An endless fall. Biting cold wind. A crushing weight on his chest. Then a final "thud"—explosive pain. Then, darkness.
Allen's mind broke apart, like glass hitting the floor.
Bits of memory flew everywhere—cheap coffee, unpaid bills, that sad subscriber count glowing at 2 a.m.
Forty-five years of mediocrity, flashing back in ugly little scenes.
His head throbbed. His hearing came back first.
Birds somewhere far off. And… a soft snoring?
Then the smell hit—herbs, woodsmoke. It tickled his nose, made him want to sneeze.
His body felt wrecked, like after an MMA brawl. Every inch sore.
He tried to take a deep breath. He was lying on a rough bed. Not his familiar Egyptian cotton.
He seemed to be bandaged! The herbal scent came from the wrappings.
Allen opened his eyes. Blinked a few times. Took in the unfamiliar ceiling. He turned his head. Froze.
Wooden beams. Simple geometric carvings. Daylight filtered through the cracks.
The stone-walled room was spacious. Tidy. It had an understated, ancient Greek nobility about it. The dark wood furniture was smooth and gleaming. It seemed to say, "I'm valuable, but subtle."
The linen sheets were surprisingly soft. The gauze curtain swayed gently in a breeze. A bronze shield and a wooden sword hung on the wall. Near a tattered banner in the corner was a sheepskin map.
Allen was stunned.
"...WTF? Where is this? A Greek-themed B&B?" he muttered. "No electric lights. No smell of disinfectant. Not even a power outlet…"
A memory flashed: the soft, crumbling hillside, losing his footing, falling…
"Am I dead?"
His gaze shifted to the chair by the wall. A small figure was curled up there.
A girl, fast asleep. Her long brown hair was splayed out. Like a well-fed little animal. Her breathing was even. A tiny trail of drool marked her cheek. Her linen dress was clearly not modern attire.
A name surfaced in Allen's mind—Terani.
"...How do I know that?"
He tried to move. Searing pain shot through him. Nearly blacked out. He gritted his teeth, stifling a groan.
"Calm down, Allen. You're a writer, right?"—though the thought felt hollow even to him.
He looked down at his arm. It was firm. Strong. The skin was smooth and young. The palms were calloused. This wasn't his forty-five-year-old body. He was at least 182 cm tall. A good head taller than before.
Terani shivered in her sleep, hunching her shoulders. Allen's heart softened—a modern gentleman's instinct overriding his fear.
Gritting against the pain, he picked up a thin blanket. Moved carefully over to her. Draped it gently over her shoulders.
"Shh… Don't wake her up! I still need to figure this out," he thought.
The girl slept on peacefully. Her breathing as steady as a kitten's purr.
Allen couldn't help a faint smile. "You're welcome." He began to pace, observing the room.
Clay pots. A wooden chest holding linen clothes. An unlit oil lamp. He whispered to himself, "No phone. No lightbulbs. No plastic…"
In his memory, he was supposed to be in Turkey, visiting the ruins of Troy, gathering material for a novel. How did he get this "premium time-travel package"?
"Alright then… Welcome to antiquity, Allen. I really hope this isn't a prank reality show, or I'll bloody well throttle the damn director."
The bandages were linen. But when he touched the dressing on his head, he paused—the texture was unusually smooth. Fine.
Then—boom. Two doors kicked open in his head.
One spilled out strange memories: sword drills, mountain woods, a boar's roar.
The other—Allen Buffett's life. Forty-five. Jobless writer. Too much coffee. Late nights. Watching click rates rise and fall on some web novel site.
The two streams of memory pulled and tore. His head felt split by lightning.
He gasped sharply. Staggered to the window. Pushed the wooden shutter open.
The light of the setting sun poured in. It illuminated the ancient Greek-style room.
Outside, a small courtyard.
A pomegranate tree moved in the wind.
Somewhere far off, chickens calling.
Past the wall, the tall city rampart.
And beyond that—the sea, bright and thin.
The breeze carried salt.
And woodsmoke.
And a hint of herbs.
A strange, yet comforting, smell.
"I'm Allen Buffett. A forty-five-year-old man. Laid off, became an online writer… No, wait…" Another name hovered at the edge: Aeneas.
Damn it! This is Troy!
