As soon as he opened his eyes fully, he realized that he was not in an ordinary room. A huge palace spread out around him, with a ceiling so high that at first glance it disappeared into the darkness. The stone pillars were ancient and heavy, as if they had been tired of standing silently for centuries.
The air inside the palace was still, unusually still. There was no sound of footsteps, no sign of breathing, and yet the place did not seem completely abandoned. It was in this silence that he first realized that he was not alone.
The scene around him gradually became clearer. Inside the huge hall, rows of tables were arranged, each of them heavy wood, full of craftsmanship, as if a luxurious banquet had been organized. The silverware, crystal glasses, and half-eaten plates of food made it clear that this was a royal party prepared for the elite.
As he looked at the floor, an unknown coldness spread through his chest. There were countless bodies scattered across the stone floor, in random positions, as if they had stopped running together. Some were lying on their stomachs, some were turned to the side, some were holding out their hands strangely, as if they were trying to grab something at the last moment.
His gaze gradually drifted to the colors. The gray stone floor was stained dark red here and there, as if time itself had walked over blood. The color was fresh now, but its presence was still heavy. His body was not yet fully under his control, but his eyes and mind were working.
Their clothes were strikingly unfamiliar. Long coats, tight vests, heavy cloth gowns, and old-fashioned boots everything combined made them seem like they had emerged from another era. These clothes were not modern, but rather carried memories of a time long gone.
It was then that he noticed his body. Blood was slowly dripping from his nose and ears, warm but unusually silent. There was no pain, but this bleeding didn't seem normal either.
His breathing became unconsciously heavy, a strange emptiness felt in his chest. It was as if something had been lifted from inside his chest, something that was not part of his body, but deeply connected to existence.
He touched his chest with a trembling hand. Where there should have been a sharp emptiness, there was now a strange feeling as if some invisible force was slowly filling the gap. A faint warmth spread under his skin, unfamiliar yet strong, a pulse that he didn't care about his will or control.
His breath stopped. In the middle of his chest, right where his hand had been placed, he felt a push from deep inside then another. Regular, heavy, unusually clear. The pulse was not an imagination, not an illusion; it was real, brutally real.
The fear suddenly had a name. He understood what he had lost and what was coming back. It was not a symbol, not a metaphor for some power. It was the heart. His own heart, which someone had taken away, and now… as if it were being replanted, or reborn by some unknown law.
The realization spread a cold terror through him. For the heart does not merely keep the body alive, it is the center of memory, emotion, and being human. And if this heart is not what it used to be, then the question becomes terribly simple, is he still the same person he used to be?
Pushing everything aside, he slowly stood up. His legs seemed not to be his yet somehow he took four or five steps forward, walking through the dried blood and shadows on the floor. The mirror in front of him was huge, heavily framed, as if it had been silently observing everything for years.
He looked at the mirror.
And then something snapped inside him.
The face reflected there was not his. The eyes were unfamiliar the color, the depth, even the way he looked was different. The shape of the face was delicate but stern, the hair type, the skin color, the age all of it was inconsistent with his memory. He blinked, looked again, hoping the scene would change. It didn't.
The mirror wasn't lying.
The boy standing in front of the mirror must have been about more tall then six feet straight, with a body that looked natural. His shoulders were broad, his body was slim, but there was a hint of suppressed energy inside, as if this body wasn't made for laziness. He himself was surprised to notice that even though the man standing in the mirror was standing still, there was a kind of suppressed excitement inside him.
The eyes were green. Clear, deep, unusually vivid green a color he had only seen in pictures before, not in reality. There was fear in those eyes now, confusion, but beneath them was something he couldn't quite recognize. As if these eyes had seen a lot, endured a lot, and now carried the soul of someone else entirely.
His hair was black, thick, slightly disheveled, falling over his forehead. When the light fell on it, it had a slight sheen, which was strangely out of place in this ancient, gray environment. He slowly shook his head, and the reflection in the mirror moved in the same way, it was this similarity that terrified him the most. Because there was no longer any doubt. This body, this face, these eyes all of them were now his reality, although none of them were familiar to him.
The body of the boy inside the mirror was nothing special neither overly muscular nor weak. A perfectly ordinary build, a body that wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Yet there was a strange harmony somewhere, as if this body had been siolently carrying some responsibility for a long time.
