"We are the chosen of Asuryan, beloved of the gods and heirs to the world. Our armies are the finest in creation; swift where our foes are lumbering, cultured where they are barbaric. Give no thought to failure, nor defeat -- we are the Children of Ulthuan and we shall prevail."

  —Phoenix King Aenarion the Defender

  David walked down a garden path with little concern for his surroundings, his mind occupied with burdensome thoughts. How should one react when forcibly moved to a new place? With no choice in the matter, yet arguably taken somewhere that saved you from dying. But what if that place, while temporarily sparing you, ultimately condemned you to a fate far worse than death? Should he find it within himself to be grateful, or should he curse his situation?

  He stopped and stared out at the garden. White stone paths curved through trimmed hedges and low, flowering shrubs. Slender trees with pale bark and soft, silver-green leaves offered shade, and climbing vines threaded up carved trellises, heavy with small blossoms that looked almost like scattered stars.

  A shallow fountain sat near the center, its basin cut from smooth marble, water spilling in a steady, soothing ribbon that never seemed to splash too loudly. The air carried the scent of fresh greenery and sweet flowers warmed by the sun, and somewhere deeper in the garden a bird sang—a clear, liquid sound that made the place feel untouched by the world beyond the walls. It was a scene straight from a movie. David felt any second now he would see some hobbits running up to ask him to join their fellowship.

  He snorted.

  David felt healthy, light on his feet, and filled with more energy than he’d had in the past decade. Long white hair fell into his eyes, and he blew it away with a quiet breath.

  It was quite the predicament. A double-edged sword. The benefits were undeniable, but they paled when weighed against the drawbacks. David had developed a habit: when he felt trapped in a long-term situation, he would force himself to think it all through. What, exactly, was making him distressed, and why? Was he being unfair? Was he only looking at the worst of it? It helped when he needed to articulate how he felt to himself and others.

  So he laid out the major things again in his head.

  One, David would no longer die of old age. Two, he had gained a healthy body. Three, He had become someone important. Four, Magic was now real—and David could even be trained to use it.

  Humming, he picked up a fallen leaf, the wind tugging gently at his robes. Just listing those, anyone would have backhanded him for thinking he had anything to complain about. Immortality and magic alone were already amazing—impossible, unreachable things. David bet plenty of people would accept that offer without hesitation, regardless of the conditions.

  So what could the negatives possibly be to outweigh it all? What made him feel like the bargain wasn’t worth it?

  The world would end within his lifetime. Daemons were real. The world was locked in a constant, never-ending war. Nowhere was truly safe. Entities of eldritch horror walked the earth—and thrived. Death was no longer a guaranteed escape. And again he was now important, which he’d mentally listed as a benefit, but it was also a con.

  David's short-term circumstances were pretty good, objectively speaking. He was going to be treated well, his needs taken care of, and his wants most likely fulfilled too—he was still testing the waters on that one.

  Being put into a High Elf’s body was, in his opinion, quite literally winning the lottery. Of all the races David could have been, and of all the places he could have ended up, Ulthuan was damn near the closest one could get to a good life on Mallus. He could have been a giant rat. Truly, He’d been blessed—and blessed again. Every day since his spontaneous arrival, David had been praying in gratitude. He didn't think it was too bad an idea with gods being a lot more active here.

  Any fan of Warhammer—Fantasy or 40,000—knows they’re both war-torn and hellish settings. People like to fixate on the darkest parts of the lore, but it’s also realistic to remember that in both universes, normal people living normal lives are common. To wage wars, you need economies, artisans, machines, and people. And those people, in turn, require stability and structure to function.

  When people imagine ending up in one of these fictional realities, they tend to picture the extreme ends of it. David found it more believable that most people could live relatively normal, even enjoyable lives. Maybe that’s naive. Maybe it’s unrealistic. But damn it, he needed something positive to hold onto if he was going to sleep at night.

  Though he felt like anyone’s knee-jerk reaction to ending up here wouldn’t be a happy one.

  There was a fear in the back of his mind. David knew he was generalizing a lot about his situation and blatantly ignoring even more—a truly massive amount. He was in a grimdark world, and things tended to be more gruesome and cruel than what logically made sense. David hoped the world he’d ended up in would lean toward the more realistic side of things, or at least offer more favorable odds for him.

