Raka did not answer right away. The old man's words still hung in the air, sounding far more terrifying than any shout or threat he might have heard since he woke up. You aren't the Ashwin I knew, are you? The question was simple, but it was enough to make Raka's entire body go rigid. For the past few minutes, he had been trying to convince himself that all of this might be nothing more than a dream that felt too real. Maybe he was in a coma after an accident, and his brain had created this strange world as a form of protection. Maybe the old body he'd seen in the mirror was nothing but a hallucination. Maybe the servants calling him Your Majesty were merely part of a dream that would end someday when he opened his eyes. But the man standing before him made all those possibilities feel increasingly thin. His gaze was too aware. Too calm. There was none of the confusion the servants had shown. No joy that their king had regained consciousness. Instead, he watched Raka like someone confirming an old suspicion he had kept to himself all this time.
Raka tried to remember his name. He failed. All he knew was that the man held a high position in this place. Strangely, when his gaze met the man's, a memory fragment suddenly surfaced. A great hall. A long table. A rolled map. The voice of an old man arguing with someone. Elandor. The name appeared in his mind out of nowhere. Raka had no idea where it came from. He wasn't even sure whether it was his own memory or the memory of the body he was occupying. Still, he decided to use it. “Elandor,” he said slowly.
The servants fell silent. The old man did not move either. Only his eyebrows lifted slightly. “So you still remember my name.”
Raka swallowed. Still? The word made his thoughts even more muddled. That meant King Ashwin and Elandor really did have a long-standing relationship. It meant this body had a life before he entered it. A life he was supposed to understand if he wanted to survive. There was no way he could admit that he was a stranger from another world who had just died after being hit by a vehicle. Not in front of people who probably didn't even know what a motor vehicle was. If he wanted to live, he had to be careful. “I may have forgotten a few things,” Raka answered at last, trying to imitate the voice of someone who had just recovered from an illness. “My head still feels heavy.”
Elandor stared at him without blinking. “Forgotten a few things?”
“Yes.”
“Including what you used to call me?”
Raka fell silent. The question sounded simple, but he didn't know the answer. He tried searching for another memory fragment, but his head only grew heavier. He forced a faint smile. “I just regained consciousness after being out for three days. Give me a little time.”
Elandor continued to stare at him.
Then the old man let out a long sigh.
“Everyone out.”
The servants exchanged glances.
“Your Majesty—”
“I said, get out.”
Elandor's voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to make everyone immediately lower their heads. One by one, they left the room. The great door closed slowly, leaving only Raka and the old man inside the chamber.
The silence felt heavier than before.
Elandor walked over to the window and made sure the curtains were closed. Then he checked the door once more and even approached the wall, as if making sure no one was listening from the other side. Once he was certain they were alone, he returned to stand in front of Raka.
“Now,” he said quietly, “tell me who you are.”
Raka looked at him.
“My name is Raka.”
There was no reaction.
Elandor merely gave a small nod, as if he had been waiting for that name.
“Where are you from?”
Raka remained silent for a long moment. He didn't know whether he should answer honestly or lie. But something inside him said this was not a man who could easily be deceived. “A different world.”
“A different world,” Elandor repeated.
Raka nodded.
“And how did you come to be in King Ashwin's body?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you kill him?”
The question made Raka shake his head at once. “No.”
“Did you take his body?”
“I don't even know how to do that.”
“Do you know what happened three days ago?”
“I died.”
For the first time, Elandor's expression changed.
Not surprise.
More like someone who had just heard the answer he'd long suspected.
Raka continued, “I was in my own world. There was an accident. After that, I was in darkness. There were voices calling me a Witness. Then I saw a light, and after that I woke up here.”
Elandor did not answer right away. He walked slowly to a small table near the wall and picked up a glass bottle filled with clear liquid. He poured it into two glasses, then handed one to Raka.
Raka did not drink it.
“Don't worry,” Elandor said. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't need poison.”
