"Who… who are you all? Where… where is my mother? Where am I?" Serin Hainar asked, his eyes constantly darting around the room, his body arching backward even more.
Serin carefully watched everyone's reactions.
Count Hainar remained expressionless. The man in the white robes muttered something under his breath, pressing a hand over his chest while lowering his head slightly.
A short man in plain attire shook his head and sighed in lament, then moved to the side with his suitcase.
The Countess wore an expression Serin could not fully read. Is that… pity? he thought instinctively.
The elderly maid from earlier had the biggest reaction. Serin actually saw her quietly shed a tear.
Taking all these reactions into account, and seeing that there was a variety of expressions but none of outright surprise, Serin secretly sighed in relief.
"Just as I thought. The few fragmented memories I have of this body are from early childhood, but this body has clearly grown a lot since then. There can only be a few explanations for this," he thought.
In the end, it was the elderly maid who ended the awkward deadlock in the room.
"Oh, my prince… do you not remember… at all?" she asked, the wrinkles on her face stretching wide.
"I don't know… I don't understand… My head hurts," Serin answered tiredly, holding his head in his hands.
Count Hainar finally stepped forward, and everyone present immediately turned their attention toward him. For a moment, a profound silence fell over the room. The Count seemed to be choosing his words, and everyone stood still, waiting for him to speak.
The Count approached Serin, then took a cursory glance at everyone, his gaze settling on Steward Bartley.
"Inform the servants in the castle that word of the prince's awakening must not leave these walls. Anyone found violating this order will not be spared."
Steward Bartley bowed, his posture elegant.
"We obey, my Lord," he said.
After issuing the order nonchalantly, the Count continued, "Priest Phelipe and Doctor Hugh may stay. Everyone else, leave."
Serin watched all of this quietly and anxiously. Everyone exited the room immediately after the Count spoke. Interestingly, the woman in the elegant dress—presumably the Countess—did not leave. Instead, she stepped forward and joined her husband, standing silently just slightly behind him. This further confirmed Serin's assumption that she was the Countess.
Soon, the servants, maids, and guards had all left. Only the smiling man in white robes, the short man with the suitcase, the Count, and the Countess remained, making the room feel far emptier than before.
As the silence settled, the short man with the suitcase stepped forward.
"My prince, I am a physician. You may call me Doctor Hugh. May I check your pulse?"
Serin looked at Doctor Hugh. He was a short, middle-aged man who, at first glance, appeared peaceful and confident. His features were plain, nothing out of the ordinary. He had a long nose and a round face, and the way the corners of his eyes curved—as though smiling—felt oddly reassuring.
Serin hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He extended his hand, allowing the physician to take his pulse. Doctor Hugh did so for a full minute, then checked Serin's eyes, the back of his mouth, and several other things. He scribbled on a small piece of yellowish paper for a while with what appeared to be a pencil, much to Serin's surprise.
Finally, Doctor Hugh turned to the Count, a relieved smile on his face.
"My Lord, good news. The prince is fine. His body is weak after five years of unconsciousness, but with proper care, he will recover."
He then made himself comfortable at a nearby desk and opened his suitcase. Immediately, a dense smell of herbs and medicine filled the room.
"I have written here how and when the medicine I am preparing should be taken. The prince must take it exactly as instructed for a quick recovery," he said, already busy concocting medicine from the various bottles, herbs, and other indistinguishable ingredients.
Count Hainar smiled slightly, the first time he had done so since entering. He bowed deeply, then turned his attention to the robed man, whom Serin assumed to be the priest.
Priest Phelipe still wore that slight smile at the corner of his lips as he nodded and approached the bed where Serin sat.
Serin's first impression of the priest was that every small movement—his very presence—exuded a kind of grace Serin had never seen before. But after a while, that faint smile constantly tugging at his lips began to feel oddly annoying. Serin even had the mischievous thought of wiping it away, just to see how the priest's face would look without it.
At the thought, Serin almost laughed aloud. Then he froze.
"How strange… These thoughts feel like they're mine, but not mine at the same time. It feels… alienating, in my own body."
Just as Serin grew unsettled by this bizarre realization, he saw the smile fade from the priest's face, replaced by a solemnity he had not expected.
Suddenly, the entire room felt heavy, as if time itself had slowed, as though the wind had stopped blowing. The priest once again pressed a hand over his chest and lowered his head slightly, words leaving his mouth—words Serin could not understand.
Then there was green. And warmth.
Serin stared at the priest as a magical, greenish, glittering light emerged from him. He doubted his own eyes. It was something he had never seen before—or perhaps something he had, but which was buried deep within his fragmented memories.
He was so captivated that he did not even realize the mental fatigue weighing down his soul had completely vanished. His entire being felt weightless. Bathed in that warm green light, he felt as though he were back in his mother's womb. Reverence welled up within him.
"May the Lady's blessings be upon you, young prince," the priest said softly as he withdrew his hands. His breathing was labored now, sweat trickling down his face.
Serin could not pull himself away from what he had felt, from what he had seen. Though his body still felt weak, he sensed that he was somehow completely fine—almost as if it were an illusion.
"Lord Count, there are no troubles. It is a miracle that the prince has awakened. Praise the Holy Mother," Priest Phelipe said, his tone pious and devoted, the familiar smile once again adorning his face. This time, however, Serin felt a strange charm emanating from him.
"Praise the Holy Mother. You have the gratitude of House Hainar, Priest Phelipe," the Count said sincerely.
Nodding, the priest replied, "I will now take my leave. This servant of the Goddess stands ready, should you ever require me."
Count Hainar bowed and gestured in farewell. As Priest Phelipe departed, Doctor Hugh stepped forward.
"Ah, wonderful, isn't it? Oh—the priests of the temple, I mean," he added quickly.
Count Hainar nodded seriously.
"Indeed. But we do not discriminate between healers. Sir Hugh, you have my deepest gratitude."
Doctor Hugh laughed.
"You are too kind, my Lord. Alas…" He paused, then continued, "Ah—look at me rambling. My work here is done as well. There is one month's supply of medicine prepared. After that, I will send my apprentice with more. If anything else arises, I too stand ready, by the Goodness's blessings."
They exchanged a few final words, after which Doctor Hugh also left the room, leaving only the Count, Countess and Serin behind.
Immediately, Serin felt a heavy tension return. His eyes began darting left and right once more, his mind a tangled mess. He could not figure out how to speak. It felt as though he were suffocating, as if he had never learned the simple act of communication.
He knew it could not continue like this. He had to say something—anything.
After what felt like an eternity, Serin raised his head and asked, his hands trembling, beads of sweat trickling down his long dark hair, "Where is this? Where is my mother…? What happened five years ago?"
Count Hainar and the Countess looked at each other, then looked at him with what felt like pity, melancholy and something else, something complicated that Serin could not understand.
"Do you remember her? Your mother?" The Countess asked.
Serin was stumped. Of course he didn't know who his mother was. He wasn't even certain who he was. Just as panic threatened to take hold, he blurted out, "No… it's just… I have some vague memories. Very vague. Can you tell me…?"
Count Hainar fell silent. Then he sat down beside Serin on the bed.
After a long pause, he sighed tiredly, an internal struggle playing out behind his eyes. Slowly, his gaze hardened once more, regaining its familiar confidence and resolve.
"Fourteen years ago…" He began.