Chapter 510: A Bad Dream?
“...”
"Where am I... I’m sure that I was..."
Roland clutched his head, struggling to piece together his scattered thoughts. His mind was a foggy mess, memories slipping through his fingers. The last thing he remembered was drinking tea that his wife had given him. Then he’d woken up here, lying on a wooden floor, in a strange, unfamiliar place. The room felt oddly surreal, like something from the magical institute where bookshelves floated mid-air.
As Roland took in his surroundings, a disorienting sense of familiarity washed over him. The architecture around him looked bizarre, a warped imitation of a place he knew well. The walls bent at unnatural angles, and furniture floated lazily around the room, as if gravity had taken a vacation. He took a tentative step, only to realize he was standing on the ceiling, and yet he didn't fall.
"Is this... the Arden estate?"
He murmured with a confused tone filling his voice. It looked like his family's estate, but everything felt distorted, as though the estate were trying to remember itself and failing. The tapestries were worn but still beautiful, their scenes shifting and changing subtly whenever he looked away.
Roland tried to ground himself, tracing his way down a corridor, which stretched and wobbled like a reflection on water. A faint, elusive memory stirred at the back of his mind - the mostly abandoned wing of the estate, his childhood sanctuary, and the library there that he used to attend. He moved as the world distorted around him but with each step, the scenery became more grounded. The memories started coming back and with them the mansion started to solidify more. Finally, he stood before a door he hadn’t seen in years, the one that he arrived into this world, the original Roland’s room.
After taking a deep breath, he reached out and turned the handle. The door swung open with an almost silent creak, revealing his childhood room just as he remembered it - or close enough. The bed was small, covered in a faded quilt he recognized as his maid’s handiwork. Most of the rest was empty space, no toys or paintings, just a bed with an addition that he did not expect to see. There was a figure on the bed, a child whose face he couldn’t truly see.
The child was probably around the same age Roland had been when he first arrived in this world - about five. The boy didn’t look at him, instead was staring out the window at a view hidden from Roland’s sight. Eventually, though, the child sensed someone else in the room and glanced over his shoulder. His features were coming into focus, though a haze still blurred Roland’s vision.