“That sentence doesn't exactly make me feel better.”
The corner of Elandor's mouth twitched.
A small smile.
Very small, but real.
“At least you can still joke.”
Raka held the glass but did not bring it to his lips.
“Who was Ashwin?”
Elandor looked at him.
“The king whose body you are using now.”
“I know that. I mean, what was he like?”
The question made Elandor's expression turn serious again.
“He was a stubborn king.”
Raka raised an eyebrow.
“That doesn't tell me much.”
“He was also quick-tempered, too trusting of certain people, too reluctant to trust others, and had a habit of standing on the eastern balcony every night whenever he couldn't sleep.”
Raka fell silent.
Strange.
For the first time, he felt as if he were listening to the story of someone who had truly lived. Someone with habits, mistakes, people he loved, and people who hated him. Someone whose body Raka was now using without permission.
“Was he kind?”
Elandor did not answer right away.
“A difficult question.”
“Why?”
“Because a good king isn't necessarily a righteous king. And a cruel king isn't necessarily wholly evil.”
Raka lowered his gaze.
“Then what about me?”
Elandor looked at him.
“I don't know yet.”
The answer sounded honest.
Raka let out a slow breath. He stood and walked toward the window. When he parted the curtain slightly, the foreign world outside came into view again. Stone towers rose in the distance. Red-and-gold rooftops filled the palace grounds. Below, people moved through the courtyard like tiny dots. Dark-blue banners fluttered in the wind, each decorated with the emblem of a sun.
Kingdom of Veyra.
A world he had never chosen.
“I want to go home,” Raka said softly.
Elandor stood several steps behind him.
“I know.”
“Is there a way?”
“Maybe.”
Raka turned around.
“Maybe?”
“Because we don't even understand how you got here.”
Raka stared at that unfamiliar sky.
For a moment, he imagined his own room. The phone that might still be lying in the street. His home. The life he had left behind. Simple things that had once seemed boring now became the very things he wanted desperately to have back.
But before he could say anything, his head suddenly began to throb.
Pain.
Terrible pain.
Raka clutched his temple.
“Ah...”
Elandor moved toward him at once.
“What happened?”
“I... I don't know.”
Suddenly, a foreign memory slammed into his mind.
A young man stood before him.
His face resembled the old man he'd seen in the mirror, but he was much younger.
“Ashwin!”
Someone shouted.
Then a sword.
Blood.
Fire.
A woman crying.
The sound of bells.
And a symbol.
A sun split in two.
Raka jolted back to reality.
He was gasping for breath.
Elandor stared at him, his face gone pale.
“You saw it?”
Raka raised his head.
“Saw what?”
“The symbol.”
Raka froze.
“What do you mean?”
Elandor did not answer.
Instead, the old man stared at Raka as if he had just confirmed something he had feared all this time.
Then the sound of bells rang out in the distance.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Raka looked at Elandor.
“What is that?”
“The palace bells.”
“Why are they ringing?”
Elandor walked toward the door.
“Because the entire kingdom needs to know that King Ashwin has regained consciousness.”
Raka furrowed his brow.
“And what's the problem with that?”
Elandor stopped in front of the door.
“The problem,” he said without turning around, “is that everyone will soon come to see whether the king who rose from the dead is still the same king.”
The door opened.
Before leaving, Elandor turned back one more time.
Their eyes met.
“And if they discover that you aren't Ashwin,” he said quietly, “you won't have much time left to find a way home.”
The door closed.
Raka was alone again.
He stared at the mirror in the corner of the room.
The old face was still there.
But this time, for a split second, Raka saw his own reflection behind it again.
Then a voice that did not come from the room sounded faintly inside his head.
Witness.
Raka held his breath.
In the mirror, directly behind the reflection of his body, a split-sun symbol appeared.
Then it vanished.
Raka slowly backed away.
And for the first time, he realized that his death might not have been the end of his life.
Maybe it was the beginning of something much larger.
Something that had begun long before he even knew his own name.