When Richard opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was heaviness.
Not pain, nor weakness, but heaviness itself, as though someone had thrown several thick blankets over him and left him lying beneath their weight for hours.
Even the simple desire to move required a certain effort, as if his body had not yet fully returned to its usual state.
He blinked slowly several times, trying to clear the haze clouding his vision, and only after a few seconds did the ceiling above him gradually come into focus.
Dark wooden beams, thin cracks between the boards, the familiar outlines of the room, and the soft glow of firelight reflected across the walls—all of it slowly returned to his field of vision.
This time, waking was much calmer.
There was no sudden panic, nor that agonizing sensation of falling into the unknown that had made him awaken with his heart pounding violently only a short while ago.
He did not frantically try to understand where he was, nor did he search for some indication that everything around him was merely a dream.
His heart was beating steadily, his breathing gradually returning to normal, and his mind was no longer desperately trying to deny the obvious.
As impossible as it sounded, everything that was happening was real.
Strange, impossible, and utterly foreign to the life he had known before, but real nonetheless—a reality that could no longer be explained as a dream, a hallucination, or the final delirium of a dying man.
For several seconds, Richard simply lay there without attempting to rise, listening to the sounds around him.
Somewhere nearby, logs quietly crackled in the fireplace.
Beyond the windows, the winter wind howled softly, while the old estate itself continued to live its quiet life.
Dozens of barely distinguishable sounds reached him.
Somewhere, a door creaked.
Careful footsteps sounded in a distant corridor, and then everything fell silent again.
Gradually, those sounds stopped feeling completely foreign, as though his mind was slowly becoming accustomed to this place and beginning to accept his presence here as something natural.
Only then did Richard cautiously raise himself onto his elbows.
His head was still heavy, and an unpleasant pressure lingered in his temples, but the weakness that had frightened him during the first hours after waking no longer seemed quite as alarming.
He ran a hand over his face, exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to reconstruct the sequence of events that had brought him here.
Little by little, separate moments began to fall into place.
The room.
Sebastian.
The memories.
The book.
And then the final moment before everything had changed came rushing back to him.
The book.
Richard spoke the word aloud for the first time, almost in a whisper, as though he feared that giving what had happened its true name would somehow make it even more real.
“Memory…” The word lingered in the silence of the room before almost immediately dissolving into the quiet crackling of the fireplace.
Not his memory.
Someone else’s.
But that did not make it any less real.
Richard could still remember the snow-covered study, the faces of the people gathered around the long table, the heavy atmosphere of the conversation whose meaning he had never managed to hear.
He remembered the young man sitting at the head of the table, and the man standing behind him with his back perfectly straight and his expression completely calm.
He even remembered details he had no right to remember: the flickering candlelight reflected on the dark wood, the shadows cast by the people across the walls, the cold presence of winter beyond the tightly closed windows, and the tension that seemed to permeate the very air of the room.
It had lasted only a few moments.
And yet it had felt far more real than any dream.
Richard slowly lowered his gaze to his hands, as though hoping to find some proof there that what he had experienced had truly happened.
There was nothing.
Only his own fingers, the old skin, and a faint tremor that could no longer be blamed on waking.
But now he knew for certain.
Touching that book had not been a coincidence.
It had opened a door to the past.
And if the first memory had shown him the man the previous Richard had once been, then now he had to understand what had happened during that man’s life—and why his memories had begun returning now.
Richard frowned, then once again tried to reconstruct the events that had taken place immediately before the strange vision appeared before him.
He remembered taking the book in his hands.
He remembered the feel of the old leather binding beneath his fingers, its dry, slightly rough surface, and the faint scent of dust and age.
He remembered his fingertips brushing against the darkened cover, and then…
After that, his memory simply ended.
Richard slowly opened his eyes and looked at the book lying nearby.
It was still exactly where he had left it, completely motionless and silent, as though nothing unusual had ever happened to it.
“Did I lose consciousness?” he murmured quietly, more as a question to himself than because he genuinely expected an answer.
For several moments, he continued staring at the book, as though hoping it might somehow provide an explanation.
But, of course, no answer came.
Richard frowned even more deeply.
If he had truly lost consciousness, then for how long?
A few minutes?
An hour?
Or had much more time passed?
The strangest part was not even the absence of memories from that interval.
What troubled him far more was that he did not feel like someone who had simply fallen asleep.
There was no heaviness after a long sleep, no familiar disorientation, no sensation that he had just returned from some deep state of oblivion.
Between the moment his fingers touched the book and the instant he found himself back in his room, there seemed to be a void.
Not an ordinary gap in his memory, but something far stranger—as though an entire section of time had been torn out of the sequence of events, leaving behind only a handful of scattered sensations and images.
He remembered the study.
He remembered the people.
He remembered the young man sitting at the head of the table.
But he did not remember how long he had been there, nor how he had returned.
Richard looked at the book again.
Its old, worn binding looked completely harmless.
At first glance, it was nothing more than an ordinary object, something capable of sitting on a shelf for years without attracting the slightest attention.
