The first thing he felt was pain. It was not the unbearable pain he had expected after being hit by a car, but a deep ache running through every part of his body, as if he had spent far too many hours sleeping in an uncomfortable position.
He tried to open his eyes, and the light passing through violet curtains forced him to close them again. For several seconds he remained still, listening for voices, medical machines, or hurried footsteps beyond a door. Instead, he heard only the distant singing of several birds and the soft creak of wood beneath his bed.
'I'm alive.'
The relief lasted only a few moments. He remembered the car's lights, the stranger's scream, and the sensation of his body hitting the ground. Then his mother's face appeared in his mind, sitting in the kitchen while pretending that morning her arms did not hurt more than usual. If he was in a hospital, she would already have received a call. She was probably trying to get there on her own, even though some days she could barely walk without ending up exhausted.
He opened his eyes again and sat up too quickly. A long curtain of black hair fell across his face, hiding part of the room. He pushed it aside with one hand and stared at his fingers. They were slender, with carefully maintained nails and skin so pale that the veins were visible beneath the wrist. That was not his hand. The white nightgown he wore slipped slightly from one shoulder and, when he looked down, he realized that his hands were not the only thing that was wrong.
His breathing stopped.
He touched his face, his neck, and then his chest with awkward movements, more from the need to confirm that everything was real than from curiosity. The shapes beneath the fabric left no room for doubt. His hips were wider, his legs thinner, and even the voice that escaped his throat when he muttered a curse sounded soft and feminine.
'I'm a woman.'
The realization left him frozen in the middle of the bed. He expected to feel panic, rejection, or some uncontrollable despair, but concern for his mother still occupied too much space in his mind. Having a female body was absurd, and he would have to learn to live with it if this turned out to be permanent, but it was not the most urgent problem. First, he needed to discover where he was, how much time had passed, and how to return.
He pushed aside the blankets and placed his bare feet on the floor. His legs trembled when he tried to stand, forcing her to grab one of the bedposts. The body seemed healthy, but it lacked strength and balance. Even after regaining stability, walking toward the mirror beside the wardrobe felt strange. Her center of gravity was different, and the hair that reached her waist constantly tangled around her arms.
The young woman on the other side of the mirror looked about eighteen. She had pale skin, delicate features, and a small, slightly upturned nose that gave her a proud expression even while confused. Her hair was black, straight, and glossy, with one large white streak, although it was so messy that several strands covered her cheeks. What stood out most were her violet eyes, large and framed by dark eyelashes.
She was beautiful in a way that would have been difficult to ignore in his world, but her body was too thin and her arms showed no sign of training.
He moved one hand and the stranger copied him. He pinched one cheek until it hurt.
'I'm not dreaming. Although I could still be in a coma.'
That possibility was the only thing allowing him to remain somewhat calm.
Maybe his mind was creating all of this while his real body remained connected to a machine.
Maybe he would wake up if he found a way to break the illusion. He began by searching the room for a phone, a light switch, or any modern object that could help him, but every discovery made that hope seem less likely.
The room was spacious, although not as luxurious as he had first thought upon waking. Some sections of the walls were cracked, and the carpet had faded near the entrance. On a table rested a lamp without wires, its glass sphere containing a small blue flame.
He found no outlets, light bulbs, or electrical devices. When he opened the curtains, he saw gardens surrounded by a stone wall, stables, and several fields covered by a light mist. Beyond them rose mountains he did not recognize, accompanied by two pale moons that were still visible in the morning sky.
He slowly stepped back.
'This can't be Earth.'
He searched the desk with greater urgency. The drawers were filled with papers, receipts, and letters that, to his surprise, he could read. Some words seemed to be written with unfamiliar symbols, but their meaning reached his mind after staring at them for several seconds. One name appeared repeatedly in most of them: Gaelira Veyr.
One bill was for three dresses ordered from the capital. Another demanded payment for jewelry that had still not been paid for. He also found letters from several different teachers. The fencing instructor reported that Gaelira had missed nine lessons in a row. The magic instructor claimed she had enough ability, but refused to practice even the simplest spells. A tutor hired by the family had resigned after the young woman made him wait for hours only to leave for a party.
Gaelira tightened one of the letters between her fingers.
"How could you waste all of this?"
The question came out in that new voice, directed at a girl who no longer seemed to be there to answer. He had trained with a practice sword until his hands ended up covered in blisters. He had worked shifts other people rejected because he needed to help with household expenses.
Many times he had been forced to choose between attending the club and accompanying his mother to a medical appointment. The young woman who had owned this room had received private teachers, money, and time to study, yet she had treated every opportunity as if it had no value.
He kept searching and discovered that the Veyr family's wealth was extremely fragile. Several letters mentioned debts, unproductive land, and employees whose wages had stopped arriving on time. The family was noble, but their position seemed barely above ruin. Even so, they had continued paying teachers and buying materials for a daughter who could not even be bothered to use them.
Beside the window, he found a sword wrapped in cloth. The blade was light, made from a silvery metal, and almost completely new. Gaelira tested its weight and performed a simple forward cut. Her muscles reacted late, but the movement retained the precision learned over years of practice.
She repeated the attack, adjusting her feet to the proportions of her new body. This time, the tip stopped exactly where she wanted.
A smile appeared involuntarily on her face.
"At least I still have this."
She left the sword on the bed and opened a book covered in golden symbols. The pages described currents of energy, magic circles, and methods for projecting spells through a wand. She did not understand every term, but the word magic appeared often enough to confirm the impossible.
If magic existed and some force had been capable of bringing him to that world, then perhaps there was also a way to return.
The image of his mother returned to his mind with such force that he had to close the book.
"I'm not going to leave you alone," he promised, although he did not know if she could hear him. "I'll find a way back."
A sudden knock shook the door. Gaelira gave a small jump and her muscles tensed, nearly knocking over the sword. Before she could answer, someone knocked a second time, this time with greater impatience.
"Lady Gaelira," a woman announced from the hallway. Her voice maintained a rigid politeness that barely concealed her displeasure. "Your mother has been waiting for you for several minutes."
Gaelira looked toward the family portrait on the desk. In it, she appeared beside a dark-haired man and a stern-looking woman. Neither smiled. The body's previous owner stood apart from both of them, dressed in violet and looking away, as though even posing beside her family had been an inconvenience.
"What does she want from me?" she asked.
There was a brief silence behind the door.
"Lady Veyr needs to tell you something important." The maid lowered her voice before adding, "I suggest you don't make her wait again."
Gaelira looked at the sword, the letters, and the open magic book on the bed. She still did not understand how she had arrived there or what had happened to the girl whose body she now occupied, but the woman in the portrait might have some answers.
She took a robe from the wardrobe and hurriedly put it on, trying to ignore how strange it felt to have hair brushing against her back.
"I'm coming."
On the other side of the door, the maid's footsteps began to move away. Gaelira took a deep breath and looked one last time at the young woman in the mirror. That face did not belong to her, but, at least for now, it was the only one she had.