Rowan

five months before the Tower

Expectations can either bring you up or drag you down, to Rowan Emrys Lewis, the expectations surrounding him are debilitating. The whispers as he walks the halls of his University, the look of disappointment in his teachers faces when they see he isn't as extraordinary as his mother.

All he does is live under her shadow, worried about his every move, not on how it'll reflect in her legacy, but due to his past accompanying her across the world, where his life was shaped and surrounded by situations no child should live in.

A somber atmosphere in the middle of London as he walks slowly from his University to the small apartment his mother left him with.

The place is filled with memories of her, artifacts worthy millions, paintings of different places and people, yet not a single picture of Rowan is in that place, a place that makes him feel as small as he did growing up.

As he closes the door of the apartment his phone rings, he looks down sighing. Another call from his father, but he declines it, not because he's angry or still resentful, but because he's ashamed.

Ashamed of the person he became, ashamed of not being able to look him in the eye, it's been years since he last saw his father and grandparents, his life with his mother brought him experiences not many can say they have.

In both positive and negative sides, in his head, why would his family still want him? Didn't they ask him to stay in London to study after his mother's death?

He tosses his phone on the sofa and walks towards the room, even the scent of the room is of his mother, everything in his life is a constant reminder that he is her son, and nothing else.

Balthazar

three months before the Tower

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The first thing that overwhelms the boy’s senses when he awakens is the incessant sound of dripping water, the sound becoming louder he attempts to open his heavy eyes, struggling before being able to open them properly. For a brief moment his vision is blurry, soon it settles as he looks around silently.

Different from the luxurious vast room with marble walls and precious stones, the place is a dark and gray room, no windows to be seen and the room is only large enough to fit a small bed and a desk.

His body is sluggish, every move hurts, and the sound of water dripping is louder every second, echoing inside his brain. He coughs, feeling the lungs burning, throat drying up and hands trembling as they reach his mouth in a poor attempt to cover it.

Just then he’s able to notice the state of his own body. Thin, too thin. In fact, it's almost as if his skin is covering only bones, no muscles to be seen.

Your highness, this is simply a punishment, if you understand, kneel and take it without whining like a good boy. A voice rings inside his head, pain crossing his whole body, He does not recognize its origin or the person it belongs to.

After struggling for a good amount of time, he’s able to get out of the tiny bed, moving his weak body towards the door. And that's when he understands why he is in such pain.

Behind the white molded door, there's a mirror, reflecting the image of an extremely skinny man. His hair is of a light brown tone, like dry mud, his eyes are the same tone, nothing too remarkable. He wouldn't be considered ugly, but neither would he be considered a beauty. Perhaps if he pulled some weight and took care of his dry skin, but he's like a living skeleton, gaunt eyes, overgrown hair and beard, and his body… if someone wished to, they could place their hands inside their chest and carry them around due to the lack of muscles and fat.

Pity fills his stomach, but that only lasts until he moves towards the figure. Of course I understood it was a mirror from the beginning, so why did I not notice the figure looking back at me was myself?

Was this how he looked before? No.

He was skinny, sure, but he had muscles, his body sculpted to perfection, only starving himself when necessary, avoiding any food that could bloat him, he took care of his appearance to perfection.

Why?

Because he was the most good-looking person in the whole Empire. 

His name?

A loud ringing in his ears interrupts his thoughts, unable to recall his own name, or even what he properly looked like.

As a Prince I would never sleep in such a dirty place. Yes, He was a Prince, living in an Empire, son of a happy couple and brother to the heir of the throne. I cannot, for the life of me, remember their faces or names, perhaps it is for the best, as remembering too much might make me miss it.

I must’ve died, yet this still doesn’t explain this situation I’m in.

If I were supposed to be dead, why am I here in a body that does not belong to me?

He’s weak, even the movement of pushing his hair back or walking makes his whole body hurt. And most of all, he’s starving. Staring at the mirror or trying to remember fading memories won't give his previous body back, so he turns to search for food inside that miniscule room.