There were no outward signs of danger, nothing that should have made anyone wary.
And yet, now the book seemed more dangerous to Richard than any weapon.
A sword could be defended against.
An arrow could be dodged.
Even the most dangerous opponent remained something external, which meant he could be seen, assessed, understood, and, if one was fortunate, his next move could be anticipated.
But these memories worked differently.
They did not come from outside.
They entered from within—into that place where one person ended and another began.
And that was what frightened Richard most of all.
He could not help wondering what would happen if these visions continued to appear.
What if the book had merely been the first key, accidentally opening a door he did not yet understand how to close?
How many memories belonged to the real Richard Ravenhart?
Hundreds?
Thousands?
Or were those scattered images fragments of an entire life—a childhood, a youth, years of adulthood, encounters, losses, love, hatred, fears, and decisions of which the Richard of today knew nothing?
He could not tell where memory ended and something more began.
Perhaps these flashes truly were nothing more than fragments of the past.
Or perhaps they were pieces of an entire life that was now somehow slowly seeping into his consciousness, gradually filling the empty spaces left behind by the previous owner of this body.
And then there was the question that made Richard uneasy.
If one day he remembered everything…
Would there still be enough room inside him for himself?
And if one day all those memories began returning one after another, gradually filling the gaps in his consciousness, what would be left of him?
The thought unsettled Richard so much that he instinctively grimaced.
There was something frightening in its simplicity.
He did not know whether a person could remain himself if, along with someone else’s memories, he began accepting their feelings, habits, and attachments.
And even less did he want to find out through personal experience.
He slowly lowered himself back onto the edge of the bed, resting his palms on his knees before interlocking his fingers, as though doing so might force his thoughts into some kind of order.
Anxiety had to be pushed aside.
Panic would give him no answers, and what he needed now was understanding.
Richard forced himself to look at everything as coldly and rationally as possible.
So far, everything pointed to only one conclusion: the memories had not disappeared with the death of their previous owner.
For some unknown reason, they were still here, hidden somewhere deep within his consciousness, as though waiting for the right moment to remind him of their existence.
And if what he had seen truly had not been a coincidence, then sooner or later, it would happen again.
He could think of no other explanation.
But that raised another question.
Why now?
Why had the memory appeared immediately after he touched the book?
Was the book somehow connected to the previous Richard’s past?
Or was the cause something else entirely—the place itself, a particular object, a person, or even some internal state?
Perhaps these visions appeared only when something reminded his consciousness of events from the past.
Perhaps certain objects had been so strongly connected to the previous Richard emotionally that they could serve as some kind of key to his memories.
But if that was true, how many such keys were there around him?
And how many memories could they unlock?
Richard slowly ran his thumb over the knuckles of his other hand, continuing to think.
But what if the book had nothing to do with it at all?
What if what had happened was merely a coincidence, an inexplicable accident whose meaning he simply could not understand yet?
The questions kept multiplying, while there were still no answers.
Richard was about to sink back into his thoughts when a quiet knock came from the corridor.
The sound was so unexpected that he immediately raised his head.
It was a soft, polite, cautious knock, as though the person on the other side of the door understood perfectly well that they might be disturbing their master at an inconvenient moment.
There was no insistence in it, no demand to be let in—only a brief announcement of someone’s presence.
Richard stared at the door for several seconds, trying to guess who might have come to see him at this hour.
After everything that had happened, his first thought was, naturally, Sebastian.
And yet, for some reason, Richard was not certain that it would actually be him standing outside.
A few moments later, a second knock sounded, just as quiet and cautious as the first.
Richard straightened.
“Come in.” The door opened almost immediately, but it was not Sebastian who appeared in the doorway.
A middle-aged woman entered the room.
She moved calmly and naturally, as though she had spent decades in this house and had long since stopped noticing the grandeur of the walls surrounding her.
She wore a simple, unassuming dark dress, neatly fastened at the neck, with a light-colored apron over it, suggesting that she had long been accustomed to working in the household.
The woman stopped near the entrance and looked at Richard for a moment, as though making certain that he was truly awake and conscious.
In her hands, she carried a wooden tray.
On it stood a small cup filled with a dark liquid, faint steam rising from its surface, along with several other items whose purpose Richard could not yet determine.
His gaze lingered on them.
Every little thing in this house could be connected to the past he was only beginning to uncover.
And now even the ordinary visit of a servant somehow made him wary.
Seeing him lying on the bed, the woman froze for a moment, as though she had unexpectedly come face to face with something she had never expected to see.
A flicker of pain crossed her eyes—so swift and subtle that another person likely would not even have noticed it.
Richard did.
Lately, he had begun noticing such things far too often.
A glance someone hastily averted, the slightest change in expression, a hesitation before an ordinary form of address—all of it now caught his attention.
The woman lowered her gaze almost at once, as though frightened by the emotion that had involuntarily shown on her face.
Then she took several cautious steps forward, approached the bed, and bowed her head respectfully.
“Milord.” Richard tensed almost imperceptibly at the form of address.
