Darkness. Silence. Then—pain.
A dull, throbbing pain spread through Zane's body as consciousness slowly returned to him. His limbs felt heavy, his throat dry, and his head pounded like a drum.
What... happened?
Flashes of memories crashed into his mind like a raging storm—gunfire, blood, Lena's trembling hands clutching his, the warmth draining from her body.
"Lena..." he murmured.
Then—a blinding light.
His eyes snapped open.
A stone ceiling. Unfamiliar scent. Soft sheets beneath him.
Zane's breathing quickened as he sat up instinctively—only for pain to rip through his side. His body protested, muscles stiff and sore, as if he had been torn apart and barely put back together.
"The hell..." he muttered, scanning his surroundings.
A dimly lit chamber, walls made of gray stone, a few candles flickering on the wooden furniture. A faint smell of herbs lingered in the air. This wasn't a hospital. This wasn't anywhere he recognized.
Then—the door creaked open.
A woman in a flowing white robe stepped inside, her sharp gaze instantly landing on him. She held a small wooden bowl filled with a faintly glowing liquid, magic swirling within.
"You're awake," she said, a hint of relief in her voice. "Don't move too much. You're still recovering."
Zane ignored her completely.
His mind latched onto the one thing that mattered.
"Where's Lena?" His voice was hoarse but filled with urgency.
The healer blinked, then frowned slightly. "Lena?"
"Yeah. Lena." His chest tightened. "She was right next to me. Where is she?"
The healer hesitated, her grip on the bowl tightening.
"You were the only one summoned," she finally said.
Zane froze.
A cold weight settled in his stomach.
The only one?
No.
No, that wasn't possible.
"Liar." His voice was sharp, filled with disbelief.
The healer's expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. "I am not lying. You appeared here alone."
Zane's fingers dug into the bedsheets.
His breath came out shaky, his mind racing.
This didn't make sense.
Lena had been right there. He was holding her.
And now—they were saying she wasn't here?
No. No, no, no.
"This is a joke," he muttered.
His hands clenched into fists.
"This isn't real." His voice shook, but not from fear—from anger.
The healer took a step forward. "I understand this is confusing, but please—"
"Shut up."
The woman stiffened.
Zane's breathing was uneven, his heart hammering.
He wasn't stupid. He knew this wasn't just some weird hospital.
The stone walls. The medieval-looking furniture. The magic.
Magic.
His eyes flickered to the healer's bowl, the soft glow of the liquid inside.
Magic wasn't real.
His stomach twisted.
None of this was real.
"Lena and I were together. In the city." He forced the words out, his hands trembling slightly. "There were gunshots. Blood. She—she was—" He gritted his teeth. "She was dying."
The healer said nothing.
Zane shook his head.
"And now you're telling me I'm... somewhere else?" His voice was cold, disbelief dripping from every word.
"Yes."
Zane let out a harsh, bitter laugh.
"That's bullshit."
The healer opened her mouth to reply—
The door suddenly burst open.
A group of armored knights rushed in, their hands resting on their swords. Behind them, a tall figure entered—a man draped in a red cloak, golden eyes sharp as he studied Zane.
Even in his confusion, Zane recognized authority when he saw it.
A king.
The man stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"So," he said, voice calm but firm. "You're finally awake."
Zane's jaw tightened.
"Where the hell am I?" he demanded.
The king didn't hesitate. "You are in the Kingdom of Veyrath."
Zane stared. The words sounded foreign, completely unfamiliar.
Kingdom? Not a country? Not a hospital?
His pulse quickened.
No. He refused to believe this.
"I don't know what kind of sick game this is," he said, his voice low, controlled, "but I'm not playing along."
"This is no game," the king replied smoothly. "You have been summoned here as a hero."
Zane laughed.
A sharp, bitter laugh.
"A hero?" His fingers clenched. "You expect me to believe that?"
"You must accept it, whether you believe it or not," the king said.
Zane's body tensed. His breathing was uneven, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
None of this made sense.
This wasn't how things worked.
But deep down, in the part of him that he didn't want to acknowledge—he knew.
This wasn't his world.
Lena wasn't here.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
His shoulders shook slightly.
He clenched his jaw, forcing down the lump in his throat.
"You think I'm just gonna go along with this?" His voice was hoarse. "Just accept that I've been kidnapped and dropped into some medieval fantasy?"
The king's gaze remained steady. "You will, in time."
Zane inhaled slowly.
He was trapped here.
He didn't know how. He didn't know why.
But if there was even a chance that Lena was still out there—
Then he had to find a way back.
His fingers relaxed slightly, though his glare didn't waver.
"...Fine." His voice was cold, emotionless. "But I'm not playing your hero."
A flicker of something crossed the king's expression—approval? Amusement?—but he simply nodded.
"For now," he said, "focus on recovering."
He turned and left, the knights following behind him.
The room fell into silence.
Zane sat still, his mind racing.
He stared at his hands—hands that had been covered in Lena's blood.
She wasn't here.
He didn't know where she was.
But if there was even the smallest chance that she was alive—
He was going to find her.
No matter what.
End of Chapter 2