I slowly blinked my heavy eyelids open, dazed and disoriented, feeling as though the world was swaying under my feet. A sudden wave of vertigo washed over me, causing my head to spin and my stomach to churn. As I gingerly propped myself up, a sharp, metallic clink sounded, jarring me back into reality.
I glanced down to find my wrists shackled with cold, heavy iron chains, their weight anchoring me firmly to the spot. Confusion and fear intertwined, my mind struggled to decipher the fragments of disjointed memories that danced just out of my grasp.
I tugged futilely on the cruel constraints that held me prisoner, the rough steel biting into the tender skin of my wrists. A surge of panic welled up inside me as I glanced around the cramped, dimly-lit room, its walls closing in like the jaws of a trap.
The air was thick with the scent of must and dampness, further fueling my growing sense of isolation and helplessness. What had led me to this fate? I desperately wracked my brain for answers, but my thoughts refused to cooperate, scattering like frightened moths in the darkness.
I found my voice, ragged and raw, as I screamed out desperately for assistance, "HELP! PLEASE, IF ANYONE IS THERE, HELP ME!" The sound of my own anguish seemed to resonate off the cold stone walls, creating a haunting echo that only served to deepen my sense of isolation and dread.
I tugged at the heavy iron chains that encircled my wrists, the rough metal biting into my flesh, but they held fast, an unyielding testament to my helplessness. The oppressive weight of silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the sound of my ragged, laboured breaths.
The memories of the night before began to flood my mind, each recollection a sharp, disjointed fragment that fueled my mounting fear. I was celebrating my 21st birthday with friends, a milestone that I had eagerly anticipated.
It had been my first time drinking, and the effect had been both exciting and disorienting. Later, I had stumbled into my dad's lab, still tipsy. The images of that chaotic moment played out in my mind, blending with the reality of my current predicament. Panic constricted my chest, making my heart pound harder with each passing second.
As the fragments of memories swirld in my mind, one moment stood out vividly. The night of my birthday celebration, I had been fumbling with a bracelet, my fingers clumsy from the influence of alcohol. In my haste and confusion, I must have mistaken it for the remote of the time machine.
I remembered sitting inside the machine and pressing something, unleashing a dizzying vortex of colors. It was like a kaleidoscope gone wild, colors swirling and blending into one another until the world blurred and darkened. Everything after that was a complete blank.
I looked around the confines of my grim prison, my heart heavy with dread. The stagnant, dank air clung to my skin, and the meager light that managed to trickle into the cell did little to dispel the oppressive shadows that lurked in the corners, weaving their haunting dance.
The fear that consumed me was like a relentless beast, gnawing away at my mind and eroding my steadfastness with each passing second. Had I truly journeyed through time, leaving behind the life I had known, like a distant and fading dream? It was a question that haunted me, its answer shrouded in the haze of confusion and fear.
As the despair and helplessness clawed at my heart, I threw myself against the unyielding iron rods of my prison, the sound of my body colliding with the cold metal reverberating in the air. With each impact, an involuntary cry escaped my lips, a desperate plea for help that filled the air with an echoing lament. "Please!" My voice was choked with tears, the words escaping in a pained gasp. "Help me! I'm trapped in here! Someone, anyone, please!" The fear clawed at my throat, constricting it, making it difficult to breathe.
The heavy, rhythmic sound of footsteps echoed through the air, their source hidden from view by the impenetrable darkness of the corridor outside. Every echoing thud seemed to send a shiver down my spine, each step drawing closer and closer.
My heart beat wildly in my chest, thrumming like the wings of a bird desperate to escape its cage. Frantic, I scurried backward until the cool, damp wall met my trembling frame, the rough stone texture scraping against my skin. I pressed myself against the wall, my back flush against the cold surface, as if it could protect me from the unknown danger approaching.
As the shadow materialized into the form of five stern-faced men, dressed in the uniform of soldiers from a time and place I didn't recognize, a new wave of fear washed over me. Their expressions were hard and unyielding, their eyes taking in every detail of my trembling form.
Panic gripped me like a vice, squeezing my chest and making it difficult to breathe. I desperately pushed myself further back against the wall, as if trying to retreat into its very substance.
One of the men knelt down, his gaze locking onto mine with a sharp, assessing look that sent a chill down my spine. His eyes moved over every inch of me, taking in my fear-stricken form and my trembling figure huddled against the wall. I could feel the weight of his scrutiny, a cold, clinical evaluation that seemed to strip away my layers and lay bare the very core of my being.