Every time someone called him that, it felt as though he were being given yet another small confirmation that this life had once belonged to an entirely different person.
To everyone around him, everything was perfectly simple: before them stood Richard Ravenhart, master of the estate, a man they had known for many years and had grown accustomed to obeying.
They saw in him the very same man he had always been to them, and not one of them had the slightest doubt that the man before them was truly their lord.
Only he knew the truth.
And that was precisely why he could never grow accustomed to the name, or to any of the forms of address associated with it.
Every time someone called him milord, a strange, almost painful sensation stirred within him, as though someone were once again placing a чужую life upon his shoulders—a life to which he still could not bring himself to feel that he belonged.
“I brought you your medicine,” the woman continued, carefully setting the tray on the small table beside the bed.
The wood gave a quiet creak beneath its weight, and the porcelain cup gave a faint clink as it touched the tabletop.
Richard turned his gaze toward it.
The cup held a dark liquid, almost black in the dim light of the room.
A faint wisp of steam rose from its surface, slowly dissolving into the cool air.
The scent of the medicinal brew reached him at once—bitter and astringent, with traces of herbs whose names he could not even remember.
The smell was completely unfamiliar to him, though judging by the woman’s confidence, such medicine was surely commonplace to the inhabitants of this household.
Richard did not immediately reach for the cup.
For several seconds, he simply stared at it, trying to understand what exactly was making him hesitate.
Perhaps it was the medicine itself.
Or perhaps it was the fact that even something as simple as drinking the brew brought to mind the чужую life he now had to continue living.
The woman noticed his hesitation and frowned slightly.
For a moment, she raised her eyes again, studying his face intently, as though trying to understand what had stopped him.
But there was no longer any trace of the pain Richard had noticed only moments before.
That earlier emotion had vanished without a trace.
In its place was only concern, tempered by caution, as though she were afraid of doing or saying anything unnecessary in the presence of her lord.
Richard met her gaze and, for the first time all this while, looked at her more closely, trying to understand why her reaction had stirred such a strange feeling within him.
“You should drink it all, milord.
The healer said that after waking, you might feel extremely weak and unwell.” Richard tore his attention away from the cup for a moment and looked at the woman.
“The healer?” She nodded at once, as though there were nothing unusual about the question.
“Yes, milord.” Richard turned his gaze back to the dark brew.
For a while, he remained silent, watching the thin wisp of steam rising from the cup, before finally deciding to ask the question that had been troubling him from the very beginning.
“How long was I unconscious?” At his words, the woman visibly hesitated.
She seemed not to have expected such a question and now found herself reluctant to answer.
Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, and her gaze flickered away for a moment.
At last, she spoke quietly.
“You were unconscious for almost two days, milord.” Richard froze, as though it took him a moment to comprehend what he had just heard.
“Two days?” “Yes, milord.” Her answer was calm, but to him, those words reverberated within like a heavy echo.
He slowly lowered his gaze, looking once more at his hands resting atop the blanket.
Two days.
That meant he had spent all that time here, in this room, lying motionless on the bed, while the consciousness he still considered his own struggled to make sense of what was happening and somehow come to terms with this new, utterly чужая reality.
Two days—a span of time that seemed both far too short and impossibly long.
In that time, those around him must surely have grown worried more than once.
The disappearance of the master of the house into unconsciousness for such a prolonged period could hardly have gone unnoticed.
They had surely already begun to suspect that something serious had happened to him and perhaps even started to fear for his life.
Richard slowly exhaled and looked at the woman again.
Now, much of it was beginning to make sense.
The concern in her eyes, the caution in every movement, the faint trace of pain that had crossed her face when she first saw him awake—all of it was likely connected to those two days he had spent unconscious.
And he could not even remember what had happened to him before he opened his eyes in this room.
And judging by the way the woman looked at him, Richard realized that his assumption was most likely correct.
There was still concern in her eyes, along with something else he could not yet fully understand.
“What happened?” he finally asked.
The woman did not answer immediately.
This time, the silence stretched longer than before, and Richard found himself watching her every movement more closely.
She looked away, as though reluctant to meet his eyes, then absently adjusted the edge of her apron, smoothing out a wrinkle that was not even there.
Only then did she speak quietly.
“I do not know all the details, milord.” The answer came too quickly.
Richard noticed it at once.
It did not seem as though she truly knew nothing.
Rather, she seemed to know far more than she intended to tell him.
There was a distinct caution in her manner, as though every word concealed something left unsaid.
He studied her intently.
“But you know enough to understand that something serious happened.” The woman slowly raised her eyes.
For several long seconds, they simply looked at each other in silence.
Richard did not hurry her or ask any further questions, allowing the silence to gradually fill the room.
Outside the window, the wind rustled faintly, while a thin wisp of steam still rose from the cup of medicine.
It was in that silence that he noticed the expression on her face again—the same one he had seen moments earlier.
Pain.
Only this time, it did not disappear so quickly.
The woman seemed to have stopped being able to hide it, and for a brief moment, Richard thought he saw in her eyes the memory of something painful, something that had happened long before he awoke.
