Johnathan's heart was a tempest in a teacup as he gazed up at the unfamiliar woman, her eyes pools of emerald light. "I'm not Johan," he tried to protest, but the words emerged as a garbled wail. He was trapped in a baby's form, unable to convey his thoughts, unable to escape the fate that had been thrust upon him.
The room was a whirlwind of colors, a stark contrast to the cold, steel world he knew. A world of magic and myth, where his every dream was a mere trifle. He felt the warmth of the woman's arms as she picked him up, her eyes filled with a love that was alien to him. This was not his mother. This was not his home.
Johnathan, struggled in the confines of his new body, desperation clawing at the edges of his mind. He had to escape, to find a way back to his life, to Sam. But his limbs were weak, his voice a mere cry. The world swam around him, a blur of faces and noises, all speaking in tongues he didn't understand.
In the midst of his despair, he caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the edge of the room, watching him with a knowing smile. Xylaelara had followed him into this new existence, their form unchanged. "You will grow, learn, and become the hero Alteara needs," they assured him, their voice a gentle lullaby in the cacophony of his panic.
Johnathan's eyes, now the eyes of baby Johan, searched the room wildly. "What have you done to me!" he thought, his mind racing like a river in flood.
"Rest now, little one," the woman, his new mother, the Queen, whispered as she cradled him. "Your journey has just begun."
Days passed in a blur of nurses and tutors, of gentle lullabies sung in a tongue he could not yet understand. Each night, as he lay in his crib, he would whisper Sam's name into the darkness, a tether to the life he had left behind. The palace of Erstaunlich, grand and gleaming, was his prison now, its corridors echoing with the laughter of a world that was not his own.
But as the suns of Alteara rose and fell, so too did Johnathan's anger begin to wax. He found himself in a cradle of velvet and gold, surrounded by faces that whispered sweet nothings in a tongue that felt as familiar as the world itself was alien. The Queen, this body's mother, would gaze at him with a love that was as suffocating as it was terrifying. For each tender smile she bestowed, Johnathan felt the weight of a thousand lies pressing down upon him.
He was not Johan Ottonian the 3rd. He was Johnathan, a man from a world of concrete and steel. A world where heroes were not born from stars but forged in the fires of hard work and heartache. And yet, here he lay, in a crib that was more of a gilded cage than a haven of comfort.
The castle of Erstaunlich, with its towers that kissed the heavens, became a prison of privilege and expectation. Each day, tutors with names as complex as the tapestries that adorned the walls would teach him the history of his 'new' life, the lineage of his 'new' family, and the responsibilities of his 'new' destiny. They spoke of battles won and lands conquered, of magic and valor, as if it were as simple as learning to tie his shoes.
But amidst the whirlwind of lessons and ceremonies, Johnathan remained steadfast. He knew he did not belong in this body, in this world. And so, each night, when the castle slumbered, he would whisper to the stars, to the very fabric of the cosmos that had conspired against him. He would plead with the void to return him to his love, to his Sam, he might forget thier face and voice, but not the time they spent together.
In the quiet moments, Xylaelara would appear, a silent sentinel watching over his 'growth'. Their eyes, those twin pockets of dawn light, held a sadness that pierced his soul. "You are destined for greatness," they would murmur, their voice a gentle breeze caressing his thoughts. "But you must embrace your fate."
Johnathan, grew stronger, his cries for help replaced by the coos and giggles of a child. Yet, in the depths of his soul, the man from [Redacted] remained, a flame refusing to be extinguished. And as the days grew to weeks, and the weeks to months, that flame grew brighter, fueled by the knowledge of his true self.
One fateful evening, as he lay in his far too elaborate bed, surrounded by the trappings of royalty, a spark of rebellion ignited within him. "I am Johnathan!" he shouted into the silence, his voice a declaration of war against the fate that had stolen him away. "I do not want to be a prince!"
The castle walls, with their ancient whispers and secrets, seemed to lean closer, as if eager to hear the heresy that spilled from his lips. But Johnathan did not care. He had made a decision. He would not be bound by the chains of destiny.
In the years that followed after his rebirth, Johnathan grew into a boy with a mind as sharp as the swords that hung in the castle's armory. His tutors marveled at his intellect, his sisters whispered of his kindness, and the courtiers whispered of his stubbornness. Yet, amidst the opulence, he remained a beacon of the life he had known, a lighthouse in a sea of unreality.
