Prologue: Beginning of The End.

My body is being enveloped by water, cold sinking water, it surrounds me in every direction.

My body is numb and it is stone cold.

"Hah!" Rene gasped as he sat up, grabbing his head. It was pounding.

His vision soon adjusted and he was greeted with the sight of a wood stained bench, his back also ached as though he hadn't moved for some time.

He dragged out a long groan as he stretched, an audible crack sound being made as he did so.

He knew he had been kicked out of his apartment but he didn't remember falling asleep in the park, though it had become his go to place to find shelter if he hadn't found somewhere to couch surf.

His last memory was walking down a back road, then- his head pounded again.

It didn't matter. He stood up and looked around before freezing in place.

This couldn't be the park. The park was not surrounded by medieval houses, and was not occupied by men in long coats with ladies in long dresses walking beside them, carrying fans that wavered over their mouths.

It did not reek of perfumes and cologne, and the ground was not decorated with sett* stone patterning.

Where did he end up after last night? His memory failed him no matter how much he tried.

He could have wandered off but that probability seemed unlikely, he didn't wander far from familiar spots..he could have passed out back in that alley and someone had carried him to a convention area? Even if it was a convention, isn't the whole medieval house around a bit too much?

He sighed and stood up with another groan, rubbing his lower back.

God, he must look like a fool in his sweatshirt and sweatpants among all these cosplayers.

He almost laughed out before he felt around his back a bit more with his hand, which brushed upon a chain attached to his hip.

That was strange..did he change clothes? No, all his stuff he had sold to pay for a hotel for a while.

He no longer had such things like belt chains and dress pants, and whatever this vest top he had on was. He wasn't sure he owned something like this even before he had sold his things.

He looked around frantically in the midst of his confusion; he ran up to a shop window, bending to look into the glass in which he caught the faint sight of his reflection.

His hair was not like milk chocolatey brown color, nor was it fluffed up and untamed. His eyes were not mismatched colors, this horrid mix of yellow and blue. Nor was his skin so fair he almost looked sickly.

This face was not his own, nor was this body.

But a deep sick twist in his stomach did indeed recognize it.

But that was simply impossible.

There's no way..he couldn't have ended up within a game.

*A sett stone pattern is a broadly rectangular quarried stone used in paving roads and walkways.