  David would have to dive deep into everything eventually, but for now he felt like he could only handle this tiny piece of the iceberg. He still needed to find out how fucked he was. He’d already asked some basic questions that had both alarmed and given his new wards some hope—who the current Phoenix King was, and a few other miscellaneous things once he’d been able to be more coherent.

  None of those questions painted his mental health in a good light to his body’s parents and friends. They were relieved he knew to ask them, but extremely alarmed that he needed to.

  So stuck in his head, David did not realize that somebody had approached them, only noticing once he heard an overly loud cough trying to get his attention. Turning toward the noise, David saw Maerthas. Internally, David was in awe. In front of him was a Chracian hunter, a battle-tested warrior belonging to a race long storied. A real living person, instead of something David could read off a page or paint as a model.

  “Hello Maerthas!” David greeted him warmly. Maerthas had been one of the first people David had met when he had woken up, and he had already had many talks with him.

  Maerthas inclined his head, the lion pelt on his shoulders shifting as he did. “My Prince.” His tone was as steady as ever, formal even when it didn’t need to be. “I came to check on you. Your family insists you always have someone with you.”

  David nodded, understanding. “That makes sense. I just—” David exhaled, glancing away for a moment before looking back. “I wanted to ask you something. What is the plan for me, since I’m now… in this state?”

  For the first time, Maerthas hesitated. His eyes flicked away, jaw tightening slightly, and guilt passed over his expression before he forced it back down. “They want you to rest,” he said, quieter than before, “and to recover as much as you can. It is too soon to tell what memories may come back… or what may never.” He paused, choosing his words carefully.

  David absorbed that in silence, then gave a slow nod. “Alright. I understand.”

  And he truly did, nor did he really want to be left completely alone. He was essentially a newborn, and now had to relearn everything an Elf his age should already know. Fortunately, he had time, but one could never be overprepared in this place. He was severely lacking the survival skills necessary to do what he eventually would have to.

  David hesitated, then asked, “Maerthas… would you be willing to bring me to our training area, if we have one?”

  He had been confined to rooms and chambers where many people had cast magic on him and conducted tests to see if they could “fix” him. It was only recently that he had been allowed to wander the place. Additionally, he was in a new body—one that, compared to his old human one, behaved and responded differently. And boy was there a difference. He seemed to subconsciously move more gracefully, his reflexes heightened, his awareness broadened. And his mind was more clear and precise than he ever remembered it being.

  Almost catlike he felt, everything working to allow him to be a predator. It was very interesting. Kinda like what he imagined getting superpowers might be like.

  David heard another cough, breaking him out of his thoughts once again. He smiled apologetically to Maerthas.

  “My apologies. Lots on my mind.”

  Maerthas did not return the smile. “My Prince,” he said instead, voice steady and respectful.

  His eyes lingered on David’s face for a moment longer than they needed to, and something faintly sad passed through them before the warrior’s usual impassiveness returned. “I worry when you do that.”

  David nodded once, accepting it. “I’ll try not to wander off in my head so much.”

  “As you say, my Prince.” Maerthas’s gaze moved past him, sweeping the courtyard and the nearby halls as if expecting enemies to pop out of the bushes. The lion pelt on his shoulders shifted as he breathed.

  The pause in that last word carried more weight than it should have, and David felt it land. Maerthas had known Calethor. Maerthas had grown up beside him in all the ways a body guard could. And now he was looking at someone wearing the same face, speaking with the same voice, and still not quite seeing the same person. Thinking that Calethor had simply lost his memories.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  David cleared his throat. “Right. I understand.”

  Maerthas inclined his head. “You asked me earlier about training, my Prince.” There it was again—Prince, always Prince—David personally was uncomfortable with the title but maybe Calethor had enjoyed it. “The Stormvaine villa has training grounds. However your parents have asked that you remain away from anything that could complicate your condition.”

  David hummed. It seemed that he had quite the helicopter parents. “I’m not asking to fight a duel to the death, Maerthas. I just want to look at it, and who knows… maybe it will help my memory return.”

  Maerthas studied him in silence. “The mages say your body remembers things your mind does not,” he said at last. “But your family fears pushing you too hard too soon will only worsen your current state.”

  David exhaled through his nose, a little annoyed. “And what do you think?”

  For a moment Maerthas’s mouth twitched. “I think,” he said carefully, “that you are my Prince. And I will do what I am commanded.” Then, quieter. “And I think it will be good for you.”

