The collapse came without warning.
Silas had been reviewing grain production reports when the world suddenly tilted sideways. One moment he was sitting at his desk, calculating optimal crop rotation schedules, and the next he was on the floor, his vision swimming as waves of nausea crashed over him.
"Your Highness!" The voice seemed to come from very far away, though he could feel hands lifting him, supporting his weight as his legs refused to function properly. "Fetch the healers! Quickly!"
As consciousness faded in and out, Silas found himself caught between two sets of memories. Kael Victor's final moments played out in vivid detail: the earthquake, the falling debris, the crushing weight that had ended his first life.
But overlaying those memories were others that belonged to Prince Silas Cinder: years of similar episodes, of weakness and pain, of a body that had never been strong enough to support the mind within it.
The healers arrived in a flurry of robes and concerned murmurs.
Silas felt himself being lifted onto his bed, cool cloths placed on his forehead, bitter medicines forced between his lips. Through it all, he drifted between worlds, between identities, struggling to understand which memories were real and which belonged to someone else.
"The prince suffers from a wasting condition," he heard one of the healers explaining to someone: Chancellor Marcus, perhaps, or Lady Elara. "His body cannot properly channel life energy. It's why he's never been able to master sword aura like his ancestors."
Sword aura.
Even in his weakened state, the term sparked Silas's curiosity.
His inherited memories contained fragments of knowledge about the practice of something unique to Eldoria, a martial art that could rival the magic of the three empires. But the memories were frustratingly incomplete, like trying to remember a half-forgotten dream.
When he finally regained full consciousness, it was to find Master Gareth Ironwind sitting beside his bed.
The old warrior was an imposing figure even in repose, his weathered face marked by decades of combat and his gray hair pulled back in a simple warrior's knot. His presence filled the room with an aura of quiet strength that made Silas feel even more aware of his own frailty.
"You're awake," Master Gareth said simply. His voice was gravelly, worn smooth by years of shouting commands on training grounds and battlefields. "Good. We need to talk."
Silas struggled to sit up, accepting the master's help with as much dignity as he could muster. "About what?"
"About why you've been pushing yourself so hard these past weeks. About why you're suddenly interested in things that never concerned you before. And about why you asked me to teach you sword aura."
The last statement caught Silas off guard. He had no memory of making such a request, though it made perfect sense.
If he was going to survive in this world, if he was going to transform Eldoria into something capable of standing against empires, he would need every advantage he could get.
"I don't remember asking," Silas said honestly.
Master Gareth's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sent word yesterday, through Lady Elara. Said you wanted to begin training immediately, despite your condition." He paused, studying Silas's face carefully. "You don't remember?"
Silas shook his head, then immediately regretted the motion as it sent fresh waves of dizziness through his skull. The gaps in his memory were troubling. How much of Prince Silas's life was he missing? How much of his own planning had he forgotten?
"Tell me about sword aura," he said instead. "I know it's important to Eldoria's defense, but my memories of the practice are... unclear."
Master Gareth was quiet for a long moment, his weathered hands folded in his lap. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of years and loss.
"Sword aura is the art of channeling one's life force through blade work," he began. "It's what allowed our ancestors to stand against enemies who wielded magic, to carve out a kingdom in a world where raw power seemed to rule everything. But it's not magic, Your Highness. It's something deeper, something that comes from within."
"How does it work?"
"Every living being possesses internal energy, what we call life force or spiritual essence. Most people never learn to sense it, let alone control it. Sword aura practitioners spend years learning to feel this energy, to direct it, to project it beyond their physical bodies."
Silas found himself leaning forward despite his weakness.
This sounded remarkably similar to some of the energy theories he'd studied in his engineering courses; concepts about resonance, frequency, and the transfer of force through different mediums.
"The sword serves as both focus and amplifier," Master Gareth continued. "It helps channel the energy in precise ways, allowing for techniques that would be impossible with bare hands alone. A master of sword aura can cut through steel with a wooden blade, strike enemies from across a battlefield, even create barriers of pure energy."
"And you think I could learn this?"
Master Gareth's expression grew troubled. "That's the problem, Your Highness. Sword aura requires a strong connection between mind, body, and spirit. Your condition..."
He gestured helplessly. "Your body has never been able to properly channel energy. Every previous attempt at training has ended in collapse, sometimes worse than what just happened."
Silas absorbed this information, his engineering mind automatically analyzing the problem. If sword aura was about energy transfer and control, then his body's inability to channel that energy was like having a circuit with faulty wiring.
The power source might be there, but the delivery system was compromised.