At last, she lowered her gaze slightly and spoke in a quiet, almost uncertain voice.
“You changed greatly after that day.” Richard felt every muscle within him tense at once.
The words sounded simple enough, yet they concealed far more than she had actually said.
After that day.
So there had been a specific moment after which the former Richard Ravenhart had become someone else.
And now he was trying to understand who that man had been.
And why everyone around him remembered him so well as the person he used to be.
Richard said nothing.
He simply continued to watch the woman intently, waiting for her to decide to explain what she had meant.
She seemed to realize almost at once that she had said more than she should have.
The woman hurriedly lowered her head, avoiding his gaze, and spoke with evident embarrassment.
“I apologize, milord.
I should not have—” “No.” Richard stopped her with a calm but firm voice.
There was neither irritation nor reproach in his tone, yet the woman fell silent all the same and cautiously raised her eyes.
“Continue.” For several moments, she looked at him hesitantly, as though trying to determine whether he truly wanted to hear the rest or was merely testing her.
“Milord…” “I want to know.” This time, there was such certainty in his voice that the woman did not argue further.
She lowered her gaze again and remained silent for a few seconds, gathering her thoughts.
The doubt was plain on her face.
Apparently, she was trying to decide how far she was permitted to go and which words she could actually say aloud without violating the unspoken order that governed this household.
At last, the woman drew a deep breath and, as though finally making up her mind, raised her head.
“After you…” She did not get to finish.
A sudden, sharp knock sounded at the door, making her break off mid-sentence.
She fell silent at once and turned her head toward the door.
Richard looked in the same direction, feeling the tension rise within him once again.
Only a moment ago, he had been certain that he would finally receive at least some of the answers he was looking for.
Now, however, their conversation had been interrupted at the worst possible moment.
There was a movement on the other side of the door, followed by a familiar voice.
“Milord, may I come in?” Sebastian.
Richard let his gaze linger on him for the briefest moment before looking at the woman, who was still standing nearby.
She immediately lowered her eyes, as though the mere appearance of this man had been enough to remind her that she needed to remain silent.
And then Richard finally understood that their conversation had been cut short before it had truly even begun.
Perhaps, if Sebastian had not appeared at that exact moment, she really would have told him something important.
But now the opportunity was gone, and Richard did not dare ask her anything in his presence.
“Yes.” The word slipped from his lips naturally—quiet, even, and calm, without the slightest hint of unease.
Almost immediately, the door opened.
“Milord.” Richard turned his head and saw Sebastian standing in the doorway.
As always, he looked perfectly calm and composed.
There was neither surprise nor concern on his face, as though nothing happening in the room was out of the ordinary.
He merely cast a brief glance around the room, his eyes resting on the woman for a moment before returning to Richard.
The woman, realizing that her presence was no longer required, immediately bowed her head.
“I shall leave you, milord.” Richard gave a barely perceptible nod in response.
Without saying another word, the woman headed for the door and passed by Sebastian.
He stepped aside slightly to let her through, after which the door closed quietly behind her.
Silence once again settled over the room.
For several seconds, Richard silently studied Sebastian, this time far more carefully than before.
After everything that had happened, his perception of the man had changed.
Until now, he had regarded Sebastian primarily as a servant—a man who helped him find his way around an unfamiliar household, explained the simplest things to him, and answered questions concerning this new, utterly чужая life.
But now, for the first time, Richard wondered just how superficial that impression had been.
Sebastian knew this household far too well.
He knew its customs, the people who lived here, and, judging by everything Richard had seen, he remembered Richard himself perfectly—the Richard he had been before awakening.
More than that, the woman’s reaction made it obvious that Sebastian might know far more than he had told him so far.
Richard slowly leaned back against the pillow without taking his eyes off him.
Sebastian did not merely serve this household.
He was a part of its history.
And perhaps it was through him that Richard would find the answers to the questions that were becoming more important with every passing minute.
Richard slowly ran a hand over his face, as though hoping to gather his thoughts that way.
Too much had happened over the past few hours, and the questions only seemed to multiply.
At last, he looked up at Sebastian.
“What happened to me?” Sebastian did not answer immediately.
His expression barely changed, yet Richard caught a faint trace of concern deep in his eyes.
It appeared for only a moment before vanishing behind his usual composure.
“You lost consciousness in your room, milord.” Richard frowned, trying to reconcile what he had heard with the fragments of memory that still remained.
Sebastian paused briefly, as though mentally returning to that moment and attempting to put the events back in the proper order.
“I found you lying on the floor.
You did not respond to my voice and showed no signs of consciousness.
I was unable to rouse you for some time, so I sent for the healer.
After examining you, it was decided that you should be put to bed and that your condition should be monitored.” Richard slowly lowered his gaze to the floor beside the bed.
It was not difficult to imagine the scene now: a man lying motionless on the cold wooden boards, with Sebastian leaning over him, trying to bring him back to consciousness.
“So I really did lose consciousness…” “Yes, milord.” Richard remained silent for a while before looking at him again.