  David grinned. “Then let us be off.”

  Maerthas’s gaze dipped, just briefly, as if the old Calethor would have phrased it differently. When he looked back up, the Chracian was professional again. “Very well.”

  Maerthas turned as if to lead the way, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “And my Prince,” he added, the title firm, but his eyes betraying him with that small twinge again, “I apologize in advance for any rude behavior we receive from the household. It is only… it is strange to all of us, seeing and hearing you like this now.”

  David held his gaze, face unreadable. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I imagine it is.”

  Maerthas looked away first. “Come then,” he said, and started walking. “Let us see what you can remember.”

  A few hours later, David found himself soaked in sweat, his muscles aching. He had naively thought that in this “injured” state he would be relatively safe. Reality had other ideas. As soon as they reached the training area, Maerthas seemed to completely abandon the notion that physical exertion would worsen David’s condition. In fact, Maerthas must have believed it would do the opposite. He had somehow already had training clothes waiting for him when they arrived.

  David suspected the woodsman had been waiting for him to ask, lying in wait like a viper.

  “My Prince,” Maerthas said, “it is important to check your physical condition while you are here, to see if it has deteriorated. Before your injury, you were able to run forty laps around this field.”

  After saying that, Maerthas gestured behind him.

  The training ground spread out in a long, clean rectangle of packed earth and short-cropped grass, bordered by low white stone and worn smooth. At each corner stood a squat marker-stone, and along the edges sat weapon racks and spear stands in neat lines, with archery butts set farther down and practice posts hammered into the ground. The size felt similar to a football field, the kind where the distance looked reasonable right up until the moment someone told him to run it forty times.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  David could have sworn Maerthas was grinning, but the warrior had already turned away toward the weapon racks behind them. Dozens of practice implements rested there in neat order—wooden swords, blunted spears, short clubs.

  As Maerthas walked, he spoke over his shoulder. “It is a shame that you have lost your memories, my Prince. Otherwise you would know I do not joke when it comes to these things. Since you were a youngling, I have been entrusted by your family to train you in all matters of war.”

  Maerthas did not take any of the weapons on display. Instead, he selected a long, thick wooden stick and rolled it once in his palm as if testing the weight.

  “I shall give you four seconds to begin running the laps,” he continued, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “That is double what I used to give you, but I shall be lenient, since you have forgotten.”

  Throughout his life, David had been called many things, but a slow learner was not one of them.

  David ran.

  He hit the first stretch, feet biting into the packed earth. For the first few moments there was even a flicker of confidence. New body. Elven body. Heightened reflexes, grace, and all that.

  The first corner marker-stone came and went. The distance had looked reasonable standing still. Running it was a different story. Doing it forty times was lunacy.

  Behind him, Maerthas’s voice carried with irritating clarity. “One.”

  David glanced back without meaning to and immediately regretted it. He stood near the weapon racks like a statue, counting with the patience of something that had all the time in the world.

  David turned forward again and put his head down.

  By the time lap 5 came, his thighs burned. His body moved with a smoothness his mind couldn’t quite predict. His feet placed themselves where they needed to be. His breath found a rhythm even as it protested.

  It was something that unsettled him.

  The body knew better than he did. David was just borrowing the experience from another.

  Somewhere around “eight,” Maerthas called out again, not a number this time.

  “Posture, my Prince. You are fading.”

  David wanted to shout back. Something clever or obscene. Instead he straightened his back and kept running, because Maerthas was right.

  “Good,” Maerthas said, and David didn’t know whether that was meant for achieving it or for that he was still obeying.

  David focused on the next corner stone. Then the next. Each one became a small milestone. A simple objective. Don’t think about forty.

  “Fifteen.”

  David’s lungs felt raw. His calves threatened to give out. Sweat soaked the training clothes Maerthas had provided, clinging to his back and chest. For a moment an intrusive thought to quit entered his head. But it quickly died.

  If he could not do this he might as well throw himself off the nearest cliff and end it now. The End Times were coming and he needed to be ready. Laziness or lack of trying would not be how he died. A real threat to one's life tends to put things into perspective.

  “Twenty.”

  David stumbled at the corner, caught himself, and kept moving. He could hear Maerthas walking now, not alongside him, but closer to the track, the crunch of boots on dirt pacing him for a short stretch.