Troy! The blood and fire of the Iliad. The Trojan Horse. The flames. The slaughter. He knew it all.
"Calm down! I am Aeneas. A minor scion of the Trojan royal house. Son of Anchises, Lord of the Dardan Valley, and the priestess Aresya. A 'god-child' of Aphrodite…"
Pure terror seized Allen: "Troy?! The Greek alliance! The sack! No, I have to run. Now!"
His breathing quickened. His fingertips trembled. Escape was his first, flashing thought.
Just then, the door swung open. A beautiful woman entered briskly, followed by two others. She was around thirty-five. Her movements were graceful. Her demeanor was noble and gentle.
She had long, wavy golden hair. Eyes like the Aegean Sea, now churning with a storm of anxiety.
Finding the empty bed, her face went pale. But her eyes quickly locked onto Aeneas, standing rigid by the window.
Aeneas's heart clenched.
Her gaze was too complex: shock, tension, relief, lingering fear.
In the next instant, she dropped what she was carrying. Rushed forward. Embraced him tightly.
"Mother…?" The word escaped his lips unbidden.
Allen screamed internally—She was a decade younger than his mental age! This beauty is my mother, Aresya?
"Aeneas! My child! You're finally awake! Thank Aphrodite!"
Her voice was choked. Her hands cupped his face, confirming he was real. Her embrace was warm. She smelled of olive oil and fresh herbs.
Allen's fear was momentarily subdued by the sheer force of motherhood.
"I'm… I'm alright, Mother." His voice trembled slightly.
She held him tight, murmuring into his shoulder, "Thank the gods… You're alive."
She didn't finish. Just held him tighter, as if afraid he might vanish.
Aresya released him. Held his face in her hands, studying it closely. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she was smiling. "You're always like this, my little hero. But I'd rather have you safe."
A gentle, steady voice came from the doorway. "Let him sit down first. Have some food. Let me check his injuries."
Aeneas looked up. Saw the two women approaching—and immediately felt like he'd been tossed onto the set of a Troy's Most Beautiful Women photoshoot.
The first was around twenty-five. A gentle, serene beauty. Her eyes made you feel seen. And comforted.
She stood about 160 cm tall. Her light brown hair was intricately braided. A silver sigil adorned her forehead—marking her as a priestess of some deity.
Her simple robe was practical. A small medicine pouch hung from her belt. She carried a basket of herbs, neatly arranged sprigs of rosemary, lavender, and others. Dew clung to the leaves. A mixed scent of mint and earth wafted from it.
She was clearly the doctor. Her gaze was kind, but held a professional assessment, as if she could diagnose health with a look.
The other was under twenty. She shared her sister's features, but was trying hard to look serious. A mischievous glint sparkled in the corner of her eyes.
She stood about 155 cm tall. Her build was nimble. Her steps had a cat-like spring. She clutched a medical gauze, using it to cover her mouth.
Her eyes kept darting over Aeneas, full of open curiosity—like she was waiting for the punchline.
Aeneas thought: This girl isn't here to be a medic. She's here for the entertainment.
He stared at the sisters for a moment. Then looked down at his young, beautiful mother, and the little snoring nurse by the wall.
He felt he'd accidentally wandered into a Greek mythology beauty pageant.
The forty-five-year-old soul of Allen Buffett was frantically taking notes—this material would be a goldmine for a web novel.
He tried to keep his mind in check.
Eyes on the sunset.
In his head, calculating the cost-effectiveness of this time-travel deal.
"Hm… so Troy's specialty is beauties?" he mumbled.
Then froze.
Crap—said that out loud.
He cleared his throat fast. "I mean… thank the gods for all the… uh… skilled helpers."
The younger girl snorted, hiding her entire face, eyes included, behind her gauze.
Aresya let out a light laugh, clear as a wind chime. "It seems your injuries haven't damaged your sense of humor, my dear."
Aresya turned to make introductions. "This is Oenone, a priestess from the Scamander River temple. A most skilled healer. And this is her sister, Hesperia, here to assist."
Oenone stepped forward. Her aura was gentle and calm. "Aeneas, let me see your injuries." She carefully examined the bandages on his chest and abdomen, her gaze focused.
Hesperia looked around the room and at Aeneas with open curiosity, her eyes lively.