“What did the owner of this body do to get this malnourished?”he asks himself as he finds a small stash of food under the bed, the boy isn’t familiar with any of those, plastic bags with potatoes inside, or cans with beverages. None seems nutritional enough to help him recover. However, ending his hunger comes first.

So he eats, sitting on the floor of that tight and lightless room he eats until there's not a single package left closed. After he finishes eating he decides to look around the room more.

Old clothes that smell like mold, books that he cannot read, bags that have holes in them and a few other objects he’s not familiar with. Two which piqued his interest the most: a rectangular device, much similar to magical artifacts he had in his previous life and a small leather wallet that was chewed on the sides.

First, he opens the wallet to find nothing but a small card.

“He looks much better with some meat”, he mumbles looking at the picture, the man is the same he saw in the mirror, so he assumes that must be the current body he’s inhabiting. He looks livelier in the picture, and way more handsome, a few freckles under his eyes and his skin is properly taken care of, he looks human and most of all, he looks healthy.

Unfortunately he cannot read anything written in the card, so he assumes the information relayed there.

His name…

No.

My name appears to be Balthazar June Reid, at least by what I assume, and the date of my birth is October 12th, the year is confusing to understand, how can it be more than 2000 years? Was I transported to the future? No, that's impossible.

Although his name and birthday differ from what it says on the card, he’s glad to be able to discern that little amount of information.

So he moves to the artifact. It lights up and the image of flowers appears, sunflowers. “Some things appear to be the same, like numbers and names, yet I cannot understand a single written word…” he whispers, exploring the artifact further.

He can still assume things, finding mesmerizing how a small artifact is able to hold so many functions. It takes him hours exploring the device, yet he still couldn't find a way to read the words properly.

What he gathers after all of his exploration is the basics of the world he’s in, especially the fact that things move through science instead of magic, as there are no mana stones anywhere, be it in the device or the pictures it showed him. The language he speaks and understands isn't recognized by the device, however when he types in words from the card or books he’s able to receive an answer, even if he cannot understand it. And he is currently 18 years old.

He can’t recall ever completing 18 years of age, although he does remember being simply days away from it, so saying he aged would be convoluted considering the birthday of this body was three days ago.

“Even if I have this information, with no way to communicate, how am I supposed to feed myself?” A sigh leaves his mouth as drowsiness fills him, allowing himself to fall asleep, after all, what can he do even if he remains awake?

𓇢𓆸

Bangs on the door jolt him awake, the strong light of the room makes him dizzy and for a brief moment he fails to recognize his surroundings. Another bang, and then again and again. A yell is also heard, but what use can it do when he cannot recognize a single word being said? In between the yells the only thing he can recognize is his name being used.

Hostility isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with, he remembers being strongly despised as a Prince, especially by those living in the Palace, even his parents had given up on him, and his brother wouldn’t speak to him at all outside of official settings. And he probably died of poisoning, so that says a lot. 

Although this body hurts, and it didn’t belong to him, now this is him, and he does not wish to die again. As fast as these weak muscles allow, he grabs the wallet and the device, also putting on the moldy clothes, as there isn’t much of an option even if they stink. Hiding the few belongings he sees as important inside his pants, he opens the door slowly.

Everything happens so quickly he can’t even see the people on the other side before a heavy fist hits his face, he can hear his bones breaking with every hit and his warm blood sliding across his skin, again, and again, and again, his face, his ribs. Everything hurts, from head to toes, and the men keep yelling words he cannot understand.

This is a nightmare, he thinks repeatedly as he keeps hitting me until the men are satisfied, it takes quite a moment, it could be minutes or hours, it's indistinguishable. Broken ribs, broken nose, broken arm and foot, perhaps his whole body is broken. Should I simply give up and die? No. I don’t really want to die, even if it hurts.

Another man appears, but he can’t see their faces, even if he wished to. His vision starts to blur again, not due to sleepiness, probably with some sort of concussion, because it doesn’t matter how much he tries, he cannot fight the sudden wave that takes his consciousness away.