I had left the chamber of the House of Lords and now faced the long journey back—through endless corridors and down those exhausting flights of stairs—until I could finally step outside Parliament.
The halls were crowded with people.
Yet because of my rank as a duke, they all parted for me, bowing their heads slightly as I passed.
Perhaps the only true perk of being a duke was this respect from others.
Politics itself was terrifying—the crushing pressure it placed on a person was almost unbearable.
I hoped desperately that sessions weren't held every day. I wasn't sure I could endure it.
For a fleeting moment, a sharp pain gripped my heart. I stopped dead in my tracks from the sudden agony.
My eyes widened, my legs trembled violently.
Then, just as abruptly, I heard a faint, indistinct word—and the pain vanished. The shaking in my legs ceased.
I wanted to turn and see who had spoken.
But when I did, I found a man standing beside me—my height, with wheat-colored hair and amber eyes.
He smiled warmly.
"Thank you, Mr. Montagu. I am the Duke of Somerset. It is a pleasure to meet you…"
With that, he walked away. I watched his retreating back in even greater surprise.
Several other dukes were nearby. I sensed that lingering any longer might cause misunderstanding.
So I resumed my slow, deliberate pace.
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At last, I stepped out of Parliament and into the open air once more.
I drew a long, deep breath, then glanced around.
"Why… do I keep expecting everything to have changed?"
I continued walking until I spotted someone in the distance waving enthusiastically.
At first, I didn't recognize him, but his gestures gave him away.
Even though I had only seen him briefly in the carriage, his demeanor was unmistakable.
The man waving was my advisor.
My advisor? As if I truly were Elias?
Yet a duke had addressed me as such—it meant Elias Montagu really was me.
So why could I remember nothing?
Why was there not a single memory of myself?
Lost in these thoughts, I suddenly found myself standing beside him.
My advisor looked at me, then gestured toward the carriage.
"Please, my lord. Why are you standing there?"
I forced a helpless smile—born of ignorance about proper etiquette—and climbed in silently, taking the seat on the left.
On the ride here, I had also sat on the left, but because the carriage had faced toward Parliament, it had felt like the right.
The elderly servant was already inside. My advisor entered after me and sat beside him.
Exhausted, I closed my eyes, hoping to drift off, when my advisor spoke.
"My lord, please stay awake. We are heading to St. Paul's Cathedral. It is not far, and if you fall asleep now, you may not have rested properly by the time we arrive."
I glanced at him and said,
"Can't we visit Christ tomorrow? Or even this evening…"
Both my advisor and the servant stared at me in shock and confusion.
My advisor spoke softly.
"Christ? Is that the name of a bishop among the Lords Spiritual?"
The elderly servant added gently,
"May I ask who Christ is?"
Silence filled the carriage completely. Neither I nor they spoke.
My advisor tried again.
"My lord?"
I couldn't tell if I was frightened or merely bewildered, but their complete ignorance of the word "Christ" chilled me far more than the tense politics inside the chamber.
What London was this, where no one knew who Christ was?
For that matter… what even was Christ?
Why had I said a word whose meaning escaped me?
I cleared my throat lightly and said to my advisor,
"No, it's nothing important… Just tell me, whose worship are we going to St. Paul's for?"
The servant smiled.
"We are visiting St. Paul's for this morning's celebration in honor of Uire, the goddess of nature and kindness. The festivities have ended by now, of course—we are only going to pay our respects…"
My advisor sighed deeply and added,
"Yes… that is why we are going."
I had no idea what to say next.
Who—or what—was Uire? A goddess? The goddess of nature and kindness?
I glanced out the moving carriage window and asked,
"Well… did the other churches hold celebrations too?"
My advisor let out a short laugh.
"Of course not, my lord. The other churches hold their festivals on days dedicated to their own gods or goddesses—not alongside St. Paul's, which is tied to the goddess of nature and kindness!"
The elderly servant noticed me staring outside and followed my gaze.
"Has something happened that you've forgotten these things?"
I didn't know how to answer them.
I didn't even know who I was.
Where I was. Why I existed.
What possible response could satisfy them?
Should I say I had forgotten?
Or that I simply didn't remember?
What were these gods and goddesses my advisor mentioned?
As I continued gazing out the window, I forced a smile and said,
"No… I'm just a little distracted…"