When I woke on the beach, my body felt as heavy as wet stone.
Cold wind swept over me, and the smell of salt filled my nose until every breath tasted bitter. I tried to move my fingers, but they barely responded.
A shadow leaned over me.
It belonged to an old man with gray hair and a beard thick enough to hide most of his jaw. His face was lined with age and hardship, but his eyes carried a steadiness that kept me from panicking the moment our gazes met.
"You're awake," he said, his voice rough but gentle.
I tried to answer, but only a dry rasp came out. My tongue felt swollen, and my lips were cracked from salt and cold air. The old man seemed to understand. He placed one hand behind my shoulder and helped me sit up little by little.
The world tilted the moment I moved.
A wave of dizziness struck me, and I nearly collapsed back onto the sand. Someone behind me gasped. Another person muttered a short prayer under his breath.
I forced my eyes open wider and looked around.
A gray beach stretched beneath a dark sky. The sea rolled behind me, restless and loud, throwing foam across the shore. Several villagers stood nearby in worn clothing, watching me with cautious faces. Some looked frightened. Others looked curious. None of them looked like people from the world I remembered.
"Where is this?" I asked at last.
The old man studied me for a moment before answering. "You should rest first. We'll take you to our village."
"Village?"
"Yes. It isn't far from here."
Before I could ask anything else, two men stepped forward and helped lift me from the sand. My legs nearly gave out beneath me, so they supported me on both sides as we left the shore. Every step hurt. My clothes clung heavily to my skin, and cold seawater dripped from the edges of my sleeves.
The path from the beach to the village was narrow and uneven. Wind pushed against us from the sea, while loose stones shifted underfoot. I had to lean on the villagers more than once, though the humiliation of it irritated me. I had once stood before millions without trembling, yet now I could barely walk a few dozen steps without help.
As we neared the village, I began to see its condition.
It was worse than I expected.
The houses were small, crooked, and built from old wood that had clearly survived too many storms. Some roofs sagged in the middle. Others had gaps covered with scraps of cloth or thin boards. The muddy paths between the homes were narrow and empty, and the few villagers I saw had the same thin, exhausted look as the ones who had found me on the beach.
Even the old man's house, which they brought me to, looked barely capable of standing.
If this man was their village chief, then his home said enough about the state of the entire settlement. The walls were made from rough wooden planks, many of them warped by age and moisture. The door groaned when it opened, and the smell of damp wood filled the room as soon as I was carried inside.
Not long after they laid me on a hard bed, rain began to fall.
At first, it was only a soft patter against the roof. Then it grew heavier, drumming over the wooden house until the sound filled every corner. A cold draft slipped through the gaps in the walls, making the thin blanket over me feel even more useless.
Then came the dripping.
Drip... Drip...
Water leaked through the roof in several places. One drop landed near my shoulder. Another fell onto the blanket covering my chest. I looked up and saw a dark stain spreading along the ceiling, swollen with rainwater.
No one seemed surprised.
That alone told me this was normal.
The old man sat on a stool beside the bed while several villagers stood near the wall, waiting until I was strong enough to speak. Their faces carried questions, but none of them dared to ask too quickly.
After a long silence, the old man finally spoke.
"Where are you from, young man?" he asked. "You don't seem to be from around here. Are you from Balan Village?"
Balan.
The name meant nothing to me.
I lowered my gaze slightly, buying myself time. My memories were still tangled, but one thing was clear. This was not Earth. The clothes, the houses, the tools, the atmosphere, even the way these people spoke and looked at me. Everything felt wrong.
More importantly, this body was not mine.
It was similar enough to move naturally, but not the same. The hands beneath the blanket were younger, smoother, and paler than the ones I remembered. I had no idea who this body belonged to, but I knew I could not tell these people the truth.
No one would believe I came from another world.
And even if they did, that might be worse.
So I chose a lie.
"I don't remember everything," I said slowly, making my voice sound weaker than it was. "But I know I came from a distant Kingdom."
The old man leaned forward. "A distant Kingdom?"
I nodded.
"I was a prince," I continued, watching their reactions carefully. "My family and kingdom were destroyed by another kingdom. I escaped, but after that… everything becomes unclear."
The room fell silent.
Several villagers exchanged shocked looks. One woman near the door covered her mouth with one hand. The old man's eyes widened slightly, though he did not lose his composure completely.
A prince.
In a poor village like this, that word carried weight. Even if my clothes were soaked and ruined, even if I looked like someone half-dead from the sea, the possibility alone was enough to change the air in the room.
The old man lowered his head a little. "Then we have saved someone of noble blood."
I kept my expression calm, though my heart beat faster than before.
A lie was most dangerous at the moment it was born. If I overdid it, they might grow suspicious. If I said too little, they might ask questions I could not answer.
"Do you remember your name?" the old man asked.
This time, I hesitated for real.
I considered making up a new name, something that sounded native to this world. But I knew nothing about its naming customs. A poorly chosen fake name could become a problem later. In the end, the safest truth was the one no one here could verify.
