The day dawned crisp and cool, the air filled with the scent of damp earth as a light mist clung to the ground. Eamon was eager, more so than usual, as he walked with Sir Cedric and Liora toward the royal armory. He had heard tales of this place from the guards and his sisters—a chamber of steel and craftsmanship, where weapons and armor were forged to defend the kingdom. Today, for the first time, he would see it for himself.

"Remember, Your Highness," Sir Cedric intoned as they approached the large stone building, "this visit is not merely for your amusement. Understanding the weapons and tools of war is essential for a future ruler."

Eamon nodded, though he wasn't entirely listening. His eyes were already fixed on the entrance to the armory, where the sounds of hammers striking metal echoed from within. Liora, walking a step behind him, cast a nervous glance toward Sir Cedric, unsure of what to expect from this place of iron and fire.

As they entered, Eamon was immediately struck by the heat and the smell—a mix of burning coal, metal, and sweat. The blacksmiths were hard at work, shaping glowing ingots into swords and armor. Sparks flew as hammers struck anvils, and the rhythmic clanging filled the space with a harsh, yet oddly mesmerizing, music.

Eamon's eyes widened as he took it all in. He moved slowly through the armory, pausing to watch the blacksmiths at their work. The sight of the molten metal, the basic tools used to shape it, and the sheer precision involved in the process fascinated him. He found himself drawn to a large, sturdy structure at the far end of the room—a simple but effective water-powered bellows system. It pumped air into the forge, keeping the fire hot enough to melt the metal.

Sir Cedric's voice droned on, explaining the different types of weapons and their purposes, but Eamon barely heard him. He was too engrossed in the movement of the bellows. He watched as one of the blacksmiths adjusted a lever, causing the bellows to open and close rhythmically, powered by a small water wheel outside.

"How does it work?" Eamon asked, his voice filled with awe.

The blacksmith looked up, slightly surprised by the prince's interest. "It's a water-powered bellows, Your Highness," he explained. "The water wheel turns, moving the lever up and down. It forces air into the forge, making the fire burn hotter."

Eamon stared at the simple yet clever mechanism, his mind racing. The way the bellows moved in sync with the water wheel—the simplicity and efficiency of it—fascinated him. He felt a strange stirring within him, a sensation he couldn't quite identify. It was as if something deep inside him was awakening, something that had been dormant for a long time.

"Fascinating," he murmured, reaching out to touch the wooden structure.

Sir Cedric, noticing Eamon's distraction, frowned slightly. "Your Highness, there is more to see," he said, trying to steer the young prince's attention back to the weapons display.

But Eamon was not so easily deterred. He continued to observe the water wheel and bellows, his mind filling with questions. How could the design be improved? Could this mechanism be adapted for other uses? What if he could harness water to power more complex machines?

"Your Highness," Sir Cedric said more firmly, "we must move on."

Reluctantly, Eamon tore his gaze away from the bellows system and followed Sir Cedric and Liora out of the armory. They walked in silence for a while, heading toward the carpenter's workshop. Eamon's mind was still buzzing with thoughts of gears, levers, and mechanical force. He felt a strange pull toward these things, a feeling that was both exhilarating and unsettling.

The carpenter's workshop was a stark contrast to the armory. It was quieter, filled with the scent of wood and the gentle sound of saws and planes shaping timber. Here, too, Eamon found himself drawn to the tools and devices used by the craftsmen. He watched as they used saws, chisels, and hand drills to shape the wood with precision.

"Woodworking is an essential skill," Sir Cedric lectured. "It allows us to build homes, ships, and the tools we need for everyday life."

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Eamon nodded absently, his eyes fixed on a simple hand-operated lathe in the corner of the workshop. It was a device that allowed a piece of wood to be spun while a tool was held against it, shaping it into a smooth, cylindrical form. Eamon was captivated by the straightforwardness of its design and the way it could turn a rough block of wood into something elegant.

"May I try it?" Eamon asked the carpenter, a glint of eagerness in his eyes.

The carpenter exchanged a quick glance with Sir Cedric, who hesitated before giving a curt nod. "Very well, but be careful," he said.