“And how long did I lie there?” “Not long.
I found you shortly after it happened.” Richard slowly nodded, trying to process what he had heard.
Now, much of it was beginning to make sense.
He remembered the book.
He remembered touching its old binding, and then that strange vision had appeared before his eyes.
It had seemed so real that, in that moment, Richard had struggled to distinguish what was happening from reality.
It was as though he had truly found himself inside someone else’s past, seen it through his own eyes, and, for a few moments, lost all sense of where memory ended and reality began.
If Sebastian’s account could be trusted, then that was when he had lost consciousness.
But even that explanation failed to answer the most important question.
Why had he seen something he could not possibly have known?
Richard slowly raised his eyes to Sebastian.
“And then I found myself in bed?” “Yes.
The healer examined you and instructed us not to disturb you until you regained consciousness.” “I see.” Richard fell silent for a few seconds, processing what he had heard.
He was still trying to piece together the sequence of events, but his memories remained too fragmented, and some moments seemed more like a dream than reality.
Sebastian, who had remained standing by the door all this time, inclined his head slightly and, after a brief pause, continued.
“You look better now than you did before.
That means, at the very least, that your condition has not worsened.” A faint smile touched Richard’s lips.
“That doesn’t sound particularly reassuring.” Sebastian’s expression remained impassive.
“I prefer not to give false hope, milord.” For several moments, silence hung between them.
The room was quiet, and only the faint rustle of the wind outside occasionally disturbed the stillness.
Richard felt the heaviness in his head return.
It was no longer as intense as before, but he could still feel a dull pressure somewhere behind his temples.
He rubbed his temple with one hand, then slowly straightened, settling more comfortably against the bed.
“I feel fine.
My head is just a little heavy.” Sebastian studied him carefully and, after a brief pause, nodded.
Richard was about to continue the conversation.
He wanted to ask countless more questions—about that day, the book, the vision, himself, and, finally, about who the real Richard Ravenhart had been before his consciousness had found itself in this body.
However, Sebastian spoke first.
“Dinner is ready.” Richard was about to refuse.
He was going to say that he was not hungry and would rather remain here, in the quiet of the room, sorting through his thoughts and trying to recover at least some fragment of his memories.
But the words never left his lips.
Instead, he lowered his gaze to his hands.
For several seconds, Richard studied them in silence, as though seeing them for the first time.
Long fingers, familiar and yet utterly чужие, rested atop the blanket.
They were not his hands—not the hands he remembered as his own, at least.
And yet, now they belonged to him.
And no matter how desperately he wanted to keep searching for answers, his body reminded him of itself far more convincingly than any thought could.
After two days of unconsciousness and weakness, he really did need to eat at least a little.
Richard slowly raised his eyes to Sebastian.
Richard looked around the room once more, the room in which he had now awakened more than once.
His gaze drifted across the ceiling, which was gradually beginning to seem familiar, lingered on the furniture whose shapes he could already reconstruct in his mind even with his eyes closed, and finally came to rest on the crest hanging on the wall.
The symbol still felt foreign to him.
Beautiful and clearly crafted with great skill, it still held no real meaning for Richard.
Yet he now understood that the crest represented something far more than mere decoration.
Suddenly, Richard realized that he could not remain here forever, lying in bed and waiting for the answers to come to him on their own.
He needed to know the truth.
He had to understand who Richard Ravenhart was.
Who the man had been whose body now belonged to him, what events had brought him to this moment, and why чужие memories had begun appearing in his mind—memories so vivid that at times he could no longer distinguish them from his own.
But above all, he needed to at least try to understand this life—a life that, until recently, had belonged to someone else and had now, by some incomprehensible twist of fate, become his own.
The thought was simple, almost obvious, yet to Richard it carried far greater significance.
Until now, he had merely observed, asked questions, and tried to adapt to circumstances he had never chosen.
Now, for the first time, he had decided to take a step toward the unknown himself.
It was his first conscious choice since awakening.
He had to discover who Richard Ravenhart was.
And why fate had chosen to give him this particular life.
Richard slowly pushed the blanket aside and attempted to get out of bed.
The movement proved more difficult than he had expected.
He had barely managed to brace himself against the edge of the mattress when the weakness that had plagued him lately made itself known once again.
The next second, the world before his eyes swayed slightly.
The room lost its clarity for a moment, as though the walls had suddenly begun to move, and his body sank heavily back onto the bed, refusing to let him take even a single step.
Richard clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for the sudden dizziness to pass.
Apparently, his body was not yet willing to accept that he already felt ready to act.
It was at that very moment that Sebastian appeared beside him.
Richard did not even notice Sebastian crossing the room.
One moment, he had been standing by the door; the next, he was already beside him, firmly supporting him by the elbow.
His grip was strong but not at all rough—Sebastian seemed to have calculated precisely how much force was needed to keep him steady without causing him the slightest discomfort.
“Careful, milord.” Richard frowned in annoyance.
He had never liked being helped, especially in situations where such assistance was so obvious.
Even in his previous life, he had grown accustomed to relying solely on himself and regarded having to lean on someone else as something humiliating.
