PART 2 – THE DECEPTION

Upon opening my eyes, I didn't find an elegant monarch parading in a grand reception, gracefully moving towards me to the synchronized sound of trumpets, nor soldiers aiming their rifles in my direction. Instead, darkness enveloped me. How many times had darkness become my faithful companion since I woke up in this world?

Something circular was coiled around my neck, and a piece of fabric covered my poor eyes. The situation was desperate. I had no idea where I was, but the rattling made me sense I was in another truck, although this one was considerably larger than the previous ones. In the previous trucks, I was forced to lie down, my tail coiled due to their narrowness.

Finally, my worst fears had come true. I had been deceived, and I felt naive for having trusted them. Deep down, I knew they had always considered me a war tool. Despite that, something in me had been swayed by their words. After all, I had never experienced conflict before. War in my birthplace was anecdotal and academic, dating back over forty years, when I wasn't even an idea in my parents' minds.

I rose from the floor and stretched my sore neck until my four horns collided with the metal ceiling. The sharp, metallic sound made me aware of my situation. I knew what awaited me was nothing good. Having betrayed my trust twice already, I decided I wouldn't turn the other cheek this time.

I started banging my body against the cold steel walls, and as if planned, my body received an electric shock so painful that it didn't even give me time to scream before I collapsed once again. The collar around my neck had caused the torture. At that moment, I felt like an animal, like a dog whose wicked owner couldn't communicate without cruelty.

Tears of helplessness began flowing from my large eyes, sounding like raindrops hitting a tin roof. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask for help. I wanted to get out of here and return home. I wanted a bit of light.

I remembered how I had set that forest ablaze and tried to replicate what I had done. However, no fire came out of my mouth; I didn't even feel that heat rising from my stomach, traveling through my long throat to my huge toothy mouth. At that moment, I didn't know how I had done it before, but I had, and now, I couldn't replicate it.

Despondent, I stood up and pressed my huge head against the cold wall to listen to the outside, but I couldn't hear anything. I could only feel the truck's movement, and though it wasn't jerky, I understood we were on a paved road. This made me think we must be somewhere inhabited by hundreds of people.

With no alternative but to wait, I attempted to sit, but due to my body's shape, I could only lean. I began to reflect on myself and my past. Thinking about free moments was something I enjoyed; that was what I knew about myself, but something important, something that shaped my identity, telling me I had parents, I couldn't remember. What was my real name?

Forgetting your own name wasn't common, like forgetting important things such as someone's birthday or your own phone number; it was more akin to head injuries or illnesses affecting the mind. Yet, I could recall my parents and brother, their faces, things they liked and disliked, what made them unique and different from others, but I couldn't remember their names.

I was aware that unknown matters required contemplation, so I posed a series of questions to myself: Had my memories been stolen? Was I truly the person I remembered being? Was what I believed I didn't know something I was unaware of before becoming conscious of it? However, despite my attempt to explore what I didn't know, I couldn't find answers to those questions. Nevertheless, I understood that acknowledging my lack of knowledge was a fundamental step in reclaiming my identity. If I came from another world, I needed to find others in a similar situation to confirm this hypothesis and thus discover who I truly was.

If I was here, it meant other people might have experienced something similar. The only universal certainty for all human beings was death, so it didn't seem entirely unreasonable to think I might find other Earthlings in this reality. The possibility of encountering my fellow countrymen filled me with hope. My goal from now on would be to learn to write and leave a message with my Western common sense, hoping someone would recognize it. It could take years, even decades, before anyone found it, but at least I wouldn't be alone in this unknown world.

However, these matters sounded rather idyllic and were raised and resolved in the long term. The reality was that I was imprisoned and likely enslaved to participate in a war where many people would lose their lives. The only thing I could do was not to die in the conflict. Saying it was easy, but doing so depended on luck and the experience of whoever wanted me dead.

Reflecting on life and death was something I used to detest, and now it terrified me even more, despite being given a second chance. The idea of the existence of heaven and hell filled me with unease because if I participated in the war and died, would we end up in hell? Even though I had never believed in such biblical matters as "heaven and hell," the possibility didn't seem entirely void. What if the Bible and other religions were written by people who had reincarnated into our world?

Before I could engage in a philosophical confrontation with my own mind, the truck stopped, and the doors swung wide open. The reddish light of the sunset sun filtered into the dark steel prison. The delightful scent of roasted food began to fill my nostrils, awakening my appetite. I wondered how long it had been since I had eaten. When the soldiers opened the doors, they took several steps back upon hearing the growl of my stomach, clearly frightened.

Without waiting to be dragged like a leashed dog, I stood up and exited the truck. I was greeted by the curious gazes of several armed individuals. Apparently, they had taken me to a different, much more solid and fortified base than the camp where Mibreg first received me.