I struggled to speak, to formulate a plea for help, but no words would come. It was as if I had been mute all my life, my voice silenced by the sheer weight of dread.
The soldier who knelt in front of me examined me with a critical eye, his gaze sharp and assessing. His expression was stern, giving no hint of compassion or understanding, as if he were looking at an object rather than a person. After a brief moment of intense silence, he broke the quiet by asking, "What is your name?"
Each word was carefully articulated, spoken with a commanding authority that brooked no defiance. But I was rendered speechless by the situation, unable to force a single word past the lump in my throat. I could only look at him with wide, frightened eyes.
Silence hung heavily in the air, the stillness of the room broken only by the shallow, quick cadence of my own panicked breaths. The soldier who knelt before me regarded me expectantly, his gaze unwavering, his eyes never leaving my face. After what seemed like an eternity, he repeated his question, his voice clear and authoritative, leaving no room for ambiguity.
"What is your name?" There was an edge to his words, a tone of irritation and impatience, as if he was growing tired of my silent response.
I could see a flicker of confusion in the soldier's eyes, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as he repeated my name aloud, "Kang Y/N." It was as if he was testing the sound of it, the way it rolled off his tongue. But his expression remained stoic, offering no insight into his thoughts or feelings.
All the while, I sat there, my body racked with tremors and my voice hoarse from the dryness that gripped my throat. I could feel the weight of the soldiers' gazes upon me, their eyes studying my every move, waiting for me to do or say something.
His expression remained unreadable and stony, his eyes studying my face intently, searching for any hint of deception or deceit in my response. The room felt heavy with tension, as if the walls were closing in on me, and I could practically feel the weight of the soldiers' attention boring into my very soul.
After a long moment of strained silence, the soldier spoke once more, his voice strong and unequivocal. "And where do you come from, Kang Y/N?" he asked, his tone demanding an answer.
As the soldier's question hovered in the air, the atmosphere inside the small, dark cell became oppressively thick, like a fog of stifling humidity on a hot summer day. My heart raced within my chest, the rapid thudding of my pulse like the insistent beating of a war drum. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, sharpening my senses and heightening my awareness.
With a great effort, I forced myself to find my voice, my throat dry and constricted with dread. "I come...from Seoul," I managed to say, the sound of my own words sounding surreal and alien.
His eyebrows knitting together, a perplexed frown settling on his face, the soldier repeated my response, "Seoul?" The name seemed foreign, almost unrecognized, as it rolled off his tongue. Skeptical doubt laced his tone, and I could sense his confusion and disbelief as he asked,
"Where is that?" His gaze was intense, searching every inch of my face for any sign of deceit or deception. He seemed truly puzzled by the mention of such a place.
I struggled to force down the lump that had formed in my throat, feeling the weight of the soldier's skeptical gaze upon me like a burdensome yoke on my shoulders. The realization sunk in that I had somehow found myself in a completely different realm from the one I knew.
Summoning every ounce of courage I had left, I took a deep, shaky breath and replied, "Seoul is a city in South Korea. It's situated on the Korean Peninsula, in the East Asia region." My voice quavered with fear and uncertainty, my lips trembling as I spoke.
His words slammed against me like a wave of icy water, sending a shiver down my spine and leaving me feeling cold and disoriented. "Korea?" he echoed, his skepticism and disbelief practically dripping from his tone.
"This is Korea, and there is no such place as Seoul or South Korea," he repeated, his voice filled with an aura of finality, as if daring me to challenge his assertion. I felt my world suddenly shift and tilt beneath me, the ground no longer feeling stable under my feet.
The soldier's hand delved into the pocket of his uniform, the sound of keys jangling like the tolling of a death knell in the silent room. In a swift, fluid motion, he moved towards the metal bars that held me captive, his hand holding the keys, their cold metallic sheen gleaming like the slithering form of a snake.
He halted for a moment, his gaze raking over me before he spoke, his voice commanding and authoritative. "Come with me," he ordered. "The king needs to see you."
E N DĀ O FĀ Y / N'SĀ P O VĀ
ā¬
As she was led through the winding corridors of the castle, the dimly lit halls were a stark contrast to the cramped confinement of her former prison cell. The air was filled with the scent of freshly polished armor and burning torches, the flickering flames throwing dancing shadows against the stone walls.