Oenone gently unwound the dressing from Aeneas's head. Her brow furrowed slightly. "This… this isn't linen or wool. I don't recognize this material. It's too fine. Too smooth. And this salve's scent—it's not one of our recipes."
She turned to Aresya. "Aresya, this dressing and medicine are remarkably effective. The wound was closing fast. I wonder which healer provided it?"
Aresya's eyes held a knowing glint. She spoke softly. "Perhaps it truly is a goddess's blessing."
Aeneas stared at the fabric in Oenone's hands. He was stunned.
He knew nothing of the herbs. But that fabric he knew—silk. In this era, it should only be produced in the distant Far East… How was it here in the Mediterranean?
"You went missing while training in the Idan woods. We were worried sick," she said with a smile, though the concern in her eyes was plain. "It was that majestic golden eagle—it circled and cried out, leading your father's men to you. They found you in a ravine and brought you back."
Hesperia's eyes lit up instantly, as if witnessing a miracle from the heavens.
"A golden eagle! Isn't that the sacred bird of Zeus?" She nearly jumped, her slender fingers tracing patterns in the air, trying to grasp the imagined divine raptor.
Aeneas blinked. Internal OS: My goddess-mom sent a holy bird to rescue me? How cool is that?!
Aresya bent down and picked up the cloak.
She held it like something sacred.
"You lay there, injured, but your head was carefully bandaged with this strange cloth, and your body was covered by this…"
It was a red, rich in color. Lined with rabbit fur. Swan feathers around the collar.
It smelled faintly of roses.
Whoever made it knew their craft.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, almost luxurious.
"They saw you lying in the valley, covered by this cloak."
Aresya's gaze was soft and devout. "This must be the protection sent by your divine mother—Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty—for her mortal son in his hour of need."
Aeneas was speechless. Surprise and confusion flashed in his eyes.
"Goddess mom? So… gods are real in this world?"
Hesperia couldn't resist leaning in. She pointed at the cloak's edge.
"Swan feathers… rabbit fur, and the smell of roses… Is this really a gift from Aphrodite?"
Aresya smiled, a soft light in her eyes. "Thank the gods for watching over you. Zeus's sacred bird guided us to you, and this cloak—a goddess's gift, perhaps—shielded you. Along with this mysterious cloth and medicine."
Aeneas looked down at the cloak. He lightly touched the feathers. It might just be fine clothing, but its sudden appearance on his injured self felt miraculous.
"Wow… This is divine wear. Probably the fanciest cloak in all of Troy, right?"
Hesperia pouted, muttering under her breath. "I've been a river priestess since I was a girl. The gods never gave me anything… So unfair."
She stroked the cloak, confirming the miracle was real.
Aresya smiled and shook her head, her expression full of maternal affection.
Hesperia moved closer to Aeneas, her eyes shining with curiosity.
"Aeneas, do you… remember what happened? How did you get so badly hurt?"
She asked carefully, her tone holding a girl's eager excitement. Like a cat trying to sniff out a secret.
Just as the atmosphere held a hint of tension, a soft breathing sound drew their attention.
Terani, jolted awake, sat up straight. The thin blanket slipped off with a soft 'pat'. Her eyes shone like little stars.
"The boar! It was the boar, right? The young master killed the great boar!"
She practically bounced in front of Aeneas, her excitement making her forget she'd just been caught napping on duty.
Everyone couldn't help but laugh. Aresya shook her head in fond exasperation.
"You little scamp, be careful not to aggravate Aeneas's injuries."
Her reminder was gentle. She didn't stop Terani's excited display.
Aeneas cleared his throat. Tried to pull the memory together.
Black-gold curls fell over his brow. He drew a slow breath, like someone about to tell a story.
Then it came back. The mountain woods.
Tall trees shifting in the wind.
Light slipping through the leaves, breaking into spots on the ground.
A huge boar crashed out of the brush.
Tusks flashing in the sun.
Must've weighed a hundred-fifty kilos, easy.
The earth shook with every step.
"It… it charged out of the bushes suddenly. Stared right at me. Its eyes looked like it wanted to tear me apart."
Aeneas struggled to form the memories into words. A wry smile flickered across his face.
Hesperia covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide as little moons.
"What did you do?"
Her voice held horror, and a thread of excitement for the outcome.
"Well… I picked up my practice wooden sword—you know, the kind that looks quite dashing but is basically just for drills—and I tried my best to dodge its charge."
