The Duke's Household (1)

The weight of the memories in Elian's mind was too much to take in.

As the memories of the bastard son of the Grand Duke flooded his mind, intertwining with his own memories, and he could feel the weight of the other Elian's suffering bearing down on him.

"What kind of sick game is this?" Elian muttered to himself, his voice trembling with disbelief and anger. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he tried to make sense of the situation. "From a suffering beggar to a suffering bastard… Is this some kind of joke? Are the gods playing tricks on me?"

He let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating in the stillness of the forest. He had always heard stories about reincarnation, about second chances and new beginnings, but this, this was nothing like what he had iimagined

If the gods wanted to give him a second chance, why couldn't they have put him in the body of a pampered young master, someone with wealth, power, and privilege? Instead, they had thrown him into the body of another miserable, wretched soul, someone who had suffered just as much, if not more, than he had in his previous life.

"Isn't this the real meaning of 'from the frying pan into the fire?'" Elian muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He could still feel the lingering pain from the impact of the vehicle that had killed him, could still remember the fear and desperation that had gripped him in those final moments. But now, instead of finding peace or some semblance of a new beginning, he was thrust into another life of suffering, another existence filled with pain and despair.

Elian felt trapped, like he forced to relive the other Elian's suffering, forced to endure the same pain and heartache. It was almost too much to bear. The anger and frustration bubbled up inside him, threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to scream, to curse the gods for their cruelty, for this twisted second chance they had given him.

But what good would it do? What good would it do to rage against the heavens, to curse his fate? He was stuck here, in this new body, in this new life, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was still Elian, the beggar who had fought so hard to survive, but now he was also Elian, the bastard son of the Grand Duke, the boy who had suffered so much and found no escape.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying to push down the anger and frustration that threatened to consume him. He had survived before. He had faced unimaginable suffering and come out on the other side. He had endured the harshness of life on the streets, the cruelty of the orphanage, the pain of losing everything he had ever cared about.

He could survive this too. He had to.

But as he sat there, the memories of both his lives swirling in his mind, he couldn't help but feel a deep, gnawing sense of hopelessness. What was the point? What was the point of all this suffering, all this pain? Was there some grand purpose to it all, some lesson he was supposed to learn? Or was it all just a cruel joke, a twisted game played by the gods for their own amusement?

Elian didn't know. He didn't have the answers. All he knew was that he was tired, tired of fighting, tired of struggling, tired of the constant pain and heartache. But even as he felt the weight of that exhaustion pressing down on him, he knew he couldn't give up. He couldn't let the darkness consume him.

He had to keep going. He had to find a way to survive, to find some meaning in this new life he had been given, even if it felt like an impossible task.

Elian closed his eyes, taking another deep breath as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He could still feel the cold earth beneath him, the dampness seeping into his clothes, but he forced himself to focus, to push down the panic and fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

He had survived before. He could survive again.

But as he opened his eyes and looked around at the unfamiliar forest, the rushing river, the dense trees that surrounded him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was completely and utterly alone. And for the first time in a long time, Elian felt a deep, crushing sense of despair.

Because no matter how hard he fought, no matter how much he struggled, it seemed that life, whether it was his old life or this new one, was determined to beat him down, to break him.

And he didn't know how much more he could take.

Elian ran a hand through his hair, the unfamiliar texture and length adding another layer to the disorienting experience. The clothes he wore were finer than anything he'd ever known, yet they felt heavy and constricting, like a prison. His hands, too, were different, cleaner, softer, without the grime that had marked his life on the streets.

But beneath all the confusion and fear, the grief for Buddy remained sharp and unyielding, a raw wound in his heart. The dog had been his only true companion, his one source of warmth in a world that had shown him little kindness. And now, Buddy was gone, lost forever.

Elian took a shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. Panic wouldn't help him now. He had to think, to figure out his next move. But how could he navigate this new world when he barely understood it himself?

Running a trembling hand over his face, he forced himself to stand, his legs unsteady beneath him. The riverbank stretched out before him, both familiar and alien. He recognized the landscape, but it all felt so distant, like a dream fading away.

He could try to escape this life that wasn't his, but where would he go? What would he do? He knew nothing of this world beyond the fragmented memories that had been forced upon him.

No, running wasn't an option. If he was going to survive, he needed to adapt, to learn the rules of this new reality, and find a way to make it work for him. He would need to be cunning, careful, and above all, patient.

The thought of returning to the grand estate, to face the people who scorned him, filled him with dread. But he had no choice. This was his life now, and he would have to find a way to live it on his terms.

With a resolve born of years of hardship, Elian straightened his unfamiliar shoulders and began to walk. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with dangers he couldn't yet see, but he would face it head-on. He had survived worse, and he would survive this too.

---

Elian clenched his fists inside his pockets, his knuckles straining against the fabric as he get closer to the Duke's estate.

Every step he took, was an ominous reminder of the role he was about to play. How was he supposed to survive against something he didn't even fully understand?

He stopped just before the entrance, taking a moment to compose himself. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, fear, frustration. But he had to push it all down, had to hide it beneath the surface. The last thing he needed was to show any weakness.

Elian took deep breath, forcing his thoughts into some semblance of order. He couldn't afford to lose control, not now. He had to keep his emotions in check, had to maintain his facade.

This was his life now. This was his battle. And he would fight it with everything he had.

But inside, the storm continued to rage, panic clawing at his chest and frustration tightening around his throat. Fear gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, threatening to overwhelm him, and he struggled to keep himself from unraveling completely.

When he pushed open the heavy front doors, he couldn't believe his eyes.

Elian breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as he froze in place.

The scene before him twisted his stomach, sending a cold shiver down his spine. He could barely process it, his mind reeling as the only thought that surfaced was, "What the hell..."