When Benedict opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness.
He slowly sat up and looked around, his heart beginning to race.
'Where am I?' he thought. 'Shouldn't I be in a hospital?'
Then, he looked at his own hands when his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him.
His hands were small.
Too small.
"Wait… small?" he whispered, panic rising. He clenched and unclenched his fists, testing the movement. The sensation was real. The fingers responded to his will, but they were not his.
He exhaled shakily.
'This must be a dream!' he told himself. 'I must be high on some painkillers. It's not real.'
Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded in his head.
"I knew it!" he muttered. 'Some crazy doctor messed up the dosage!' he cursed, gripping his skull as he collapsed back onto the cold floor.
The pain intensified.
Images flooded his mind.
Voices followed.
It felt like watching a recording, except he was inside it, feeling every bit of it.
"You damn failure."
A tall man stood before him. White hair. Golden eyes. Flames danced in his hand, casting flickering shadows across the room.
A child knelt before him. Small. Fragile.
Five years old.
The man grabbed the child's arm, and pain shot through Benedict as if it were his own.
The child screamed.
"All you had was your mother," the man continued coldly, releasing his grip. "And now she isn't even worth looking at."
He turned away.
"Guards."
Armored men rushed in, clad in armor resembling ancient Roman designs, swords at their sides.
"Take this boy away," the man ordered. "Lock him in the Sky Manor with his mother."
The guards saluted, fists to their chests, and dragged the struggling child away.
The scene shifted.
A woman stumbled into a dimly lit room, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" she repeated, over and over again.
The scene changed again.
The same woman lay on a bed, frail and pale. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin almost translucent. Dark circles shadowed her eyes as she coughed, blood staining her lips.
Benedict's eyes snapped open.
The pain was gone.
But the memories remained.
All of them.
"…Caelum Jude Veltheron," he whispered.
That was the child's name.
The body he now occupied.
'Really?!' he thought with a hollow laugh. 'Reincarnation? I thought that was just something from stories.'
Then another thought surfaced.
The woman…
Artemisia Rose Holstan.
His breath caught for a moment.
"My former last name…" he murmured, a faint, bittersweet smile forming on his lips.
He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady but determined.
The boy had died of hunger.
That much was clear.
Benedict glanced around the dim room.
A new world.
A new body.
A new purpose.
'For now, keeping Artemisia alive is my purpose,' he thought as he walked to the kitchen and saw a small amount of rice.
He nodded to himself. 'Porridge it is.'
It took time.
Too much time.
Finding firewood. Lighting a flame. Locating clean water. Even finding a usable bowl felt like a challenge in this unfamiliar place.
But eventually, he managed.
He sighed. 'A 25 year old police officer, killed in the line of duty, only to wake up in a new strange world, inside a child's body,' he thought.
A humorless smile crossed his face.
Carrying two bowls of porridge, he walked toward Artemisia's room.
The moment he stepped inside, the strong scent of medicinal herbs filled his nose.
It wasn't overwhelming, but it stirred something deep within him.
A memory.
His father.
The man who never got to see him in uniform.
That brought tears to his eyes.
He put the tray on the bed table, wiped his eyes, and tried to wake the woman. "Mother," he called.
There was no response, so he went a little closer and gently shook her. "Mother, please wake up," he said.
Still no response.
A frown formed on his face.
This wasn't right.
He had been trying for several minutes now, and she had not reacted at all.
'Is she…?' he thought, then he shook his head.
From the memories he had gained, he knew she was still alive. Barely, but alive.
'Should I check?' he asked himself.
Carefully, he pulled the blanket down just enough to expose her neck. His small fingers pressed lightly against her pulse.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then…
A faint beat.
He let out a quiet breath.
'Alive.'
He shook her gently again.
This time, her eyelids fluttered open.
"Caelum…?" Artemisia whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse.
"I made some food," Benedict said softly, helping her sit up. "You should eat something."
He tried to smile, though it faltered when he saw how weak she looked.
He never had the chance to call his mother. She died when he was a year old.
He didn't want to lose another maternal figure, new world or not.
"I thought you were reading the magical tomes again," Artemisia said with a smile on her face as she began eating the porridge Benedict made.
"I was," he replied, keeping his tone light. "I just got hungry."
'Magical tomes?' he thought. 'Have I been reborn into a world with magic?'
Artemisia nodded, as if she expected that answer from her child as she resumed eating.
Once she finished eating, he helped her lie back down and covered her with the blanket.
"Rest well," he said quietly before leaving the room.
He returned to the kitchen, cleaned the bowls, and left them where he found them.
Without thinking, his body carried him toward the library.
He paused at the entrance, realizing where he was.
"…Muscle memory," he murmured.
A small smile formed on his lips.
"Knowledge is power," he muttered. 'If I want to survive in this world, I need to understand it,' he thought. 'Magic. Nobility. Everything.'
He began scanning the shelves, pulling out books one by one.
Then he froze.
"…English?"
Every book was written in a language he could read.
He frowned.
'Why is everything here written in English?'
He had no answer.
But he was grateful.
Without wasting another moment, he sat down and began reading.
Whatever this world had in store for him, he would be ready.