Each sound echoed loudly in the vastness of the halls, boots clacking against the stone floor and the occasional murmurs of the guards surrounding her. Her hands were still bound in heavy chains, each clank of the metal a reminder of her confinement. With each step she took, her heart raced with both fear and curiosity, her mind spinning a web.
Her head spinning with a mixture of confusion and wonder. The halls of the castle were immense, the corridors seemingly never-ending as they snaked through the labyrinthine structure. The armor-clad guards led the way, their steps measured and deliberate, the sound of their boots echoing off the stone walls.
Each sound was amplified in the large space, creating a surreal and almost dreamlike atmosphere. As they made their way through the halls, the air was filled with the faint scent of burning candles and oil lamps, their flames casting a flickering light over the stone statues and tapestries that adorned the walls.
The armor-clad men led her deeper into the castle, their pace steady and purposeful. They passed through the central courtyard, where men-at-arms were training in drills, their swords clashing against each other in a chorus of metallic clangs.
The rhythmic noise seemed to match the beat of her own heart, pounding in her ears with a mixture of excitement and fear. The castle was truly a sight to behold, its grandeur and opulence a stark contrast to the makeshift and cramped nature of her previous surroundings.
The halls continued to stretch out before her, each turn revealing a different wing or section of the castle. They passed by a grand library, its walls lined with towering bookshelves and tomes of all shapes and sizes.
Then they moved through a gallery filled with an array of paintings, their vibrant colors and intricate details capturing scenes of battle and daily life. Every new space they entered seemed more impressive and awe-inspiring than the last, the wealth and power of the kingdom on full display
Y / N
My heart skipped a beat as my gaze landed on the king upon his throne. Jeon Jungkook, the ruler of this kingdom, was a figure I had long since familiarized myself with through the pages of history books. The same man whose actions I had come to despise, a tyrant who had relegated women to mere commodities rather than worthy individuals.
There he was, in the flesh, looking every bit as imposing as I had imagined. My mind was spinning in disbelief as I struggled to come to terms with the reality of the situation. It felt like a dream, a nightmare even. How could I find myself face to face with Jeon Fucking Jungkook?
A sense of confusion and disbelief mixed with fear and awe filled my mind as I stood there, my hands still bound in heavy chains. The king's gaze flicked over me, his expression stern and unreadable. I could feel the stares of his advisors and courtiers boring into me, their eyes taking in every detail of my appearance and demeanor.
My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through my veins. What could the king possibly want with a lowly time traveler like me?
As I looked upon the king, my mind was immediately flooded with memories of the accounts I had read and studied. Memories of his cruelty and treatment of women, using them as the tools of trade and commerce.
A shiver of disgust and disdain crept over me as I recalled the stories I had read, of the ways he had objectified and exploited women for his own gains. The fact that I was now standing in his presence, in this strange and foreign world, only heightened my discomfort and fear.
As I stood in front of him, chained and bound, I couldn't help but observe the way he sat upon his throne. His body was draped in rich, silken fabric, his head adorned with a crown of intricate gold. His eyes were cold and calculating, analyzing every inch of me as if I were some sort of prized possession.
His bearing was regal and authoritative, his presence exuding a sense of power and control. Despite his grandeur, there was an air of arrogance about him that I found both infuriating and intimidating.
As I stood in front of him, chained and bound, I couldn't help but observe the way he sat upon his throne. His body was draped in rich, silken fabric, his head adorned with a crown of intricate gold. His eyes were cold and calculating, analyzing every inch of me as if I were some sort of prized possession.
His bearing was regal and authoritative, his presence exuding a sense of power and control. Despite his grandeur, there was an air of arrogance about him that I found both infuriating and intimidating.
As I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, I couldn't help but curse my luck. Of all the time periods in history, why did I have to end up in the same era as Jeon Jungkook. I had never considered myself a resentful person, but the sight of him sitting on his throne, his gaze fixed upon me, filled me with a sense of anger and disdain.
This man, who had inflicted so much suffering upon women in the past, was now standing before me, his very presence an affront to everything I believed in.
My thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the soldiers suddenly pushed me forward, forcing me to kneel before the king. The unexpected movement caught me off guard, and I stumbled and lost my footing, falling to my knees before the throne.
The impact sent a jolt of pain through my body, and I winced as the cold, hard floor dug into my skin. My chained hands were forced to rest in front of me, the metal bracelets digging painfully into my wrists.