Apparently, some habits had proved far more persistent than he could have imagined.
“I’m not falling apart.” “Of course not, milord.” Sebastian said it with a perfectly impassive expression.
There was nothing in his voice or calm gaze to indicate whether he had genuinely taken Richard’s words to heart or had simply decided, wisely, not to argue with him.
Richard straightened anyway, cautiously shifting his weight onto his feet.
For several seconds, he stood perfectly still, listening to his body and waiting for the dizziness to return.
This time, however, the floor remained steady beneath him, the walls no longer swayed before his eyes, and his breathing gradually evened out.
Apparently, he really could stand.
Richard cautiously took one step.
Then a second.
He moved slowly, paying close attention to every sensation.
His legs still felt somewhat unfamiliar and heavy, but they obediently supported his weight.
Once he was certain his balance was not about to betray him, Richard carefully withdrew his arm from Sebastian’s grasp.
“See?” he said, with a faint note of triumph.
“I can walk perfectly well on my own.” “I see, milord.” Richard shot him a brief glance, his satisfaction at having proven himself quite evident.
“Then stop catching me every time I take a step.” Sebastian remained silent for several seconds.
Only then did something remarkably close to a smile flicker at the corners of his eyes.
The expression appeared so quickly that Richard barely had time to notice it before Sebastian’s face once again settled into its usual calm and composure.
“In that case, I believe I should offer you a more suitable solution.” Without waiting for his answer, Sebastian turned and left the room.
The door closed quietly behind him, and Richard could only stare after him in surprise, unable to understand what exactly he intended to do.
However, Sebastian was gone for less than a minute.
When he returned, he was carrying a cane.
It looked old, yet it was immediately clear that it was no ordinary object.
The dark, almost black wood had acquired a deep, soft sheen over the years, while the silver handle was restrained and almost austere in its simplicity.
There were no unnecessary ornaments or elaborate details.
It looked like something made not to display its owner’s status, but to serve him faithfully for many years.
Richard studied it for several seconds before looking at Sebastian.
“I don’t think I need that.” “I think otherwise.” There was not the slightest hint of doubt in Sebastian’s voice, as though the matter had already been settled and was not open to discussion.
Richard stared at him silently for a while.
He had no desire to argue, especially with someone who, much to his irritation, was proving to be right.
At last, he reached out his hand.
His fingers closed around the handle, and Richard found himself lingering over it for a moment.
The wood was smooth and warm beneath his touch, and the weight of the cane was surprisingly comfortable.
The handle fit his palm so naturally that it seemed as though it had truly been made for him.
For a fleeting moment, Richard felt a strange sense of recognition.
Not a memory—rather, a barely perceptible familiarity with the movement, as though his body remembered something that he did not.
He dismissed the thought and cautiously took his first step.
Then a second.
The difference was immediately noticeable.
He could now shift some of his weight onto the cane, greatly reducing the strain on his legs.
Even the slight uncertainty in his movements became almost imperceptible.
Richard took another step, this time with greater confidence.
“Better,” Sebastian observed calmly.
Richard shot him an annoyed look but did not argue.
“Don’t get used to it.” “Of course, milord.” Once again, it was impossible to tell whether he was being entirely serious or allowing himself the faintest.
— They left the room, and the door closed quietly behind them, cutting it off from the rest of the house.
Only now could Richard truly take in the estate.
Until then, he had seen only fragments of it: the ceiling of his own room, heavy curtains, a few servants’ faces that had flashed before his eyes, and the corridor he remembered more as a general impression than through any specific details.
Now, for the first time since leaving his chambers, he was beginning to see the house as a whole.
A long corridor stretched before them, disappearing into the half-light in the distance.
Tall windows let in the last rays of the evening sun, and warm golden light fell across the stone floor in long bands.
In some places, it caught on the smooth surface of the old stone, making it briefly gleam with a soft amber hue.
The walls were paneled in dark wood, in places visibly worn by time.
Fine cracks showed through here and there, the wood had lost some of its former luster, and the old stone bore the faint marks of passing years.
Even the heavy doors leading into other rooms carried the imprint of time—darkened handles, small scratches, and worn edges spoke of the generations of inhabitants who had used them.
And yet, the first impression remained unchanged.
This place had once been built by people who had never needed to count the cost.
Its luxury did not announce itself or demand attention.
It revealed itself in the details: the quality of the wood, the precisely fitted panels, the high ceilings, the massive doors, and the exquisite work of craftsmen whose names had long since faded from memory.
Even where time had already left its mark, the estate retained the dignity of things that had endured through more than one generation of owners.
There was history in this house.
It lingered in the darkened walls, in the ancient stone beneath their feet, in the paintings lining the corridor, and even in the silence, which seemed almost natural here.
It was as though the estate itself remembered those who had once walked these halls, spoken in these rooms, and looked out through these very windows.
The estate reminded Richard of an old lion that had lost some of its former strength but still remembered how mighty it had once been.
