1 Rebirth
"Dying? Not the end of everything. We think it is. But what happens on earth is only the beginning."
– Mitch Albom
...
James opened his eyes.
All he could see was darkness.
Frigid, numbing obscurity.
It was dark.
Cold, murky and quiet.
Emptiness all around him.
'So I am dead now.' He thought to himself.
'I didn't expect heaven to be this cold.'
'And dark.'
'Or is this hell?'
'Probably.' He chuckled.
Floating in the void for what felt like an eternity, he felt his senses fade away, merging with the nothingness surrounding him.
Without a destination, he drifted insipidly through the void.
Sometime later,
In that cold endless desolation, a spark appeared streaked towards him.
Although appearing wan and pathetically small, it stood out like a sore thumb in the emptiness.
Colliding with it, James felt a strange warmth fill his core.
It felt oddly consoling, like the embrace of a long lost mother.
His existence fused with the light.
Leisurely, he melted away, like the winter snow on a hot summer day.
But he felt no fear, no alarm.
Only peace, and sweet release.
Soon in that endless void, both he and that precious spark,
Ceased to exist.
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In a warm room,
Somewhere.
...
"How's the young master?"
"Still sleeping, Sir Lancelot."
"And his injuries?"
"They are mostly taken care of, just..."
Although he still felt drowsy with a slight ache in his chest and at the base of his skull, James could faintly hear two voices one masculine and deep, and the other quite effeminate but mature conversing somewhat inaudibly in the background,
In a strange language that he could barely identify, but understood perfectly well, they conversed seemingly about him, and other things he couldn't grasp but assumed important.
His eyes creaked open weakly, breaking the hardened seal of their natural secretions as the blurry sight of an unfamiliar yet familiar ceiling entered his vision.
Curious, he sat up to get a better view.
Or at least tried to, before a numbing ache coursed through his body forcing from his mouth a pained groan.
"Sir Lancelot, the young master is awake!" That effeminate voice announced in a visibly relieved tone.
Following the sound of approaching footsteps on what he suppose should be a stone floor, He felt a pair of petite yet calloused hands hold him as the visage of a middle-aged woman entered his sights.
"Rest easy young master, your injuries are still healing."
The woman who looked to be in her late thirties had an oval face with average yet appealing features. She was dressed in a cream-coloured linen dress with a sleeveless brown tunic that faintly pronounced her mature, motherly figure, while her dark brown hair was hidden underneath a cream coloured wimple that fell to her back.
Confused, James stared intently at the woman who for some strange, unnatural reason seemed somewhat unfamiliar yet familiar to him at the same time.
'Sarah...' He muttered her name.
For yet another unknown reason, he knew that was the name of this woman currently fumbling worriedly about his frail frame. Memories of her in his mind were fairly repetitive since she somehow had been his household's head maid for as long as he could remember.
From his recollection, she usually tended to the injuries sustained by the knights and soldiers under his father's banner and supervising the junior maids in handling their chores.
Stumbling over Sarah's identity for a few brief moments, James turned to face the other person, a tall handsome man with a chiselled face, dark brown, almost black hair and dark sloe-like eyes.
He stood ramrod-straight at the edge of the bed, staring down at him from the bridge of his nose.
Dressed in a dark brown tunic and hoses underneath a suit of leather armour, though he had a stern expression on his face, James for some reason subconsciously felt inclined towards him, like one would around a generous uncle.
"Levi, how are you feeling?" The man he 'remembered' as Lancelot spoke to him, with a magnetic voice brimming with concern.
'Me?' James thought confused.
'I am very sure I remember my name being James and not Levi.' He thought to himself in doubt.
Though baffled, he kept his opinions to himself as he tried to reel in his thoughts and sort out all these confusing memories that kept popping up in his head from out of nowhere.
A few moments later, he 'remembered' something strange again.
The last time he was awake was during a battle where someone ambushed Lancelot with an antique-looking crossbow.
Lancelot came out alright but he did not, he got shot instead, falling and hitting his head on a cornerstone. From the bandages on his head and chest, it's clear that his injuries weren't light in any way.
'Damn! I shouldn't even be alive with wounds this deep.' He thought, but then noticed something strange once more.
'Wait a minute!'
'Knights...'
'Knights?'
'Wait, KNIGHTS!?'
'Why knights? I thought we were in the twenty-first century.' He asked.
'And what's the deal with head-maids for Pete's sake, I don't remember ever having even a single maid, talk less of a whole gaggle of them.'
'And what's with their weird clothing? Is this some sort of weird cosplay or they are just doing something equally abnormal?'
'I'm not even sure anymore if I even really know these people.' He added.
Confused, he looked around trying to find a clue that could hint him at what is going on.
Then, he paused realising something odd but very important.
'Wait...'
'Wait a minute...'
'I am not dead'
'Am I?'