Aeneas gestured in the air, mimicking the boar's rush. His tone was humorous.
"Finally, I seized an instant. Put all my strength behind the sword's tip. Thrust it right between its eyes."
"Wow!" Hesperia exclaimed, slapping the table and nearly upsetting a water jug.
"Between the eyes? What astounding skill!"
"Killing a full-grown boar with a wooden sword!" She patted her chest, her voice full of exaggerated admiration.
"That's Herculean bravery! I… I can hardly imagine it!"
Her cheeks were faintly pink. Her tone held a girl's unique fervor.
Terani couldn't contain herself at all. She waved her arms, as if the air itself vibrated with her passion.
"The young master is amazing! You really killed the boar!"
Her voice was clear, ringing like a small bell. Her eyes shone bright enough to spark.
"Young master, you are a true warrior! I'll tell the other apprentice priestesses! All of Troy will soon hear of your bravery!"
Aeneas shrugged, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. "The result? The boar died… but right before it did, it rammed me in the gut. Sent me tumbling down the ravine! This whole 'bravery' thing can be a bit dangerous."
Oenone gave an elegant, slight nod. Her expression held a healer's rationality.
"Extremely brave… but reckless! Foolhardy!"
Aresya's reaction was entirely different.
She rushed forward. Grabbed her son's hands. Her fingertips were pale. Her tone was both scolding and full of motherly love.
"Aeneas! You were far too rash!"
Her eyes seemed to want to lock him in her sight. "How could you face such a terrible beast alone! What if something had happened to you…" Her voice trembled slightly.
Aeneas felt the intensity of this affection. Warmth and guilt rose in his chest.
Even though he knew his soul wasn't the original—it was Allen Buffett from the modern world—this maternal love felt utterly real.
"Um… I know, Mother."
He added in a lighter tone, trying to comfort her. "Alright, I promise, next time I'll at least wear armor first."
Terani pouted, adding defiantly, "Being brave means taking risks! I'm not afraid of boars! Next time, I must go with the young master!"
Her small hands clutched the star-shaped pendant on her chest. A gesture of self-encouragement, and a silent cheer for Aeneas.
Aeneas couldn't help but laugh. He glanced at Aresya. "See, Mother? Your handmaid isn't afraid of boars. It seems the young master's adventures should continue."
The room instantly filled with laughter and a lighthearted mood.
After the examination, Aresya gently patted Aeneas's shoulder. She spoke softly. "Rest well, Aeneas. Wait until your wounds are fully healed before you practice again."
She turned, signaling for the others to prepare to leave. Her steps were graceful and steady. Her skirts swayed slightly, the very air seeming to carry her scent.
As they passed by Aeneas, Oenone suddenly stopped. She tilted her head slightly. A mischievous, sisterly smile played on her lips.
She reached out. Gave his bandaged abdomen—the muscles firm as a bronze sculpture—a light pat.
"Try not to stop a boar's tusk with this next time, handsome warrior."
Oenone's tone was soft, warm with laughter. Half-teasing, with a thread of warning.
Hesperia and Terani immediately giggled. Hesperia covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Her eyes curved like half moons.
Terani rose on her toes, sneaking a look at Aeneas.
The star on her necklace caught the light, a quick flash.
Aresya just shook her head, smiling like she'd given up arguing.
Aeneas's face flushed slightly. He nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed on the surface. "Uh… understood."
But in his mind, the soul of Allen Buffett was whirring. An internal OS chimed in:
"Wait, was that… getting flirted with by a pretty girl? Are ancient girls always this forward? But… it doesn't feel bad?"
His heart beat faster. Absurd little modern scenarios played in his head. He couldn't stop his 'old man' face from blushing—though to others, it just looked like a young man's shy expression.
Oenone glanced at him, eyes teasing. She let out a small laugh.
Hesperia burst out laughing and ran for the door, quick as a kitten.
Terani stared at his stomach, eyes bright. Like she was thinking, I wanna touch it too… forgot earlier…
A warmth spread in Aeneas's chest.
These people—somehow they felt close. Made him feel closeness and happy in a way he didn't expect.
He reached out, touched his bandaged arm, and smiled. He thought to himself:
"Alright, then. This ancient daily life. Welcome to Troy."