PROLOGUE

I never believed to the absurdity of the "light at the end of the tunnel," where people, after a near-death experience, wake up in a sweat exclaiming, "I saw the light!"

And yet, here I am, in this so-called tunnel, confronted by this blinding light, while the last thing I remember is dozing off in my room... the royal chamber, as others called it.

Was I dead? If so, how? Was I assassinated?

I didn't recall harming anyone, but as a public figure of influence, others certainly had reasons to want me gone.

Regardless...

The inexorable push toward this mysterious light made me abandon the idea that this was all a dream. Instead, I relaxed, which seemed to make things more bearable, and let myself be carried by the current.

The journey seemed endless. At any moment, I almost expected to hear a choir of children singing an angelic hymn, inviting me towards what I hoped was paradise.

Yet, instead, as if peering through a foggy glass, everything around me melded into a glowing blur, forcing me to close my eyes.

Indistinct noises assaulted my ears, causing intense dizziness. When I tried to speak, my words came out as a cry.

The cacophony slowly faded, replaced by a broken female voice: "It worked! He's coming back to life!"

...Wait.

So, I must conclude that I'm one of those individuals who have had a near-death experience?

It seems that the scientists' opinion, claiming such experiences are subjective and varied, holds true.

One of my servants must have entered my room and found me dying, prompting her to urgently call all the staff, including those old men.

I'm sure they summoned the best doctors to save me, if only to ensure they could continue using me as they always have since the beginning of my reign.

After all, behind the glamorous facade of the powerful King that my people idolize daily, lies an empty shell, imbued with coldness and devoid of emotions.

I am the perfect instrument, manipulated at will by the Council members.

Even in death, these old strategists refuse to let me go in peace. Am I destined to be their puppet, chained to the schemes of these men?

Just thinking about it overwhelms me with bitterness, accompanied by a tumultuous emotion, mixing irritation and anger, boiling like an erupting volcano.

No, there's no use getting angry at those old men, really.

I reopened my eyes slowly and laboriously, and they were greeted by a kaleidoscope of different colors and shapes.

It didn't take long for my eyes to adjust to the light, and a charming face appeared in my field of vision.

It was the face of a woman, and taking a few more seconds to see what she looked like, I must admit she had a peculiar beauty. Rather than glamorous, I would describe her as adorable, in a gentle and kind way. Her hazel brown hair was beautiful, her cyan blue eyes reminiscent of the sky, her long lashes, and her delicate nose.

Yet, despite this first impression, I could also see a fracture in her.

She seemed... broken?

Her long hazel hair was disheveled, and dark circles under her eyes visibly highlighted her fatigue.

And her blue eyes did not reflect the brightness they should have, as if all their beauty had been sucked out and torn away, and her empty gaze made me uneasy.

Could she be the one who revived me? Why, then, does she seem in such a state, as if she had endured days without rest? Did it take that long to get me out of my comatose state?

Looking at her again carefully, she didn't wear the distinctive coat of a doctor. Moreover, she didn't seem to be one of my many servants that I would have undoubtedly crossed paths with many times in my vast palace.

She was dressed in East Asian-style clothing. Her outfit consisted of a long dark flowing robe reaching her ankles, a white top with wide sleeves, and a pink scarf tied at the waist. It was not an ordinary outfit, but she seemed comfortable in it.

As I finished examining my presumed savior, her face as still as a statue, she slowly opened her mouth: "The Outside God has answered my prayers. You have finally returned to me, my child."

At her words, a wave of perplexity froze me in place. "My child?" How could she call me that? The strangeness of the situation only grew, and the soft melancholy in her eyes added to my disarray.

I wanted to ask so many questions, but fatigue weighed heavily on me, making each thought difficult to formulate. The silence of the room, almost palpable, only intensified the feeling of unreality.

But when I tried to move, I suddenly realized the reality of my situation. My movements were clumsy, my limbs tiny and weak. Looking down, I saw small chubby hands, those of a baby. Panic rose within me, and I tried to scream, but only a faint whimper came out.

The woman, noticing my agitation, placed a gentle hand on my forehead to calm me. "Don't worry, my child," she murmured softly. "Everything is fine now. You are safe."

Her words, though comforting, only added to my confusion. How could I have become a baby again? What had happened to my adult body, to my previous life? My mind swirled with unanswered questions as the reality of my new existence began to set in.

Taking a mental sigh, I pulled myself together. Though I didn't know what strange ritual I had found myself in, I had to stay calm.

Evaluating my situation rationally, worthy of a king, I noted first that, wherever I was, I understood the language. This was a good sign. It meant that I could communicate and potentially find out more about this inexplicable situation.

