Andrew woke to silence.
Not the tense, sharpened silence of night duty—but something softer. Waiting.
For a moment, he didn't move. He lay there, staring at a canopy of dark blue fabric embroidered with gold thread. It curved above him like a night sky frozen in cloth.
This… isn't the hallway.
His body felt heavy. Not exhausted—unused. As if it had been sleeping far longer than it should have.
Slowly, carefully, Andrew tried to breathe deeper.
Air filled his lungs easily. Too easily.
I'm awake. I'm really awake.
His fingers twitched.
The reaction was immediate.
Oh
A voice cracked nearby.
Andrew turned his head slightly. The movement felt strange, delayed, like piloting a body that wasn't quite his yet.
At the side of the bed stood a man in a pristine black-and-white uniform. A butler's uniform. Tailored coat, white gloves, silver buttons polished to a mirror shine. His hair was neatly tied back, his face pale with shock.
The man dropped to his knees.
"My lord!"
The sound broke the room open.
Footsteps rushed in. Another man, then another. All dressed similarly male servants, attendants, butlers faces frozen between disbelief and hope.
Andrew's heart began to pound.
Okay. Calm down. You're not dreaming. And they're not panicking… they're relieved.
The first butler looked up at him, eyes shining. "Lord Andren…? Can you hear me?"
Lord Andren.
So this really is his body.
Andrew swallowed. His throat was dry, but it worked.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I… can hear you."
The reaction was instant.
One of the servants covered his mouth. Another laughed—a broken, breathless sound that turned into tears. A third bowed so deeply his forehead touched the floor.
"He spoke," someone whispered. "The heavens be praised—he spoke."
Andrew pushed himself up slightly, propping his elbows beneath him. The effort left him oddly breathless.
This body hasn't moved in a long time.
"How long…?" he began, then stopped, choosing his words carefully. "How long have I been asleep?"
The butler nearest the bed straightened, still kneeling. His voice trembled with emotion.
"Two years, my lord."
The number hit harder than expected.
Two years.
I fell asleep for seconds.
Andrew looked down at his hands. Smooth. Unscarred.
This isn't just another body.
This is a body that was waiting to be lived in.
"I see," he murmured.
The servants mistook his quietness for weakness.
"Please don't strain yourself," one said quickly. "You've only just returned to us."
Returned.
Yeah. That's one way to put it.
The first butler rose carefully to his feet. "We sent word to the household physician the moment you stirred. The lady of the house will be informed at once."
Lady of the house.
Andrew's thoughts sharpened.
So the power isn't mine. Not really.
He nodded once. "That would be… appropriate."
The butler smiled, openly now, relief written across his face. "We never stopped believing you would wake, my lord. We kept your chambers as they were. Every day."
The words settled heavily in Andrew's chest.
They waited.
For him. Not for me.
As the servants quietly busied themselves—adjusting curtains, preparing water, whispering prayers of thanks—Andrew stared up at the canopy again.
So this is my situation.
A medieval world.
A noble's body.
Two years of silence behind me.
And expectations I didn't earn.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Andrew , military student.
You survived by enduring.
His eyes opened again, steady now.
"Alright," he whispered to himself, too softly for anyone else to hear.
"Step one… don't give yourself away."
Outside the room, bells began to ring.
The lord had awakened.
And the world was already moving to claim him.