There was silence.

No darkness, no light.

Nothing.

Only the feeling of falling.

Cold.

So cold.

“…Where am I?”

His own voice echoed in his mind.

His eyes were still closed, but it seemed the dark tunnel pulling him in now had a faint light at the end.

Pain, sharp and vivid, stabbed at his temple like a needle. A rough voice came from afar. Stone floors, footsteps approaching, and…

Tap… tap…

A wooden door opened with a soft, aged creak. Light spilled across his face and…

—“Ah!”

A delicate sound, accompanied by the clatter of something metallic falling to the floor, broke the stillness. His eyes opened.

A high ceiling, stone walls etched with strange lines. Candles burned along the walls. This place… was unfamiliar.

A young servant with dark brown hair, dressed in greenish-brown, was crouched nearby. His lips trembled. A silver tray had fallen beside him, and his gaze locked in disbelief on the stranger’s face.

—“He’s awake…!”

He muttered under his breath, as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

Roven blinked. His mouth was dry.

He raised his hand. No scratches.

But… this body… this place…

“Wh-where am I?”

—“Please… stay right here. I’ll send the doctor immediately!”

The servant hurried out, his footsteps echoing along the stone corridor.

Roven sat there, his head heavy, his eyes vacant.

Alone.

His hands trembled. He lifted the corner of the blanket. He was wearing a long, soft garment he had never seen before. A window stood open, heavy drapes, and the chill of mountain air. His heart raced.

Minutes later, hurried footsteps entered the room. The doctor, an older man in a gray coat, stepped forward.

—“Your Highness… how are you? Are you feeling well?”

Roven blinked.

—“I… who am I?”

His voice was hoarse, faint.

—“Who… are you?”

The room went silent.

The doctor’s eyes widened.

The servant stayed quiet by the wall. Two young nurses exchanged a brief glance.

—“You… don’t remember anything? Your name? Where you live?”

Roven just looked at them. He tried to focus. In his mind, only the sound of a sharp strike rang out.

His hand went to his temple.

—“Ah…”

The pain, like a surge of electricity, shot across his forehead. His eyelids trembled.

—“Calm down, please…”

The doctor motioned to the servant.

—“We need to inform them. Right away.”

The door closed. The doctor murmured:

—“It seems you’ve suffered a concussion. Or…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

At that moment, in the main hall of Carth Castle…

Viria Carth, commander of the northern border, stood on the stone steps, gazing at the snowy mountains through the tall hall window. A shadow leaned close to her ear and whispered:

—“Commander, he’s awake.”

She didn’t blink. She just stood, arms crossed.

—“How is he?”

—“…He asked who we are. He doesn’t recognize this place. He says he remembers nothing.”

A pause. An ominous hush settled over the castle.

Behind Viria, her father, Duke Garth, passed through the corridor.

—“It’s just a game. He’s playing the harmless fool. Leave him be; he’ll finish his little act eventually.”

Her mother, Dosh Lenera, quietly looked at her daughter’s face and said:

—“If he truly has forgotten… perhaps it will be more useful for us.”

Viria said nothing.

She didn’t smile.

Didn’t move.

She simply stared at the falling snow.

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