In a stable filled with dry hay and the odor of horses, a young man lay there in a deep and dreamless sleep. The dry hay rustled softly with each breath he took. His thick black hair was filled with strands of dry hay. And his facial features were hidden under a layer of dirt and dust. His clothes were half torn. Yet despite the discomfort, the boy's face was showing a strange peace, an unnatural comfort. As if he were not lying on a bed of straw but in his mother's protective lap.
Outside the stable, the world had long awakened. Birds chirped and fluttered, and a dog barked in the distance. And warm, golden sunlight softly streamed through the open stable doors. A bright beam of light came in, shining on the floor that was covered with hay and hitting his face directly.
The sudden warmth on his skin made his eyes blink. He woke up.
A few moments later, his eyes opened slowly, the eyelids heavy with exhaustion. His eyes were hazel, but it was difficult to see clearly because of their tiredness.
The sudden light around him made his eyes close again. it was like he opened his eyes after some years
Slowly he blinked his eyes a few times and then opened them.
He looked around him and sat up.
His first thought wasn't of pain or surprise, but confusion. He tilted his head and looked around him.
Timber walls. A pitchfork was leaning in the corner, a wooden box used to hold water, a mirror on the wall, and other things.
"Where... am I?" He murmured aloud.
His voice was like a man who hadn't spoken in years.
He slowly brought his hands in front of his face and stared at them for a while.
Whole. Healthy and covered in dirt and bruises but unmistakably intact.
A change in his facial expressions. "But... my hands were... they were gone."
Panic flickered in his eyes. He examined his arms again, then his chest.
No wound. No hole in chest.
A sword had once gone through his heart. But now there was no hole, not even a mark.
Only skin and breaths.
"It was a dream?" He asked in air.
"No... no... I was dying. I felt it. I saw the blood, the girl, the blade..."
He tried to grasp the memories, but they were not clear—like a half-forgotten dream. The arena, the pain.
The girl with silver hair. Her eyes filled with tears. The voice from the sky.
He tried to remember her face again. But he couldn't quite grasp her face in his memories.
"Who was she?" He whispered.
Sadness replaced the confusion. There was something real in her eyes... something real for him.
"What was that? I can't remember anything." He cried in a little anger.
"She cried for me... and I couldn't even say her name. What kind of person am I?"
"Her voice... um... her face... No, I can't remember anything. Even if I see her again, I won't be able to recognize her."
He clenched his hands into fists.
"It's like my memories are gone."
"And... Father... why did he stab me?"
The frown deepened.
"I know he's my father... but that's all. I don't remember his voice. his face. his name. nothing."
"I don't remember my father; what kind of son am I?"
"I feel sad for not knowing that girl, but I don't feel sad for not knowing my father." He whispered.
"WHAT KIND OF SON AM I?" He screamed.
He sat silently for a while, asking questions to himself with no answers and no memories.
Then his stomach growled.
The noise brought him back to reality. He rubbed his belly with an embarrassed chuckle, as if somehow the sound had broken the spell of his thoughts.
"Okay... so I'm starving."
His eyes scanned the stable until they landed on a water container made of wood in the far corner of the room.
He stood slowly; his legs were a little weak but still functioning.
He started walking toward it.
As he passed a wooden support beam, he saw his image in a soiled mirror nailed to the wall.
He stopped.
His expressions changed again to confusion.
The image in the mirror wasn't his...
At least, not the face he remembered.
Black hair.
Different eyes.
Even the structure of his face had changed.
He stepped closer to the mirror. Moved his head. The image did the same. It was definitely him—but different.
He took his step back.
Moved forward again.
Still the same.
He looked closely at the mirror. "Maybe it's broken?"
But then he laughed dryly. "Mirrors don't lie. They just break."
He ran a hand through his black hair and sighed.
He studied the new face for a long while. It wasn't unattractive—just unfamiliar. Thinner. Somewhat thinner. But still youthful.
"But this face is nothing compared to my white-haired face."
"I used to have white hair... didn't I?"
"Where did that guy go?"
The reflection of his old self came into his mind. He barely remembered it. "Silver-white hair, and... and?"
"I can't remember myself."
It was like his memories were fading. It was like when someone has a dream, but over time, they start to forget it.
He shook his head and walked to the water container.
He finally drank some water. It was cool and refreshing, the first good thing he had felt in... how long?
Once he drank some water, he went back to the mirror and looked again. "Still the same face."
This was not just a small change. It was a change.
"Everything's changed. my body. my face. My father stabbed me. A king shouted. A girl cried. I woke up in a stable. And now I'm here."
He shakes his hands. "My hands… grew back?"
He rubbed his forehead. "This is insane."
He felt empty inside. Like a puzzle that doesn't have enough pieces.
None of it made sense. It was like he'd been given a second chance—but as someone else.
Then something clicked in his head.
"Oh... wait..." He said slowly.
His hands fell to his sides as realization dawned.
"They were calling someone a bastard... a cursed child."
He looked down at himself.
"That was me."
He took a step back. "I'm... illegitimate?"
He felt the shame wash over him. Not because he believed it, but because so many other people did.
"And... my mother? Who was she?"
He concentrated. tried to recall her. her voice. anything.
nothing. just a void.
"Why couldn't I remember her?"
And then, just as he sat back on the hay to take some rest.
He heard something. A voice.
Soft and calm.
[Hello]