In the chaos of the moment, my eyes suddenly widened as I noticed the camera hanging around my neck. It was a gift from my friends, a small rectangular device that they had given to me just before I had stumbled upon the time machine. As I knelt there, feeling the weight of the chains around my wrists and the gaze of the king upon me, the camera seemed like a small but tangible reminder of the life I had left behind.
My head was abruptly yanked upwards, the king's hand gripping my chin and forcing my gaze to meet his. The touch of his fingers on my skin felt like a sharp shock, sending a shiver down my spine. Instinctively, I tried to pull away from his grasp, but his grip was firm and unyielding.
I could feel his eyes fixating on mine, his expression inscrutable as he studied me intently. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the weight of his gaze bearing down on me like a ton of bricks. In that moment, I felt vulnerable and exposed, trapped under his scrutiny.
The king's voice suddenly cut through the silence, his question ringing in my ears like a tolling bell. "Who are you?" he repeated, his tone firm and commanding. His gaze remained fixed on mine as he waited for my response, his fingers still gripping my chin and preventing me from looking away.
I could feel my heart racing, the combination of fear and intimidation making it hard to form a coherent thought. The weight of the situation weighed heavily upon me as I struggled to find the right words to respond.
As the king's gaze continued to bore into me, I couldn't help but recall the realization that had struck me when I had noticed the absence of my bracelet. It was the bracelet that held the remote to the time machine, the key to my return to my own time.
I had noticed its absence when the soldiers were leading me to the throne room, and it suddenly hit me that someone had clearly taken it from me. Perhaps it had fallen off during my capture, or perhaps someone had intentionally stolen it, hoping to keep me stranded in this time period. The possibilities only served to increase my sense of panic and helplessness.
My mind raced as I realized that I had no choice but to ask for the king's help in order to locate the bracelet. Even though he was the last person I wanted to interact with, I knew that I had no other option if I wanted any chance of returning home.
But the thought of asking him for assistance filled me with trepidation and dread. I had no idea how he would react, and the power dynamic between us was so stark that I feared he might simply dismiss my request or even punish me for daring to ask.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the difficult task ahead. I loathed the idea of having to ask for this man's help, of having to lower myself before him and seek his assistance. But as I knelt there on the cold, hard floor, my wrists bound in shackles, I realized that he was my only option.
I had no one else to turn to, and if I wanted to have any chance of finding my bracelet and getting back home, I would have to swallow my pride and ask him for help.
My mind was filled with self-directed curses as I knelt on the floor, the king's gaze fixed firmly on me. I couldn't believe the situation I had found myself in - stranded in the past, alone and defenseless, and now having to ask the king for help.
I hated feeling so vulnerable and powerless, and I cursed my own foolishness for getting myself into this mess. But despite the self-deprecating thoughts, I knew that I didn't have a choice if I wanted to even have a remote chance of returning home.
The words came out in a soft, hesitant tone, the sound of my own voice barely above a whisper. I swallowed heavily, my throat feeling tight as I continued, my eyes meeting his gaze as I spoke. "I need to talk to you... alone."
The king's expression changed upon hearing my request, his eyebrows slightly lifting in surprise, but he didn't immediately respond. Instead, he continued to study me in silence, as if weighing my words and trying to determine the reason behind my request.
As I made my plea to the king, the soldiers around us responded immediately, their swords suddenly trained on me as if ready to strike me down at the slightest provocation. But the king reacted quickly, raising his hand and signaling to the soldiers to stand down.
His voice was firm and authoritative as he spoke. "Stand down," he ordered, his eyes never leaving my face. The soldiers reluctantly lowered their weapons, though their expressions remained wary and suspicious.
As the soldiers reluctantly sheathed their swords upon the king's command, I couldn't help but marvel at the power he held over them. It was a stark reminder of the hierarchy that existed in this era, and the vast divide between those in power and those without.
The king's single gesture had been enough to command the soldiers to stand down, and the way their actions had immediately obeyed his orders told me everything I needed to know about his authority and influence.
The king's eyes suddenly fixated on the camera hanging around my neck. He leaned forward slightly, his expression curious and bewildered as he regarded the strange device. "What is this?" he asked. His tone betrayed his puzzlement, and his finger pointed directly at the camera.
I could tell that he was completely intrigued by the object, and it was clear that he had never seen anything like it before. The fact that cameras did not exist in this era made his reaction all the more fascinating.