The hair was moving in the light breeze, hanging haphazardly over the forehead. There was no trace of care in that movement, but it gave birth to a kind of naturalness. It seemed that this hair had never been fixed while standing in front of a mirror it had become like this while walking, while living.
He was wearing a long coat. The coat was made of heavy cloth, came down to his knees, and the buttons were fastened in a straight line. The color was dark, somewhat tarnished with time, but it still retained its dignity. There was a kind of seriousness hidden in the folds of the coat, which even this ordinary body was unknowingly different.
He slowly, very slowly raised his right hand. His fingers trembled slightly, as if he wanted to verify this simple movement. At the same moment, the hand of the boy standing inside the mirror also moved in the same posture, at the same speed, without any errors. This perfect match made him shudder.
The doubt that had been vaguely present inside him a moment ago was no longer a doubt. Fear suddenly spread through his chest, running down his spine like a cold current. The man standing in front of the mirror was no reflection, no illusion, that was his body now.
A soundless scream rose in his head.
I have been transferred.
As soon as the thought came, he himself became terrified. How was this possible? No logic, no explanation just a cruel reality.
On the one hand, he breathed heavily, as if to make sure he was still alive. Air entered and left his lungs this simple process gave him a small measure of relief. On the other hand, a strange feeling arose within that relief not joy, not exactly joy, but a kind of intense awareness of being alive. Fear and relief mixed together, creating waves of unease within him.
I only knew that this happened in novels.
Countless stories, countless scenes suddenly moving to another world, waking up in another body flickered through his mind. He had always thought that these were just games of paper and imagination. He had never believed that the rules of reality could be broken so cruelly.
But now, standing in front of the mirror, looking at a face that was not his own, he could no longer deny it.
This was no longer a novel, but rather his reality.
Suddenly, his head ached violently, as if someone were pulling the memories out from inside. The pain was no longer just pain, it was accompanied by pressure, a myriad of information breaking like waves. He struggled to stand, holding onto the edge of the mirror to steady himself. And just then, a name came to his mind.
Erwin Feulgen.
This name came to him not on its own, but as if it had been in his head for a long time, just locked away. Along with the name, more information began to open up. The name of the city was Machiavelli a quiet, aristocratic town in the northeast of Maryland. It was not very visible on the map, but its importance was no less important because of the influential families.
The palace he was standing in now was no ordinary place either. It was the palace of the Wellsen family one of the most noble and ancient families in the city. Politics and education they had influence everywhere. Having a party in this palace meant that it was not just a celebration, but a kind of social announcement.
He saw himself again in his memory the university invitation, the sealed envelope, the polite but distant language. He had been invited by the Wellsen family. He had not come alone; a few other classmates from his batch had accompanied him. They had come together curiosity, excitement, and a little arrogance.
But here the memories suddenly broke. The party hall, the lights, the music, the laughter of the people everything seemed to be drowned in a fog. The more he tried to remember, the more emptiness began to grow in his head. What exactly had happened in the middle of the party, why this palace was now full of corpses he had no answer.
He heard some noises from outside as if someone was coming in. He looked around him, and here he was the only one alive. Fresh blood was flowing around him, about a hundred people. No one was moving. All of them had blood flowing from their noses and mouths, and there was a huge gash in their chests. The candles around him were flickering dimly. The air was becoming more suffocating.
At that moment, a thought suddenly popped into his head "If they see me, I'm finished." And right after that thought something changed. The blood beneath his feet trembled slightly. So slightly that no one noticed, but he felt it. The air became heavy, as if the hall were holding its breath. The candle flames trembled together, then a few went out.
Something whispered from deep inside his chest, soundless yet clear—
"Hide."
He didn't know why, but his body moved on its own. There was no time to think logically. He quickly moved behind one of the long tables next to him. The tables were set for a luxurious party expensive clothes, broken glasses, overturned dishes.He crouched down and hid inside the table. He bent down and held his breath. Just then, the door opened.
The sound of a heavy door shattered the hall. A few people entered the sound of their boots echoing on the stone floor. Someone took a deep breath, then said in a hushed voice
"God…"