  Maerthas’s voice came again, lower. “You are not allowed to faint, my Prince.”

  David forced a laugh that came out as more of a wheeze. “Wasn’t… planning on it.”

  “Good,” Maerthas said, as if David had made a promise.

  “Twenty-five.”

  David’s vision narrowed, not blacking out, but sharpening. His mind felt strangely clear inside the discomfort, precise in the way it had been since waking up in this body. Like pain didn’t fog him the way it used to. Like his thoughts could stand apart.

  And that worried him, because it meant this body really was different.

  “Thirty.”

  At thirty, Maerthas stopped pacing and returned to his original position near the racks. His face impassive.

  “Ten remaining,” Maerthas called. “Do not slow down because you are close.”

  David swallowed hard and kept running.

  When “forty” finally came, it didn’t feel triumphant. David slowed to a walk only because his legs forced him to. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped from his chin into the dirt.

  Maerthas approached, staff still in hand.

  David bent forward with his hands on his knees, trying to drag air into his lungs like it had weight. “So,” David managed, voice rough, “How did I do?”

  Maerthas’s mouth twitched. “A new record my prince. I could never get you to run more than 30 before. You losing your memories might not be all bad.”

  David's mind paused. Then he laughed. He had not stopped to ask what his baseline was before running.

  “You are a bastard.”

  Maerthas smiled. “I know my parentage quite well.” He paused in thought, twirling the stick in his hands in a way that made David want to take several steps back. “I would say your endurance has not deteriorated, which is good.”

  David straightened slowly, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. His lungs still burned, but the worst of the shaking had begun to fade.

  “Now that you are warmed up,” Maerthas continued, “I’d like to have you go through some forms and stances. We need to see where you stand on relearning how to fight. Hopefully you won’t have to relearn the basics.”

  He stepped to the racks and set the staff back with the rest, then selected a wooden sword. With casual ease Maerthas held it out hilt-first.

  David took it.

  It was lighter than he expected. Balanced. His hands settled on the grip like they belonged there, and that had him pondering once again on his circumstances.

  “Show me your ready stance,” Maerthas said. “I understand you don’t remember how but bear with me.”

  David tried.

  He planted his feet, adjusted them, then adjusted again. He shifted weight from one leg to the other, trying to remember something he’d never learned in the first place. The result was predictably a mess.

  Maerthas’s expression tightened into a frown.

  “That is wrong,” he said flatly.

  “Helpful.” David responded sarcastically, no anger in voice. He was doing something new and was approaching this mentally as something fun to be learned.

  The Chracian stepped closer, eyes flicking over David’s posture with analyzing eyes. “You are thinking about this too hard, my Prince.”

  David started to protest, then stopped, because he didn’t actually have an argument.

  Maerthas tapped the wooden blade lightly with two fingers, then pointed with the tip of his own practice sword—first to David’s shoulders, then his hips, then his feet. “Your shoulders are tense, and your hips are locked.”

  His frown deepened, and the smallest shadow of sadness crossed his eyes.

  Maerthas exhaled, as if catching himself. He softened his tone. “Relax,” he said. “As much as you can. Stop thinking about it.” He lifted a hand and made a small motion. “Go to what feels natural to you. Put your arms and legs where your body feels comfortable.”

  David listened. Not only to the words said but what his body had been telling him, like naturally relaxing once you got home after a long day.

  Something clicked.

  Maerthas stared for a heartbeat, then nodded once.

  “Yes,” he said, and there was approval there. “Very good. A couple small errors here, but your body seems to remember.”

  David let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So I’m not hopeless.”

  Maerthas’s mouth twitched. “You never were, my Prince.” He stepped back and raised his own wooden sword. “Again. From the beginning. Show me what you feel would be a good stance to attack.”

  David moved.

  It felt wrong and right at the same time, like walking through your home in the dark and still knowing the way.

  Maerthas paced around him, circling. “Do not lift your shoulders,” he corrected. “Keep them down. Loose.”

  David adjusted, and the movement tightened into something cleaner.

  Maerthas nodded again.

  “You see?” he said. “The knowledge is still there.”

  David didn’t answer. He just kept moving through the motions, sweat dripping, muscles still aching.

  “Good,” Maerthas said. “Again.”

  And then, after a moment, like he couldn’t help himself: “Do not look so surprised, my Prince. You were trained for this your entire life. Your body will remember what your mind has not.”