There was something majestic about it despite the marks of time, and Richard unexpectedly found himself feeling a strange respect for the place.
Then he caught himself having an even more unexpected thought.
He liked it here.
The thought seemed so strange that he gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
After all, this place did not belong to him.
Not yet.
Richard let his gaze linger for a moment on the corridor stretching into the distance, then continued walking after Sebastian.
The cane tapped steadily against the stone floor, keeping time with his cautious steps.
A step.
A quiet tap.
Another step.
And with each new movement, Richard felt more strongly that this house, which had seemed so чужой to him only moments ago, was gradually beginning to reveal its secrets.
The sound of wood striking stone.
A step.
Another tap.
After a few moments, the simple rhythm began to have an almost calming effect.
It set a steady pace for Richard’s movements and kept him from walking too quickly, forcing him to listen to his body and pay attention to how it responded to the exertion.
Gradually, he stopped thinking about each step individually and allowed himself simply to walk, taking a careful look at everything he encountered along the way.
Paintings hung on both sides of the corridor.
There were so many that, at first, Richard did not even try to examine each one.
Some canvases covered almost the entire wall, while others were considerably more modest, yet the same crest appeared again and again on most of them.
The Ravenharts.
With every new portrait, the name felt a little less foreign to Richard, though it had yet to acquire the significance it so clearly held for everyone else who lived in the estate.
He stopped beside the first painting.
It depicted a man in heavy armor.
His face was stern, and his gaze was directed somewhere above the viewer’s head, as though he were accustomed to looking far ahead and never doubting his own decisions.
Behind him flew a banner bearing the house crest, while farther back, as far as the size of the canvas allowed, rows of armed soldiers could be seen.
Richard studied the image for several seconds before asking: “One of the former lords?” Sebastian stopped beside him and turned his gaze toward the portrait.
“Lord Arthur Ravenhart.
He greatly expanded the family’s territories and laid the foundation for the borders that exist today.” Richard looked at the painting again.
Arthur Ravenhart.
He tried to imagine the man who had once lived within these walls, issued commands, walked these same corridors, and perhaps even stood before this very portrait, looking at it just as Richard was now.
A strange feeling.
It was only a painting, created many years ago, yet somehow it gave him the sensation that he was not looking at a distant past, but at a part of his own history—one he knew nothing about yet.
He lingered for a few more moments before continuing after Sebastian.
The cane once again tapped steadily against the stone floor.
After several steps, Richard noticed the next painting.
It depicted a woman in a dark dress.
She held a thick book against her chest, and the expression on her face was so serious and focused that it seemed as though the artist had captured her in the midst of deep thought.
There was not the slightest hint of a smile in her eyes, yet she did not appear stern either—rather, she looked calm, like someone accustomed to making her own decisions.
“Lady Eleanor Ravenhart,” Sebastian explained, noticing his interest.
“She founded the first academy on the family’s lands.” Richard shifted his gaze from the portrait to Sebastian.
“An academy?” “Yes, milord.
She believed that the strength of a house depended on more than the amount of land it possessed or the number of soldiers under its command.
Knowledge, in her view, was no less important.” Richard looked at the woman in the painting once more.
Eleanor Ravenhart.
Another name from the history of this family.
And with every new portrait, Richard understood more clearly that he would have to learn far more than the history of a single man.
Behind the name Richard Ravenhart stood generations of people, each of whom had left something of themselves behind.
And now, as strange as it seemed, that legacy was becoming part of his own life.
Another painting followed.
It depicted a military camp: rows of tents surrounded by armed men, banners billowing in the wind, and several riders gathered around a large fire.
The next painting showed a gathering of nobles seated around a long table, each of them looking grave enough to suggest that the decision made that day could change the fate of an entire region.
The following painting portrayed an ancient fortress rising above a mountain valley.
Its massive walls appeared almost impregnable, while its tall towers disappeared into the mist shrouding the peaks.
The paintings continued to follow one another, each seeming to open another page of the family’s history before Richard.
Sebastian did not go into much detail.
He merely stopped from time to time when he noticed Richard’s interest and spoke a few calm sentences, giving the name of the person depicted and one or two of the most significant events of their life.
Sometimes that was enough for Richard to understand the general significance of what had happened; at other times, Sebastian’s brief explanations only gave rise to more questions.
Gradually, however, Richard found that it was enough.
He was beginning to understand that the Ravenharts were not simply another noble family, as one might have assumed upon first seeing the estate in its current state.
Behind the darkened walls, old furniture, and marks left by time lay a history.
Long, complicated, and, judging by what he had seen, far from spotless.
A history that stretched so far into the past and encompassed so many generations that it could never be told in a single evening.
There had been wars and alliances, the expansion of territories, political decisions, the construction of fortresses and academies.
There had been people who had made the Ravenhart name renowned, and, presumably, those whose deeds the family had preferred to leave in the past.
Richard found himself wondering what role, in all of this history, had been played by the man whose name he now carried himself.
Soon they turned into another corridor, and the surroundings changed noticeably.
There were far fewer windows here, leaving the passage almost devoid of light, and the warm glow of the evening sun no longer reached the walls.
