Chapter 1: Unfamiliar Ceiling

The ceiling was a masterpiece of architectural arrogance.

That was the very first coherent thought that managed to claw its way through the dense, pulsing fog of his skull.

It wasn’t merely painted.

It was practically assaulting anyone looking upward with an opulent, full-scale depiction of celestial cherubs hurling gold-leaf thunderbolts at what appeared to be exceptionally well-sculpted, agonized demons.

Intricate mahogany moldings snaked along the cornices like polished serpents, catching the soft, amber glow of crystalline sconces that were currently humming with a low, magical vibration.

The air smelled of lavender oil, expensive beeswax, aged parchment, and the kind of blinding generational wealth that usually required several centuries of ruthless territorial expansion to accumulate.

He tried to swallow, but his throat felt as though a family of desert scorpions had nested upon his vocal cords and died of dehydration.

’Where the hell am I?’ he thought, his brain feeling three sizes too large for his skull. ’Did the hospital upgrade my insurance after I flatlined? Did my landlord finally remodel the drywall, or did I simply hallucinate an entire Renaissance cathedral in my living room before the ambulance arrived?’

A heavy, velvet duvet, dyed a shade of midnight blue so deep it made his eyes ache, was tucked securely around his chest.

It felt like sleeping under a cloud spun from the wool of pampered, artisanal sheep.

Before he could attempt the heroic task of wiggling his left big toe to verify whether he was paralyzed, a hitching gasp pierced the silence of the room.

To his right, curled awkwardly upon a plush armchair upholstered in embroidered cream damask, sat a girl.

She looked roughly sixteen years old, with voluminous cascades of icy, platinum-blonde hair tumbling over her trembling shoulders.

Her face was buried in her lace-trimmed handkerchief, her body shaking with the sort of dramatic, gut-wrenching sobs typically reserved for Victorian widows at sea cliffs.

"Please... please, Brother..." she choked out, her voice cracked with unfiltered misery. Her knuckles were bone-white as she clutched the fabric of his sleeve. "You can’t leave us... The doctors said... they said the shock to your soul was too much... Father is barely speaking, and Mother hasn’t left the chapel, and Caelan broke three training dummies before noon... Please, just open your eyes. Just for once..."

The young man on the bed blinked.

’Brother?’

He didn’t have a sister.

He had an older brother who worked in logistics, an estranged uncle who occasionally sent chain emails about cryptocurrency, and a collection of indoor plants that had died of neglect three days before his heart decided to stop beating.

He attempted to clear his throat.

What actually emerged from his desiccated windpipe was a wet, pathetic rattle, something akin to an ancient radiator coughing up rust.

"Urgh... khhh..."

The girl froze.

The handkerchief dropped from her face, revealing enormous, tear-rimmed sapphire eyes framed by long, pale lashes. Her mouth fell open into a perfect, comical ’O’.

She stared at his open, twitching eyelids with a mixture of horror and incandescent joy, as though she were watching a side of beef suddenly sit up on the butcher’s table and ask for the morning news.

"B-Brother?" she whispered, her voice climbing three octaves into dog-whistle territory.

He squinted at her, trying to summon the power required to say something reassuring, or at the very least ask for a single glass of lukewarm tap water.

"W... wa..."

"YOU’RE ALIVE?!" she shrieked.

The sound resonated off the gilded moldings with enough force to threaten the structural integrity of the cherubs above.

"Wa... ter..." he managed to wheeze.

"BROTHER IS ALIVE! HE DIDN’T ROT! HE’S BREATHING!"

Without waiting for him to formulate a second consonant, the girl launched herself out of the armchair with the explosive force of an artillery shell.

She almost knocked over a mahogany end table, sent an antique crystal water carafe shattering across the hardwood floor, destroying his only immediate hope of hydration, and tore out of the double oak doors like a rampaging wildcat, screaming at the top of her lungs into the hallway.

"FATHER! MOTHER! DOCTOR ALBERS! HE MOVED! HIS EYES ARE OPEN! HE’S MAKING STRANGE GOBLIN NOISES! COME QUICKLY!"

Her frantic footsteps thundered down the corridor, fading into the distance alongside the frantic ringing of servant bells and the sound of someone dropping a tray of silverware.

The young man lay pinned beneath his luxury duvet, staring at the ceiling, utterly abandoned.

"...I said water, you absolute menace," he croaked into the empty room.

Within forty-five seconds, the heavy oak doors were violently kicked open, slamming back against the stone walls with a deafening thud.

A veritable battalion of human beings stormed the bedroom like a SWAT team executing a no-knock raid on a royal palace.

Leading the charge was a square-jawed man in his late forties, sporting a dark beard trimmed with military precision and broad shoulders draped in a heavy, charcoal-grey fur-lined mantle.

His eyes that were sharp, earthy, and carrying the unmistakable weight of someone accustomed to commanding legions or crushing granite with his bare hands, went wide the moment they locked onto the bed.

Right behind him hurried a breathtakingly elegant woman in a flowing sapphire gown, her hair tied in an intricate, jeweled chignon.

Her porcelain face was streaked with fresh tears, her hands trembling as she pressed them against her chest.

Behind them came a tall, athletic young man in an unbuttoned fencing doublet, looking like an angry lightning elemental who had forgotten to put on his shoes, followed by the platinum-haired girl from earlier, two frantic-looking old men in white academic robes carrying leather bags stuffed with glowing vials, three breathless maids carrying silver basins, and an ancient butler holding a velvet clipboard who looked deeply offended by the sheer lack of decorum in the room.

"Lucien!" the elegant woman cried out, practically throwing herself across the mattress. Her warm hands immediately cupped his cheeks, her thumbs desperately wiping away nonexistent sweat from his forehead.