Eamon stepped up to the lathe, and the carpenter showed him how to operate it. As he turned the crank to rotate the wood and carefully guided the chisel against it, he felt an unexpected rush of excitement. His hands moved almost instinctively, guiding the chisel with a confidence that surprised even him. It was as if he knew what to do, though he couldn't explain how.

Sir Cedric watched with a mixture of surprise and disapproval. "You are here to learn about the tools of your kingdom, not to become a craftsman," he said sharply.

Eamon ignored him. His mind was elsewhere, racing through a myriad of thoughts and ideas. The way the lathe worked, the possibilities it presented—it all felt strangely familiar, as though he had done this before, long ago.

As they left the carpenter's workshop and made their way back to the castle, Eamon walked in silence, his mind spinning with concepts he couldn't quite grasp. He felt an odd sense of déjà vu, a sense that he was on the verge of remembering something important.

Suddenly, it hit him like a bolt of lightning. A series of fragmented images flashed through his mind—blueprints, machines, metal parts. He remembered sitting in a room, surrounded by papers and models, his hands stained with oil and grease. He remembered the sound of machinery, the hum of engines, and the feeling of satisfaction when a design came to life.

"Engineering..." he muttered, his eyes wide with shock.

Liora glanced at him, concerned. "Your Highness? Are you alright?"

Eamon staggered, clutching his head as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He saw flashes of diagrams, complex equations, and a lecture hall filled with students. He heard a voice—his own voice—explaining the principles of mechanical engineering. But it was all blurred and distorted, like a dream half-remembered.

"Eamon!" Liora cried out, catching him as he swayed on his feet.

He felt a sharp pain in his head, and then the world around him began to spin. The images grew more intense—gears turning, pistons pumping, engines roaring. He remembered the thrill of invention, the joy of creation. But the memories were jumbled, disjointed, like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together.

"Your Highness!" Sir Cedric's voice sounded distant and echoing.

Eamon gasped, his vision darkening at the edges. He stumbled, feeling his legs give way beneath him. The last thing he saw before everything went black was Liora's terrified face and Sir Cedric reaching out to catch him.

Then, darkness.

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Eamon woke to the sound of muffled voices and the feel of cool cloth on his forehead. He was lying in his bed, the curtains drawn to keep out the harsh sunlight. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy and sluggish. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light.

"Liora?" he croaked, his throat dry.

She was at his side in an instant, her face pale and drawn with worry. "I'm here, Your Highness," she said softly, her voice trembling. "You've been ill... for several days."

He frowned, trying to piece together what had happened. The armory, the workshop, the machines... and then the flashbacks. He remembered feeling overwhelmed, as if a floodgate in his mind had burst open.

"What... what happened to me?" he asked weakly.

Liora hesitated, glancing toward the doorway where Sir Cedric stood, his expression grim. "You fainted on the way back to the castle," she said. "You've been unconscious since then."

Eamon closed his eyes, trying to remember the images that had flashed through his mind. They were hazy now, like fragments of a dream slipping away. But the feeling remained—the feeling that he knew things, things that no one had taught him in this world.

Sir Cedric stepped forward, his voice stern but not unkind. "Your Highness, your health is of utmost importance. You must take care not to overexert yourself."

Eamon opened his eyes and looked at him. There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he didn't understand. But he knew one thing for certain—something inside him had awakened. A knowledge, a skill that felt both foreign and familiar.

"I... I just wanted to understand," he murmured.

Sir Cedric's eyes softened slightly, though his face remained impassive. "Rest now, Your Highness. There will be time for understanding later."

As Liora gently placed a damp cloth on his forehead, Eamon closed his eyes again. He knew he had changed somehow. The visit to the armory and the workshop had triggered something deep within him, something that hinted at a past he couldn't quite remember.

As he drifted back into a restless sleep, the echoes of his former life lingered in his mind. Machinery, invention, creation—it was a part of him, a part that he would have to explore and understand. But for now, he would rest, knowing that this was only the beginning of a journey he had yet to comprehend.