In the hushed ambiance of the lecture hall, an elderly voice reverberated, "So, I would like to end my lecture." David, despite his six decades, possessed a striking streak of black hair that played in contrast to his gray eyes. Carefully stacking his research papers, he found himself approached by one of his students.

"Professor David," the young man, likely in his twenties, addressed him.

David looked up, his attention captured. "Yes, Aster."

Aster, with a somewhat contemplative expression, inquired, "You mentioned in your lecture that Prince Thomas betrayed his elder brother, Edward II, but you also highlighted that Edward was the one who granted him the earldom of Norfolk."

David nodded affirmatively. "Yes, that's correct."

Aster's brow furrowed as he voiced his confusion. "I'm grappling with this. Why would Thomas betray his elder brother when he didn't have much to gain? He wasn't even next in line for the throne."

David's lips curved into a thoughtful smile. "Aster, the complexities of the Middle Ages are akin to a maze of intrigue. While historical records from that era are limited compared to more recent times, I can certainly shed light on your inquiry."

Intrigued, Aster leaned in, encouraging David to elaborate. "Please, go ahead."

David's eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of a true historian. "To start, it's essential to understand that Edward II wasn't truly Thomas' elder brother; he was his half-brother. Thomas' mother, you see, was of royal lineage—"

"—Oh, I get it now," Aster interjected, piecing things together.

Unperturbed, David continued, his words crafting an intricate tapestry of history. "Thomas' unique lineage set him apart. Additionally, it's important to consider that Thomas' father, Edward I, initially intended for him to inherit the lush and fertile lands of Cornwall. However, after Edward I's passing, Edward II favored Piers Gaveston and bestowed upon him the coveted Cornwall. Meanwhile, Thomas received the comparatively modest earldom of Norfolk."

Aster's eyes widened, comprehension dawning. "Ah, that clarifies matters…" he murmured, his gaze focused on David.

The professor nodded. "I'm glad to hear that it's becoming clearer for you, Aster."

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"Thank you, Professor," Aster expressed his gratitude, his features brightening with understanding.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Aster left the classroom, while David returned to the aftermath of his lecture, tidying up the remnants of his educational materials.

Stuffing his research papers into his bag, David's mind lingered on the unfortunate death of a child who could have made it big. Reaching his car, he slid into the driver's seat, lost in thought. Departing from the campus, he merged into the flow of traffic.

The day's weather in Warwick held a promise of decency, with clouds that didn't appear overly ominous, even though predictions spoke of impending heavy rainfall. Though the sun remained concealed, the grayness of the clouds lacked its usual intensity.

David's home lay 25 kilometers from his workplace at the University of Warwick. Having spent the last three to four decades as a history professor, his enduring passion for the Middle Ages fueled his fascination with their conflicts. This very interest had shaped his career, allowing him to channel his enthusiasm into a livelihood.

Amidst his contemplations, the sky's clouds mirrored his thoughts. David's foot pressed down on the accelerator, spurred on by the desolate road and the impending rain threat. Nestled on the outskirts of the city, he dreaded the muddy aftermath that the rain would inevitably bring to his vicinity. Washing his car due to the nuisance of rain wasn't something he relished.

Pressing down on the gas pedal, David accelerated to a speed of 100-120 kmph. Confidence welled within him; he was convinced he would reach home unscathed before the rain made its appearance. The outskirts' roads, however, had their own agenda, presenting a challenge he wasn't willing to surrender to. Undeterred, he refrained from slowing down, continuing to accelerate on the rough, unpaved terrain.

Then, an ominous sound disrupted the hum of the engine. "Kshhhh!" One of the wheels suffered a blow, its integrity compromised by the uneven road. The car's handling faltered, but David's foot remained resolute on the accelerator. With mounting tension, he realized he couldn't bring the car's speed under control, and panic began to claw at his thoughts.

The car slid, its grip on the ground vanishing like a fading dream. "Dshhhh!" The warehouse's formidable structure loomed ahead, a collision course that couldn't be evaded. The impact was brutal, and David, having neglected to fasten his seatbelt, bore the brunt. His head connected with a fierce thud, pain and disorientation swirling like a tempest within him.

He instinctively reached up, fingers coming away stained with crimson. Blood—his blood—smeared his fingertips, red against his pale skin. The flow was swift, obscuring his vision with a crimson haze. As the seconds ticked by, his life played out before his eyes like fragments of a fractured mirror.

Memories emerged—a life's chronicle. Born as the solitary child of an average middle-class family in Holt, a market town near Norfolk, David's formative years unfolded in a time where the world fixated on the space race. His fascination, however, veered towards history. Gradually, his path led him to academic pursuits, culminating in a bachelor's and master's in history. Approaching the age of thirty, he stepped into the role of an assistant professor, his journey guided by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

Conversations drifted through his thoughts—a few partners in his youth, their presence fleeting. The weight of time eroded his ardor for romance, his interest waning like a dying ember. Warwick beckoned with a job opportunity, a new chapter in his life. Yet, the decades that followed unfolded in solitude. The regret that swelled within him, a cavernous void of companionship, was palpable. His parents' demise marked the passage of time, and he found himself adrift in a sea of acquaintances, devoid of the deep bonds of friendship.

As consciousness dimmed, darkness crept forth, a velvet curtain descending on the stage of his existence. A sigh escaped his lips, words whispered to the void, "It wasn't as painful as I thought it would've been."

A sudden rush of warmth enveloped him, an unexpected embrace of comfort. Faint footfall sounds reached his ears, pulling him from the abyss of unconsciousness. Gritting his teeth, David struggled to pry open his eyelids.

Before him stood a young woman, clad in a simple maid's attire. A gasp of astonishment escaped her lips, eyes widening as she beheld him. Startled, she sprinted away, her voice echoing, "Young Master is Alive!"

Bewildered, David's mind echoed with a single question, "Young Master?"