As Pierre flew in the small aerial transport beside the kind lady, his mind spun in unsettling emptiness. He didn’t know what to think, much less what to say. Every effort to recall anything was in vain, like trying to hold water in his hands. He felt himself retreating, as if each positive thought was a step backward on an uncertain path.

His first thought was grim: “I must be in a coma, slowly dying in some hospital. Dying like this isn’t so painful… Yes, this must be a dream, a hallucination induced by a cocktail of strong medications.” He almost laughed at himself, an ironic smile curling on his lips. “Too realistic for a dream, don’t you think?”

The lady beside him noticed his worried expression and gently asked, “Young master, are you alright?”

Pierre shook his head, still confused, and responded, tapping his temple as if trying to activate something: “I… I don’t know. I’m trying to remember what happened, but… nothing. Likewise, I can’t remember anything!”

As the aerial transport approached a large hill, Pierre saw an imposing structure rising majestically at the top. Below, a prosperous city unfolded, with elegant stone houses, meticulously maintained gardens, and slate roofs that gleamed under the sunlight.

He observed, intrigued, the shops and establishments on the lower floors of the buildings, where people went about their daily business.

But when the castle came into view, all these details vanished from Pierre’s mind. The square towers reached for the sky, and the thick sandstone walls seemed impenetrable. He fixed his gaze on the enormous metal gate, with its heavy doors and arrow slits.

When the transport landed, Pierre disembarked, walking toward the castle with hesitant steps. The small city seemed to depend on the castle for protection and sustenance, and Pierre could smell the freshly cut grass and the fresh air surrounding him.

The fascination with the castle completely overtook him, a mix of admiration, apprehension, and a slight feeling of being an impostor. He wondered what secrets and mysteries those ancient walls held, and began to imagine what he might find inside.

Upon entering the castle, Pierre was greeted by a large, elegant hall. A greenish carpet stretched across the entire hall, and ornate ribbons with tassels hung from the walls. The warmth of the candles and the soft aroma of cedar oil permeated the air, creating an atmosphere of quietness and reverence.

Pierre walked slowly, absorbing every detail—the colorful stained-glass windows depicting moments of victory, the curtains adorned with intricate embroidery, and the filtered afternoon sunlight reflecting on the walls, turning the environment into a mosaic of light and color.

Around the room, antique and elegant furniture completed the scene, including velvet-upholstered armchairs and delicately ornamented wooden tables. Pierre felt transported to a different era, where beauty and refinement were the pinnacle of civilization. “What would it be like to live in such a majestic place?” He thought, fascinated.

Suddenly, a voice filled with anger interrupted his reverie. “How dare you make people angry?”

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Pierre stopped abruptly, perplexed and confused, trying to understand what was happening. Another voice followed, as authoritative as the first: “Keep your head down and don’t speak, you insolent boy.”

The lady beside him, without wasting any time, stepped forward and bowed deeply, almost touching the ground. “Great Master, the young master fell into the water and nearly drowned. I found him and rescued him, but he still isn’t feeling well.”

Pierre, with no other options, just observed the scene, trying to process the surreal situation. *This must be a dream… a very long and strange dream,” he thought.

Then, a well-dressed young man approached, his voice laden with sarcasm and hostility. Pierre’s heart raced, surprise and confusion growing within him.

Mrs. Peyton quickly intervened, bowing humbly as she apologized. “I would like to offer my humble explanation,” she began. “The young master fell into the water and nearly drowned. He isn’t feeling well.”

The tall man slowly nodded, and the severe expression of the Great Master began to soften as he heard Lady Peyton’s words. With controlled urgency, he ordered, “Take him immediately and care for him, Mrs. Peyton.”

As Pierre walked through the luxurious corridors, he veered into a simpler area, curious to see what he might find. He noticed a slightly ajar door, and upon entering with Lady Peyton, he saw a room that starkly contrasted with the castle’s luxury.

“Wow”, he thought, trying to lighten the moment with humor, “all that’s missing is an evil stepmother showing up here.”

It was a small private library, with dark wooden shelves filled with old books and collectible objects. In the center, a massive oak table with an antique brass lamp added a touch of discreet elegance. A slightly worn, cushioned armchair beside the table suggested that this was a space for study and reflection.

Pierre immediately felt comfortable in that space, as if he had found a small refuge within the castle. The presence of the books and ancient objects reminded him of his own life and the comfort he always found in the company of stories and treasures from the past.

When he looked in the mirror, Pierre was surprised by the reflection he saw. Pale and smooth skin, a thin and elegant nose, perfectly sculpted lips, and intense, mysterious blue eyes framed by long, curled lashes. His red hair shone like the sun, cascading in perfect waves down to the middle of his back. “I’m like a living work of art; every detail seems to have been made to please others’ eyes,” he murmured, still not believing what he saw.

After a refreshing bath, Pierre dressed in the simple clothes that had been left for him. Comparing them to the luxurious garments of the young man who had yelled at him, Pierre let out a short, resigned laugh. *Handsome, but poor… Now all that’s left is for them to make me scrub the floors, * he thought, trying to keep his humor.

A few minutes later, as he finished dressing, Pierre looked closely at Mrs. Peyton. He felt a positive feeling towards her, as if he could fully trust this woman. He decided to be honest, approaching her and, lightly tapping his temple, confessed: “Here, I have no memory of anything. Please, tell me… who am I?”

Mrs. Peyton paused for a moment, and Pierre noticed something strange in her eyes. The warmth and kindness they once held suddenly seemed glazed, almost as if they were shutting down. He frowned, a discomfort spreading through his body.

Suddenly, an intense light began to shine in Mrs. Peyton’s eyes, as if something inside her had been activated. The light was so penetrating that Pierre instinctively took a step back, his heart pounding. “What is happening?” He thought, now clearly alarmed.

As the light scanned his body, Pierre felt a strange sensation, as if he were being examined by some advanced technology. Every cell in his body seemed to be scrutinized, exposed. He tried to move, but his body felt frozen, held by an invisible force. The light pulsed almost hypnotically for a few more moments before finally dissipating, leaving Pierre breathless and even more confused.

Mrs. Peyton remained silent for a few moments, as if processing information Pierre couldn’t comprehend. Then, with a soft, but now mechanically precise voice, she said, “Your diagnosis is complete, young master. I am pleased to inform you that everything is fine with you.”

Pierre took another step back, the shock beginning to transform into a growing sense of fear. *She’s not human… She’s a machine, * he realized, silent terror mingling with disbelief. He approached her again, hesitantly, pointing a finger at his head and repeating in a trembling voice, “Here, I don’t remember anything. Please, tell me… who am I?”

Mrs. Peyton looked directly at him, her eyes still shining with a disturbing intensity, before responding: “You are Milanion Galahah, son of Balraa Galahah, a great leader of the White Dragon Clan. Even though your circumstances are different, you belong to a powerful and ancient dynasty.”

Pierre felt the weight of the revelation, his thoughts swirling as reality closed in around him. *Damn… I’m really in another world, * he thought, a mix of panic and excitement coursing through his body. A crooked smile appeared on his lips, followed by an incredulous laugh that he couldn’t quite suppress. *Did I pass through Osiris's portal? Maybe this is my judgment, or… a second life. Have I been blessed by the God of the Dead? *