The shadows grew deeper, making the space feel quieter and more secluded.
The walls, however, were decorated with old tapestries.
On some, the colors had already faded considerably, while certain sections of the fabric had lost their original clarity, yet the intricate patterns could still be made out.
One tapestry depicted riders surrounded by towering trees; another showed a scene of some battle; and a third, almost completely faded, bore the family crest surrounded by symbols Richard did not recognize.
Several servants emerged from a side passage and approached them.
Upon seeing Richard and Sebastian, they quickly stepped aside to clear the way and bowed respectfully.
Richard instinctively nodded in response, paying little attention to it.
However, as they passed, he noticed the servants exchange glances.
It was only a brief movement, almost imperceptible, but Richard had already grown accustomed to noticing such small details.
He remained silent for several seconds before finally asking: “Did I do something wrong?” Sebastian looked at him with his usual calm expression, as though the question had not surprised him in the slightest.
“No, milord.” “Then why are they looking at me like that?” “Because you rarely responded to such greetings before.” Richard fell silent for a few seconds, considering his words.
It seemed he had already managed to surprise half the household simply by behaving differently from what they were accustomed to.
A simple nod in response to a bow, a few questions, an interest in the portraits, and a desire to know what was happening around him—all of it probably seemed unusual to those around him.
Perhaps the real Richard Ravenhart had been an entirely different man.
“I see,” he said at last.
This time, Richard decided not to continue the conversation.
The more questions he asked, the stronger the feeling became that everything he did here was being compared to the way he had behaved before.
Ahead, the tall double doors of the dining hall came into view.
Their dark wood stood out against the lighter walls, while the metal handles gleamed dully in the light of the few wall sconces.
Sebastian stopped beside the doors and turned toward Richard.
“Milord.” “Yes?” This time, Sebastian spoke a little more quietly than usual, and there was an unfamiliar seriousness in his voice.
“Do not try to solve all of this household’s problems in a single day.” Richard looked at him in surprise.
He was about to ask what had made Sebastian think he intended to do any such thing, but Sebastian continued before he could get a word in.
“This house stood here long before us and, if all goes well, will remain long after we are gone.
You should not expect it to change in a single evening simply because you have finally decided to pay attention to it.” Richard remained silent for several moments.
Sebastian’s words had been simple, without a hint of reproach or any attempt to lecture him, yet there was something much deeper beneath them.
Perhaps he was not speaking solely about the estate itself.
Richard slowly turned his gaze toward the closed dining room doors.
He really had begun trying to make sense of everything far too quickly.
He wanted to understand the history of the house, discover who the former Richard had been, make sense of his own memories, and find an explanation for what had happened to him.
He wanted answers immediately, as though waking up alone should have been enough to make this entire чужая life instantly comprehensible.
But the house was under no obligation to reveal its secrets simply because he had finally decided to listen.
Richard gave a faint smile.
“I think you’re right.” Sebastian said nothing, merely inclining his head slightly.
Then he placed his hand on the door handle.
Sebastian’s words carried far more meaning than he had probably intended to reveal.
Richard spent a few more seconds considering what he had heard, then looked at him again.
“And what do you suggest?” A barely perceptible hint of a smile appeared on Sebastian’s face.
It was so faint that Richard might have mistaken it for a trick of the light if he had not been watching his expression so closely.
“For tonight, simply have dinner.” Richard could not help but chuckle softly.
“That sounds like an order.” “Merely a recommendation.” “A very insistent recommendation.” “Precisely, milord.” His voice remained as composed as ever, yet there was now a faint note of good-natured warmth in it.
With that, Sebastian grasped the door handle and swung the tall double doors open.
The dining room immediately filled their ears with the muted clink of dishes, the quiet murmur of voices, and the gentle sounds of everyday life that had been hidden behind the doors until now.
Warm air drifted from the room, carrying with it the smell of hot food, fresh bread, and spices.
Richard paused for a moment on the threshold.
Only yesterday, he had barely been able to rise from the bed and understood almost nothing about this house he was supposed to call his own.
Today, for the first time in what felt like a very long while, he stood in the middle of his own estate, leaning on an old Ravenhart cane and looking toward the dining room where dinner was already waiting for him.
Everything around him was still foreign.
The name, the body, the house, the people, the memories that were gradually beginning to awaken in his mind—all of it belonged to a life he had never chosen.
And yet, for the first time since awakening, Richard felt something other than confusion.
Something resembling curiosity had begun to stir within him.
Perhaps he would never be able to return to his former life.
Perhaps the answers would prove far more complicated than he currently imagined.
But as he looked at the warm light spilling from the dining room and listened to the muted voices within, Richard suddenly realized that, for the first time, he did not want to simply wait for all of this to end.
He wanted to discover what lay behind this name.
What had happened to the man whose life he was now continuing.
And why he, of all people, had been given the chance to find himself here.
Richard took a step forward, crossing the threshold.
And for some reason, it was at that very moment that the thought first occurred to him that perhaps everything was only just beginning.