[CHAPTER 1] - Where am I?

"THROUGH THE EVERLASTING WILL OF THE GODS, I PRONOUNCE YOU – ELIAM TESFAY DEM VARN, THE ABSOLUTE MONARCH OF THE KINGDOM OF VARNERIG!"

Huh?

My eyes still closed; I attempt to access my current situation. Where am I, what is going on? I feel myself kneeling on a soft surface and experience something heavy being placed on my head. I want to open my eyes; I want to figure out what's going – but it is as if I have become completely enclosed within myself only hearing and feeling the outside world. In other words: I have absolutely zero control over my body. The air around me is warm giving the initial impression of being in an intimate environment but the echoing of the hoarse voice from before seems to suggest otherwise. Just what is going on?

"RISE THE REGENT OF OUR BLESSED KINGDOM", the voice from before echoes.

My eyes open by themselves and stare into the face of an elderly priestly figure clad in a simple white robe. He looks at me calmly with two intensely green eyes, seemingly satisfied with the current state of affairs. Once again, my body moves completely by its own volition and stands up. Even though my eyes are fixated on the priest, I can still vaguely make out my immediate surroundings: from the white marble floor Corinthian pillars support impressive archways which reach far into the sky.

To the side rows and rows of tall mosaics-filled windows cast warm coloured light on the interior. All around us a massive crowd of people stand in complete silence all the while a large mass of similarly simply clad priests slowly begins to form what looks to be a square a few meters behind the elder. Awestruck by the sheer scale of what is unfolding before me, I can't help but open my mouth a little. I can't help but open my mouth. My mouth is open! Open, close, open, close, op-

The old priest quite suddenly steps into a forceful embrace. Now enveloped by his strangely strong arms he forces my head deeply into his shoulder and turns his wrinkly head to whisper in my ear, "Don't you dare mess this up," he nearly spits with disgust. He immediately pulls me out and holds me by the shoulders as if he were looking at one of his dear family members and plasters a huge smile on his face. He turns towards the crowd, still an arm on my shoulder, and cries:

"ALL HAIL ELIAM, KING OF ALL VARNERIG!"

The silent tension from before is broken instantly as thousands throw their heads back to roar an incredible reply of the same split sentence. Now apparently able to use my own body again I just stand there and look, stupefied by the spectacle. He squints his soul-piercing eyes, looks at me for a few seconds while the crowd continues its hive-song, and pushes on my back as if to tell me to start moving forward. I get it. I think I do. This is a dream, right?

I do as he suggests and my moving apparently functioned as a signal because everything all of a sudden begins moving. The formation of priests in front of us starts singing as the massive wooden doors of the entrance slowly turn, revealing a slight breeze and voices of yet more people yelling in the name of the king. Every time I take a step forward the whole formation moves and with the not so gentle guidance of the elder, I make sure to follow along. Behind me and to my flanks, Guards wearing bright yellow uniforms and wielding shining swords swarm around me. The church crowd now follows behind me turning this into a sort of procession.

Again – what the fuck is going on right now? As I continue walking outside, following a long cobble road, that is all that is going through my head. While the cheering crowd throws their flowers and yell to get their wave from the king, that is what is going through my head. It doesn't matter that it's a beautiful summer day, or that the wind is blowing the perfect temperature. What the fuck is going on? I really want to know!

But we don't walk for long. While I scour the streets and houses of the city we're walking through, I fully expect to find some sort of clue leading me back to my accustomed world of adverts and fast driving cars. But to my despair, no matter how hard I try I only see tall medieval half-timbering and people dressed in period specific clothing.

Maybe five, maybe ten minutes – it all feels too surreal – later and we separate with the crowd through a massive gate and disappear into a jet-black horse drawn carriage. By we, I of course mean me and the old priest. As we sit in front of each other I can't help but want to question him but his stern complexion and purposely shut eyelids tell me that I would probably regret it. It's not like I don't have an idea of what's going on. It's just you know… really?

I hear the coachman click two times with his tongue and feel the carriage slowly taking speed. I suppose we're going to the royal palace now. I mean, the idiotically heavy crown on my head definitely points in that direction, doesn't it? I decide to take it off, to make the time pass, I guess. Entirely made of gold, with a fine leaf-heart pattern, and adorned with a myriad of different gems and stones, this is definitely the crown of a king. "Hmph!" The priest grumbles. I look at him in desperation, sincerely wanting to talk to anyone that might know why I find myself in this peculiar situation but when I look, he's already fake sleeping again.

I think about half an hour passes like this. Now out of the city, the cobble road fades into gravel and as I look out the window, I see nothing but rolling golden corn-fields and the occasional farmer tending them. With the crown in my lap, I become increasingly tired – the sweet rhythm of horse and wheel lulling me into an uneasy sleep.