Thorsten leisurely made his way around the palace, letting his memories guide him as he familiarised himself with the space.
He had already seen some of its interior, but his mind was still to occupied with the shock of it all to properly take in any of the design; large windows with masterfully carved frames, chiselled stoned pillars, as well as small artifacts, vases, and artworks placed at regular intervals to breathe life into the palace halls.
When he had finally had his fill of the interior, he made his way-out of the closest entrance to find himself walking through one of the palace's many gardens.
The clear sky above allowed him to enjoy the colourful flowers and neatly trimmed hedges in all their splendour.
To a modern man like himself, such a sight was nearly impossible to find in the concrete jungle he had called home.
Here, in a world were monsters and men alike had the ability to tear his head of his shoulders, the beautiful flowers before him presented him a breathtaking sight that almost made him forget—almost.
Because no matter how much he wanted to avoid it, there was a small voice screaming at him in the back of his mind.
It was different from the one that was telling him to kill himself now; to reject living a life where he was an unwilling participant in the game of beings far beyond his understanding.
Those who would view his new life as entertainment, while he moved to survive with the little, specialised information he had of a world that was only supposed to exist inside of a game.
No, that voice was still there, waiting, speaking in faint whispers just loud enough to stay afloat in the storm that was his mind.
It came in the form of a low rumbling that continued to grow as he lived his life as Thorsten.
A rumble that had quickly turned into a deafening thunder that stood out amongst his scattered thoughts and incomplete plans.
Speaking in a voice that was distorted by diffidence and fear, but still recognisable as his own.
'Feka... Ipomtsre... Cwoadr...'
Telling him that, no matter what he did, he could never be able to replace the man that this body was supposed to become.
"A hero... "
Said again, those words came out heavier as they were now supported by the weight of the decisions that would earn it.
Decisions that, even while knowing the reasons behind them, he was not certain he would be able to carry make.
"... Argh" Thorsten let out a frustrated groan and ran his hands through his hair neatly combed hair as his mind struggled to keep itself on track.
It was a habit he had picked up from his father.
A simple motion that had now become a reflex when it came to making difficult decisions.
When he was younger, he had asked his father why he did it. Hearing that it was something passed down from his own father hadn't satisfied him.
After a moment's thought, his father had said it was how he 'cleared the clutter'—that every time his hand passed through his hair, it was a reminder to slow down, discard what didn't matter, and focus on what did.
A message that he needed to hear now more than ever; from the moment he had first opened his eyes, and even while he was sleeping, his mind had been in a constant frenzy as he tried to navigate his way through this unfamiliar place.
That, coupled with the lingering effects of having another person's memories, no matter how young they were, was not something the human mind was built for.
Even the fact that he was able to function somewhat normally after all that was a testament of his willpower.
But even that would have its limits as his mind was overworking itself to keep up with his ever-changing thoughts and tangled memories.
Thorsten let out a hollow breath and turned his eyes towards the clear blue sky above. Taking the moment to enjoy the passing breeze and letting his mind rest or at least attempt to.
"One step at a time..." he muttered to himself.
He realised that he had been trying to juggle too many things at the same time; planning, preparations and playing the young master.
On their own, even one of those things would be enough to overload his mind in its current state, but doing all three was like an asthmatic person trying to run a marathon without their inhaler.
His small hand made its way through his slightly ruffled hair as he simplified his thought process.
'For now, let's settle on getting through today.'
With that in mind, he turned his attention back to the carefully curated flower beds before him, choosing to enjoy the sense of peace their sight brought him.
*****
Thorsten, after wandering around and having his fill of the palace gardens, began making his way inside to attend his next lessons.
'Noble etiquette...' He couldn't help but grimace when he recalled that this month's lesson was about ballroom etiquette.
He decided to ignore the rearing headache that brough him and place his hope on the last lesson.
"Literature... Yay."
What he had fail to account for was that this world's literature was centred on the study of different languages and their respective cultures, not on the analysis of plays written by this world's equivalent of Shakespeare.
The though stirred up memories of literary essays written at the last minute to avoid a failing grade.
Thorsten sighed and forced those memories back into the hole he had buried them, never to see the light of day.
"Never again." He muttered, increasing his pace as if he was leaving the memories behind.
He continued on his way, noting that he was now walking in an unfamiliar part of the palace grounds.
Thorsten paused to take in the scenery; he was still on a stone path surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges and flowers.
'Am I lost?' he wondered, turning in place to look around.
He couldn't help but be bewildered by the fact that something like that was possible, that is, until he realised that the Baylith palace grounds was probably on the same scale as a mid-sized college campus.
The palace was still visible over the hedges, but the problem was navigating through the maze that was the surrounding garden.
"Hmm... I'm going to be late, aren't I?"
With no way around it, he decided he would leverage his good reputation to apologize for the tardiness and followed the path most familiar to this body's memories.