The Last Banner

Chapter 2: A New World.



Hadrian's eyes fluttered open, and the rough texture of the thin blanket draped over him was the first thing he noticed. His body felt unnervingly weak, his limbs heavy and uncooperative, as though he'd been drained of all strength. The air was cold and damp, carrying a faint metallic tang that reminded him of wet stone. As his vision adjusted, he took in his surroundings: plain stone walls, chipped in places, a cracked wooden chair by a small table, and a brazier glowing faintly in the corner, emitting barely enough heat to stave off the chill.

This wasn't the grandeur of some medieval castle fantasy. It was practical. Barely functional. A reminder that this body's world wasn't one of comfort or security.

Hadrian groaned softly, shifting under the weight of his unfamiliar body. He tried to lift an arm, but it trembled violently. The hand that came into view was thin and pale, the knuckles standing out starkly. He grimaced. Fantastic. A life spent on the verge of breaking.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence. Before he could respond, the door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside, balancing a tray with a chipped ceramic cup and a steaming bowl. Hadrian blinked as she entered the dim light of the brazier, her face coming into view.

She was beautiful in an unexpected way. Her dark hair, streaked lightly with grey, was pinned into a simple braid. Her features were strong yet elegant—sharp cheekbones, piercing green eyes, and the faint lines of age that only added to her presence. She carried herself with quiet dignity, her simple, well-worn dress doing little to diminish her poise.

Hadrian's gaze lingered for a moment too long. Internally, he chastised himself. Focus. You've just woken up in a strange place in someone else's body. Now is not the time for distractions.

"My lord Hadrian," she said, her voice soft but steady. She set the tray down on the desk and moved toward him, her expression shifting into something between relief and hesitation. "You're awake. Praise the gods. We feared the fever might have taken you."

"Fever?" Hadrian rasped, his throat dry. The sound of his own voice startled him—it was higher-pitched, softer, unfamiliar.

"Yes, my lord," she said, stepping closer, her hands clasped in front of her. "You've been bedridden for weeks. The healer feared you wouldn't recover." Her tone softened as she added, "This isn't the first time you've taken ill like this."

Hadrian stiffened slightly, her words igniting a flicker of frustration. Weeks? Bedridden? No wonder I feel like I've been wrung out and left to dry. He met her gaze and asked carefully, "And the family?"

"They'll be relieved to see you on your feet," she said with a faint smile. "You've always been sickly, my lord. It's not uncommon for you to remain abed for long stretches. Though this time was… worse."

So this body is as fragile as it looks. Wonderful. He sighed softly, letting his head fall back against the pillow. "I see."

The woman hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her apron. "Do you need assistance, my lord? Perhaps I should fetch someone to—"

Hadrian waved her off weakly, sitting up with considerable effort. His arms shook under his weight, and he felt a stab of indignation at how difficult even that simple motion was. "No. I'll manage."

She gave him a skeptical look but didn't press the issue. "If you say so, my lord." She curtsied slightly, the motion smooth and practiced. "Shall I inform the family of your recovery?"

Hadrian studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her strong features and calm demeanor. She was striking, even dressed plainly, and her poise reminded him of someone used to navigating a delicate balance of duty and propriety. He forced himself to look away before his thoughts wandered. Focus, damn it.

"Yes," he said finally, his tone measured. "Tell them I'll join them soon."

The woman nodded, her expression softening slightly. "It's good to see you awake, my lord." She turned and left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Alone once more, Hadrian let out a slow breath and flexed his trembling fingers. The weakness of his body burned at his pride, but his mind was already racing. If this is what I've been given, I'll have to make it work.

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Hadrian sat stiffly at the dining table, his hands resting on his knees beneath the scratched and splintered wood. The room was dimly lit by a handful of oil lamps, their warm glow barely enough to keep the shadows at bay. The table, long and uneven, bore the scars of years of hard use. It wasn't grand or impressive—just practical. Much like everything else in this household, it seemed.

He shifted slightly, his weak arms and shoulders protesting even the small effort of maintaining a straight posture. His gaze drifted across the table to the faces around him. They were familiar in a way that made his skin crawl—memories from a life that wasn't his kept surfacing, patchy and incomplete.

At the head of the table sat Duke Leonidas, his father. His broad shoulders and sharp features were tempered by his pale skin and hollow cheeks. Despite the signs of illness, his piercing blue eyes missed nothing. His presence alone was enough to command the room.

"Hadrian," Leonidas said, his tone steady but firm. "You've finally decided to join us."

Hadrian glanced up from his plate of unappetizing stew, meeting his father's gaze. "Yeah, I figured lying in bed wasn't getting me anywhere," he said, keeping his tone casual. "It's good to be up and about."

Leonidas frowned faintly at the informal phrasing but didn't comment. He simply nodded, his attention already shifting to Alexander, seated to his right.

Alexander, the eldest son, leaned back in his chair with the confidence of someone who knew he was destined for greatness. His broad frame and strong jawline gave him a presence that matched their father's, though his perpetual smirk softened the intensity.

"Well, well," Alexander said, grinning. "Back from the brink, are you? I thought we'd have to drag you out of bed."

Hadrian shrugged. "Not much point dragging me anywhere when I can barely stand. Let's call it a victory that I made it here on my own."

Alexander chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Just don't push yourself too hard. I'd hate to see you faceplant on the way back to your room."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Hadrian muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself.

Seated across from him was Helena, her sharp green eyes studying him like a hawk. Her posture was impeccable, her every move deliberate. Her long blond hair was tied back into a simple braid, emphasizing the striking angles of her face. There was a sharpness to her that set her apart from the others—a calculating presence that made Hadrian sit up a little straighter.


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