggered backward. His body trembled, whether from shock or pain, it didn't matter anymore. The most important thing right now was that he needed to run. He needed to run as far as possible.
"Ian," Julius stepped closer, worried etched on his features and voice. "It's all right, you can trust me—"
"I said, stay back!" Cassian roared, stopping Julius' tracks. 'Trust him?' What kind of joke was that? How could he trust someone who was fated to kill him?!
Wasting no more time, Cassian whirled around, but his sword slipped from his grip, and he fell to his knees. His surroundings swirled, and his body grew uncontrollably heavy. "N-no…" Darkness swallowed him whole, drowned in Julius and the knight's frantic shouts.