Raphael tried to move his fingers again, but they barely twitched. His body felt like lead, his limbs unresponsive. It wasn't just weakness—it was as if his body had forgotten how to function altogether. The realization sent a wave of frustration through him.
A deep sigh left his lips. "Of course," he muttered bitterly. "I don't even know how many years I've been in a coma… what did I expect? To get up and walk like nothing happened?"
The maid who had entered moments ago remained frozen, her wide eyes locked onto him. Then, as if breaking free from a spell, she gasped and turned on her heel, sprinting out of the room.
"T-The Young Master! He's awake! Call His Majesty! The Young Master is awake!"
Her frantic cries echoed down the halls. The distant chatter outside his chamber turned into a commotion as hurried footsteps approached from all directions. Raphael could do nothing but wait, still struggling to move even an inch.
While waiting, another maid hesitated before stepping forward, holding a polished silver mirror. "Young Master… you should see yourself."
With effort, he turned his gaze towards the mirror as she lifted it to face him.
What he saw took him aback.
His features were impossibly refined, chiseled like a statue of a Greek god. His golden hair cascaded in elegant waves, and his deep sapphire eyes held an unnatural brilliance. Despite being in a coma for an unknown number of years, there was no sign of atrophy—his body remained pristine, his skin smooth, as if untouched by time.
It made one thing clear—his family had taken extraordinary care of him.
Minutes passed. Then the doors burst open once more.
A regal-looking man and a woman, their faces etched with disbelief and something deeper—relief—stormed inside. Their richly embroidered garments, adorned with golden threads and the sigils of Solvance, signified their status before they even spoke.
His father. King Axel Solvance.
His mother. Queen Lysara Solvance.
Behind them, two younger figures entered—a boy who looked to be around ten and an even younger girl, perhaps six or seven. Raphael assumed they were his younger siblings, though he had no memory of them. His mind, still foggy from his long slumber, tried to grasp at the lost years, but nothing surfaced.
More figures rushed in after them—nobles, ministers, high-ranking officials. The room, once untouched for years, was now filled with gasps, whispers, and the sound of his mother stifling a sob.
Raphael tried to speak, but his throat was dry. His mother fell to her knees beside his bed, gripping his hand gently as if afraid he might disappear again. His father remained standing, his sharp gaze scanning Raphael's fragile form. His lips parted, but the words spoken meant nothing to Raphael.
He couldn't understand them.
Panic crept into his mind. He could recall his memories from his past life, even recognize certain details of this world, but the language… It was foreign. A blur of sounds and syllables that carried meaning he couldn't grasp.
But he understood their emotions—relief, disbelief, overwhelming joy.
His mother spoke again, her voice shaking. The younger boy stood close to their father, while the little girl clung to their mother's dress, her big eyes watching Raphael with silent awe.
Then his mother's expression shifted—guilt.
She gripped his hand tighter. "My poor child… this is my fault… I should have taken better care of you… If only I had watched over you more closely, you would have never fallen…"
Raphael's brows furrowed. Even without understanding the words, he grasped the meaning behind them. She blamed herself. His own mother, the queen, thought his coma was her failure.
He wanted to refute her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, but no words formed.
King Axel turned abruptly, addressing one of the ministers with a tone of authority. The man hesitated for only a moment before nodding and hurrying out of the room.
A few minutes later, he returned, holding a small, ornate box.
The king took it from the minister's hands, stepping closer to Raphael's bedside. His mother moved aside, though her hands still hovered near Raphael as if reluctant to let go.
The box was made of dark, polished wood, its surface engraved with symbols that pulsed faintly with magic. The lid bore the royal crest, a blazing sun, the emblem of their lineage. Slowly, with great reverence, the king opened it.
Inside, cushioned by dark velvet, lay a transparent gem.
It was unlike anything Raphael had ever seen before. Though it appeared to be made of glass or crystal, it shimmered with an inner light, swirling with faint golden hues. It wasn't just a jewel—it was something more. Something powerful.
The king carefully lifted the gem and, without hesitation, pressed it to Raphael's forehead.
The moment it touched his skin, Raphael's world exploded.
A flood of information surged into his mind—words, phrases, grammar structures, syntax. The language of this world poured into his thoughts like a raging river. But it didn't stop there.
Customs, traditions, etiquette—everything he needed to know to function as a noble in this world sank into his consciousness. The history of the Solvance Kingdom, its lineage, its conflicts and triumphs, its relationship with other nations—it all unfolded before him in vivid clarity. Knowledge that should have taken years to study embedded itself within him in mere seconds.
It was overwhelming.
His head ached, his vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought he might pass out again. But then, as suddenly as it had come, the torrent of knowledge settled, leaving him breathless.
His father watched him carefully, the gem still pressed against his forehead. Then, seeing the clarity in Raphael's eyes, he removed it, placing it gently back into the box.
Raphael exhaled sharply. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but when he looked at his family again, something was different.
He understood them.
His mother whispered his name, and this time, he grasped the meaning. His father, always composed, let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His younger siblings stared at him, and the little girl sniffled, wiping at her tears.
The first words Raphael spoke in this world's language came out hoarse but steady.
"I… am awake."
The room fell silent.
Then, his mother burst into tears, pulling him into a careful embrace. His father, though still dignified, placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his grip warm and grounding. His siblings stepped closer, their joy evident.
The king turned to the minister who had retrieved the gem. "Send word across the kingdom. Let it be known—the second prince has awakened."
The minister bowed deeply before hurrying off.
Raphael, still reeling from the sudden influx of knowledge, let himself be surrounded by the warmth of his family. He didn't know what the future held or why he had been in a coma for so long.
But he was back.
And he was ready to find out everything.
At that moment, a strange voice echoed in his mind. "Host has acquired sufficient knowledge of the current world. AI assistant 'Helios' activated. Would you like to compile all information?"