My body felt like lead.
Every muscle ached, completely drained of strength.
A rough hand shook my shoulder. I forced my eyes open, blinking away the salty blur of the ocean.
An old man hovered over me. He had a weathered face, framed by a coarse, grey beard and thinning white hair.
"Where..." My voice was a dry, raspy croak. "Where am I?"
The old man offered a sympathetic, gap-toothed smile.
"Save your strength, lad. We are taking you to our village. You can rest there."
They half-carried, half-dragged me away from the freezing shore.
As we approached the settlement, the grim reality of this place began to sink in. It was a miserable, decaying sight.
Dilapidated shacks leaned against each other as if for support. The air smelled of damp earth and rot. Even the house they brought me to, the home of the village chief, was nothing more than a fragile, rotting wooden husk.
They laid me down on a cot inside. The mattress was as hard as stone.
Outside, the sky finally broke. A violent downpour hammered against the frail roof.
*Drip. Drip.*
Cold water leaked through the ceiling. It fell directly onto the thin blanket covering my chest, sending a shiver down my spine.
A few villagers had gathered around my bed, watching me in hushed silence. They were waiting for me to speak.
"Where do you hail from, boy?" the old man asked gently. "You do not look like you belong here. Are you a stray from Balan village?"
I stayed silent for a moment. My mind raced, analyzing my situation with the cold logic of a seasoned politician.
I was in a foreign world. In a different body.
Telling them I was a murdered statesman from Earth would only get me branded as a lunatic. I needed a cover story. Something grand, something that commanded respect and guaranteed my safety.
"I... I don't remember everything," I began. I let my voice tremble just enough to sound vulnerable. "But I know who I am. I am a prince from a distant land. I fled because my kingdom, my family, they were slaughtered by a rival empire."
A collective gasp echoed in the cramped room.
The villagers exchanged wide-eyed glances. They had rescued highborn blood.
The old man stepped closer, his demeanor shifting to one of sudden, fearful reverence.
"Do you remember your name, Your Highness?"
I swallowed hard.
I was weaving a web of lies, but I decided to anchor it with a single, undeniable truth.
"My name is Fragha Van-Willhoft."
Cold sweat pricked my skin. Would they see through it? Was the name too alien, too modern for this archaic world? I waited, my heart hammering against my ribs in the agonizing silence.
Then, the old man's face softened. He offered a warm, respectful smile.
"Very well, Lord Fragha. You may call me Oderick. I am the chief of this humble village."
Oderick sat by my side and explained the lay of the land.
This unnamed village and the neighboring Balan village were two sides of the same miserable coin. Both were bound to the same landlord, a powerful noble named Baron Leonard.
However, a wide, treacherous river severed the two settlements. Because of the divide, this side was left to fend for itself under Oderick's leadership, completely isolated from Balan across the water.
We talked until the weak daylight bled into dusk.
One by one, the villagers murmured their excuses and vanished into the night, returning to their own cold homes.
The rain finally ceased.
An oppressive, pitch-black darkness swallowed the village. There were no street lamps, no warm glow from the windows. Just the hollow silence of absolute poverty.
I was left alone with the chief in his cramped shack.
"Please rest, Prince Fragha," Oderick said, pulling on a worn, patched cloak. "I have matters to attend to outside."
"Just call me Fragha," I replied, shifting uncomfortably on the hard bed.
Oderick bowed his head low.
"I must decline, Lord Fragha. It is only proper to show respect to nobility."
Morning came with a harsh sliver of sunlight piercing through the dusty windowpane.
I woke up. My body was still heavy with exhaustion, but my mind was sharp, calculating my next move.
I looked around the small room. Oderick was nowhere to be seen.
Pushing myself off the hard cot, I stepped outside to inspect my new domain.
That was when the ugly truth of this place hit me.
The village was dying.
A skeletal man brushed past me, clutching a frayed fishing net with trembling hands. I stopped him, asking casually about the state of the village.
His answer was bleak.
Extreme famine. The land was barren. Most villagers were lucky to eat five meager meals in an entire week. They were surviving on scraps and the unpredictable mercy of the sea.
I looked toward the center of the village.
Oderick stood there, surrounded by a crowd of hollow-cheeked men and women. He was dividing a pitifully small catch of fish, rationing out tiny, inadequate slivers of meat to starving families.
He spotted me and immediately hurried over, wiping his dirty hands on his tunic.
"Lord Fragha, are you feeling better?" he asked, his sunken eyes full of genuine concern. "Are you hungry?"
I looked at the desperate, starving crowd behind him, then back at the old chief.
"I am fine," I said smoothly, keeping my face an unreadable mask. "Give my share to the villagers who have nothing."
Oderick hesitated, looking torn.
"Are you certain, my lord? It is not fitting for a noble to..."
"I am not hungry," I interrupted firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Distribute the food. I plan to take a walk and see the surrounding area for myself."