"I remember a little," I said.
The old man waited patiently.
"My name is Fragha Van-Willhoft."
The name left my mouth quietly, but it still felt strange to say it here, in this leaking wooden house, beneath a roof that could barely resist the rain. I watched the old man's face closely, afraid that something in my name might expose the lie.
A drop of rainwater landed on the blanket.
Then another.
My palms grew damp beneath the covers, though I could not tell whether it was from seawater, rain, or nervous sweat.
At last, the old man smiled.
"Very well, Lord Fragha," he said. "You may call me Oderick. I am the chief of this village."
Relief passed through me so quickly that I nearly closed my eyes.
He believed me.
For now, that was enough.
Oderick began explaining the situation after that. The village had no official name. It was simply a small settlement under the same landlord as Balan Village, which lay beyond the river and cliffs. The two villages were far apart in practice, but both belonged to Baron Leonard.
Because this settlement was separated from Balan by the river and difficult terrain, it was managed by its own village chief. That chief was Oderick. In name, he governed the village. In reality, he could do little more than help its people survive from one season to the next.
As I listened, I quietly organized every detail in my mind.
A nameless village. A distant landlord. A separate administrative structure. Poverty. Weak local control. Dependence on a larger village called Balan.
It was not much, but it was information.
And information was always the beginning of power.
We spoke for a while longer, though my body remained too weak for a long conversation. Eventually, evening deepened into night. One by one, the villagers returned to their own homes, leaving only Oderick and me inside the small wooden house.
The rain had stopped by then.
Outside, the village was swallowed by darkness. There were no streetlights, no distant engines, no hum of electricity. Only the occasional creak of wet wood and the low sound of waves carried by the wind.
Oderick stood and adjusted the old cloak over his shoulders.
"Rest well, Prince Fragha," he said. "I have something to attend to for a short while."
"Just call me Fragha," I said.
He paused, then shook his head with a faint smile. "Forgive me, Lord Fragha. I would rather remain respectful toward a noble."
I did not bother correcting him again.
After he left, I stared at the ceiling for a long time. Water still dripped from one corner, falling into a wooden bowl that someone had placed beneath the leak. Each drop sounded louder in the quiet room.
I had been betrayed, killed, and thrown into another world.
Now I was lying in a nameless village, pretending to be a prince to survive.
A bitter laugh almost rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down.
Laughing would waste strength.
Morning arrived with pale sunlight slipping through the small window.
I woke to the warmth touching my face and the smell of damp wood still lingering in the air. My body felt better than the night before, though exhaustion remained in my bones. When I pushed myself upright, my muscles protested, but at least I could stand.
Oderick was not inside the house.
After checking the room and finding no sign of him, I stepped outside.
The village looked even worse in daylight.
What the darkness had hidden, the morning revealed without mercy. The houses were patched together with whatever materials the villagers could find. Children with thin arms sat near doorways, watching adults move with the slow steps of people who had learned to conserve energy. Smoke rose weakly from a few homes, but there was no smell of proper cooking.
Then I noticed the eyes.
Several villagers looked at me as I passed, but their gazes did not hold curiosity for long. Hunger had worn them down too much for that. Their cheeks were hollow, their clothes loose, and their movements lacked strength.
This village was starving.
I learned the truth from a man hurrying toward the sea with a fishing net over his shoulder. He recognized me as the stranger from the beach and stopped long enough to answer my questions.
"We eat when we can," he said, forcing a tired smile that did not reach his eyes. "Most weeks, maybe five meals. Sometimes less if the sea is bad."
"Five meals a week?" I repeated.
He lowered his gaze, ashamed though he had no reason to be. "That is how it has been."
Before I could ask more, he bowed awkwardly and hurried away, joining several others heading toward the shore.
I stood there for a moment, silent.
Five meals a week.
That was not poverty. That was a slow collapse.
From farther down the path, I saw a small group gathering near the center of the village. Oderick stood among them, dividing several fish that had just been brought in. The catch was pitifully small. A few thin fish laid across a wooden board, watched by too many hungry eyes.
Oderick noticed me and walked over at once.
"Lord Fragha," he said, concern appearing on his face. "Are you feeling well? Are you hungry?"
I looked past him at the villagers waiting for their share of fish.
"I'm fine," I said. "Give the fish to those who haven't received any yet."
Oderick hesitated. "Are you certain? You were unconscious when we found you. Your body still needs food."
"I'm not hungry."
It was a lie, of course. My stomach felt painfully empty, and the smell of fish made it twist. But I had ruled crowds before. I knew what it meant to be watched. If I, a supposed prince, took food from starving villagers on my first morning here, whatever respect they had for me would rot before it could grow.
Oderick studied my face carefully, then bowed his head.
"As you wish, Lord Fragha."
I turned my gaze toward the edge of the village and the rough land beyond it.
"I want to look around," I said. "I need to understand this place."
Oderick looked worried, but he did not stop me. "Then please do not go too far. The paths near the cliff can be dangerous."
"I'll be careful."