His mother, the Queen, watched him with a mixture of pride and confusion. Her love for him was as vast as the ocean, but she could not understand the intensity of his gaze he had since he was born. It was as if he was searching for something that had been taken from him.
His sisters, Marie and Emma, adored their baby brother with all the fervor of a spring thaw. They saw in him a reflection of their own wonder, their own curiosity for the world beyond the castle walls. Yet, even in their youthful eyes, there was a knowing that Johan was different.
The Queen, his mother, watched him with a mother's love, her emerald gaze often misted with a hint of confusion. Her heart swelled with pride as he grew, but she could not shake the feeling that her son's soul was a puzzle with a missing piece. His questions were not those of a child's innocence but of a weary traveler seeking home.
His father, Carl Ottonian the 2nd was a stoic man, his name a thunderclap in the halls of power. He saw the fire in Johan's eyes and hoped it would one day be a beacon of strength for Erstaunlich. Yet, even in the boy's youthful spirit, he caught glimpses of a storm that raged within, a tempest that could not be tamed.
He had seen the eyes, but how his son acted was stranger, reportedly never crying in a loud manor, but simple whimpers. He was overjoyed to hear that he finally had a son, someone to inherit the throne, but for his to be so odd. His daughters, Marie and Emma, were like sunflowers, bright and cheerful, but Johan, even when he played with them, there was always something . . . off. It was as if he was lost in thought, or perhaps a memory that did not belong to him. Carl would often sit by his crib at night, watching him with a furrowed brow. He hoped the boy would grow out of it, that it was just queer bit of a phase.
His mother, the Queen, would sing to him, her voice as sweet as the first bloom of spring. She had hoped that her son would find solace in her lullabies, but he remained a puzzle, a child with the eyes of an old soul. She would often find him staring into the mirror, his tiny hand tracing the lines of his face, as if searching for a map to a forgotten place.
The sisters, twins of the dawn, grew curious of Johan's brooding silence, his eyes ever searching. Marie, with hair of spun gold and a laugh as bright as a thousand candles, would often coax him to join their games, but he remained steadfast in his introspection. Emma, a mirror to her twin with locks of deepest night and a spirit as fiery as a summer's sunset, would challenge him with tales of valor, hoping to stir the hero within. Yet, Johan remained a silent observer, a puzzle piece that did not fit the picture they knew.
One fateful morning, as the sun painted the castle in shades of pink and gold, Johan looked into the reflecting pool in the royal garden. His reflection stared back, a face that was not his own. The horror of his predicament crashed over him like a tsunami, drowning the child within. "I am not Johan Ottonian!" he shouted to the heavens, his voice echoing through the hallowed halls. "I am Johnathan, Johnathan I Say!"
The water rippled with his fury, distorting the image of the perfect, elvish features that stared back at him. The nose too straight, the eyes too large and luminous, the hair too silky and unruly. It was a face that could have graced the covers of the very fantasy novels he had once loved, but now it felt like a mask he could not remove. "What have you done to me!" he screamed into the void, the echoes of his voice bouncing off the stone walls like a caged animal's cry.
But the water remained silent, the reflection unchanged. It was a face that would make the people of Alteara swoon, a face that whispered of destiny and greatness. Yet, to Johnathan, it was a prison, a mockery of the life he had fought so hard to build in [Redacted]. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, a droplet of despair in the sea of his disbelief. "Please," he whispered, "please let me go home, I'll do anything."
But home was a concept that seemed to slip further away with each tick of the alien sun. The days grew into a blur of tutelage and royal protocol, a dance of shadows that Johnathan was forced to learn. The very essence of who he was felt like a distant memory, a mirage in the desert of his new existence. Yet, the spark within him, the stubborn ember of his true self, refused to be extinguished.
He stared into the reflecting pool, his heart a caged bird fluttering against the bars of despair. The face that stared back at him was a lie, a masquerade of perfection that mocked the very core of his being. It was the face of Johan Ottonian the 3rd, a prince of Alteara, born of a lineage of kings and heroes. It was a face that whispered sweet nothings of destiny and greatness, but all Johnathan heard was the scream of a soul torn from its rightful place.
In the hallowed halls of Erstaunlich, whispers grew. The young prince was not like his sisters, not like the tales of his ancestors. His eyes, those saphire jewels set in a canvas of porcelain, held a world of secrets, a silent scream of rebellion. The castle staff spoke in hushed tones of the boy who silently cried in his sleep, mumbling nonsensical words.