I took a deep breath, feeling the fresh, slightly fragrant air of the room fill my lungs. The scent of incense was soothing, despite the anxiety that roiled within me. The woman, still by my side, looked at me with an emotion mixed with sadness and hope.

I was lying on a makeshift bed, a worn blanket under my small body. This rudimentary bed added to the spartan atmosphere of the place. The woman, kneeling beside me, seemed to watch over me with silent devotion.

I tried to speak, to form words, but only incoherent babbling escaped my lips. Frustration mounted within me, but I quickly suppressed it. Panic would be of no help. As a king, I had learned to master my emotions, and this moment would be no different.

The woman seemed to understand my distress. She took me in her arms and gently rocked me, murmuring soothing words. Her touch was comforting, and despite my confusion, I felt strangely safe.

It seemed reasonable to call her mother. She exuded an irresistible maternal warmth, making me want to cling to her. I wondered if all babies felt this irresistible bond with their mother.

I turned my gaze to observe the room more attentively. The walls were adorned with ancient patterns, frescoes depicting scenes I did not recognize. The room was dimly lit by oil lanterns, casting dancing shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere both mysterious and soothing.

The floor was covered with worn tatami mats, and in one corner, a small dark wooden table was topped with various ritual objects, adding a sacred touch to the place. Statuettes, candles, and various strange objects were carefully arranged, creating a revered and respected space. All of this reinforced the idea that my presence here was no accident, but the result of a meticulously orchestrated event.

The light from the oil lanterns cast soft, dancing shadows, giving the room a warm ambiance despite the strangeness of the situation. Every detail contributed to an atmosphere both serene and mysterious.

I knew I had to understand what had happened to me. Every clue in this room, every gesture of this woman could help me piece together the puzzle of my reincarnation. But for now, I had to remain calm and observe, like a king seeking answers in an unknown world.

The threads of my thoughts were abruptly cut by the woman's fervent voice. Tears streamed down her tired face as she exclaimed with palpable passion: "Oh my child, your life is the fire that will ignite my vengeance, the flame that will consume Zahard's throne."

Her declaration resonated in the silent room, each word laden with an almost palpable heaviness. Her eyes shone with fierce determination, but there was also a glimmer of derangement, a trace of madness mingling with her pain.

This woman, though desperately determined, seemed on the brink of reason, her words imbued with a bitterness and thirst for revenge that bordered on obsession.

This strange combination of fervor and despair added a disturbing dimension to her presence. I felt like I was in the presence of someone who had lost everything and had nothing left to lose, someone ready to do anything to achieve her goal, even if it meant descending into madness.

No, she was already drowning in madness.

I don't know what this Zahard did to make her so desperate, but one thing is certain.

I must get away from this woman as far as possible.

The motherly love I felt towards her a moment ago has dissipated like dew at sunrise.

As her words continued to resonate in the air, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. The determination and obsession in her eyes, combined with her state of fatigue and distress, created a troubling image. She was like a flickering flame, ready to ignite everything around her in one final act of vengeance.

I knew that staying with her would be dangerous. Her quest for revenge seemed to have become her only reason for living, and she had designated me, myself, as the instrument of her revenge. I had to find a way to escape, to free myself from this grip before her madness engulfed me.

The woman began to recite some kind of prophecywith an almost ritualistic intensity, her eyes fixed as if seeing a distant future.

"One day, the power of this god will awaken within the body of this child."

"This child will open the door of this Tower and return. And with his hands, he will avenge the death of my love....and end the war we have begun."

"He will destroy this corrupted power and bring truth to this Tower."

"The messager of god will place the Red Thorn in the hand of this child, and he will cut the throat of the Greedy King with this Thorn."

"Then he will find the key hidden in this Tower, and he will open the door and he will guide those who live there tona higher place."

Her words vibrated with terrifying conviction. The fanaticism and fervor in her voice only reinforced my determination to escape. I looked around, searching for an exit, a way to flee. The room, despite its mystical and serene appearance, now felt stifling, almost menacing. The dancing shadows of the lanterns took on sinister shapes, and the scent of incense, once soothing, became heavy and oppressive.

I had to gather my strength, feeble as it was in this baby's body, and find a solution. Perhaps someone else in this house could help me, or maybe I should wait for the right moment to attempt escape. Every second spent here with this woman increased the risk of being drawn into her spiral of madness.

For now, I needed to feign innocence and ignorance, to play the role of the child she believed she had revived.

I will observe carefully, waiting for any sign of weakness, any opportunity to flee.

I needed to run away from her.