I took advantage of the king's curiosity and offered him a deal. "I'll tell you about it," I said, gesturing towards the camera, "but first, I need to speak to you privately." The king's expression betrayed his surprise, clearly not expecting such a response.
However, he seemed to be contemplating my proposal, his gaze lingering on the camera for a moment before shifting back to me. After a few moments, he finally nodded, signaling his agreement to speak with me in private.
The atmosphere in the throne room grew tense and hushed as the king rose from his throne. A collective gasp filled the air, followed by the soft rustling of fabric as everyone in the room, the soldiers, courtiers, and attendants, knelt before him, their heads bowing in reverence and submission.
The king's mere presence seemed to demand respect, and the way his subjects immediately lowered themselves before him only served to highlight his power and authority. It was a blatant display of the hierarchical structure and deference to the powerful in this society.
The king strode purposefully towards a door on the other side of the room, his footsteps heavy and authoritative. He didn't speak a word, but it was clear that he was expecting me to follow him. I pushed myself up from the floor, wincing as the chains around my wrists clinked against each other.
I knew I had to obey him if I wanted to get out of this predicament, so I steeled myself and started walking after him, my footsteps sounding hollow and echoing in the expansive and grandeur of the throne room.
I felt a mixture of dread and uncertainty as I walked behind the king, the chains around my wrists a constant reminder of my current predicament. The king's powerful strides did not allow me to keep pace with him, and I had to practically jog to keep up with him.
He never glanced back at me, his focus solely on wherever he was going. I swallowed nervously, wondering where he was taking me and what lay beyond the door we were approaching.
Suddenly, the king came to a standstill, positioning himself in front of a massive door. Without uttering a word, he pushed it open, unveiling a vast room on the opposite side. He stepped inside, and after a moment of hesitation, I followed suit.
Once we had both crossed the threshold, the king issued a succinct order to the soldiers stationed outside. They acknowledged his command and took up their positions outside the room. Then, with a firm motion, they closed the door, sealing us inside the small space, leaving us isolated together.
The king's single word of command, spoken with authority, sliced through the silence in the room. "Speak," he said, his voice ringing out firmly.
I took a deep breath, my mind racing to sort through my thoughts, trying to decide what to say and how much to reveal. I was reluctant to disclose the whole truth of my story, unsure of how he would react and whether he would even believe me.
I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts and my courage. I knew that what I was about to tell him was difficult to believe, but I had to trust that he would listen and try to understand. "I don't know if you'll believe me,"
I began, my voice trembling with the weight of my words. "But everything I'm about to say is the truth." As I spoke, I met his gaze directly. "Please, Jungkook, I need you to listen."
I looked at him intently, my heart hammering in my chest, hoping that he could feel the weight of my words and the earnestness of my plea.
His expression was serious, and I could feel his eyes studying me, searching for any hint of deception or falsehood. For a few long moments, he was silent, his gaze remaining fixed on me. Finally, he gave a small nod, signaling for me to continue.
I met his gaze firmly, my eyes locking with his as I took a deep breath to steady myself. "I am a time traveller," I stated clearly, the words feeling strange on my tongue. As the words left my mouth, his expression shifted, his confusion evident on his face.
It was clear that the concept of time travel was completely foreign to him, something that simply did not exist in his era. He frowned, clearly not understanding the meaning behind my words.
As soon as the words left my mouth, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he responded with a single question, "What is that?" His expression was a mix of skepticism and intrigue, his mind undoubtedly struggling to grasp this entirely foreign concept. I could sense that he was trying to make sense of what I had just said, and I knew I had to find a way to explain it to him in terms he could understand.
I took a deep breath, trying to formulate an explanation that would make sense to him. "Time travel," I continued slowly, "is the act of moving between different points in time. It means that I am not from this time period where we are now, but rather I come from a time in the future.
I was born in a time far ahead of your own, and I came back here, to this time, through a special device called a time machine." As I spoke, I could see a mixture of confusion and understanding in his expression, like he was struggling to process this novel concept.
I knew that it must sounded absolutely absurd to him, and I could only imagine the barrage of questions he must have had running through his mind. But he remained silent, his gaze fixed on me, clearly waiting for more explanation.
I saw a flicker of disbelief in his eyes as he finally spoke, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "Do you expect me to believe that?" he said, his voice laced with skepticism. The doubt in his tone was painfully clear, and it was evident that he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea of time travel.
I insisted, my voice firm and earnest. "I am a time traveller," I repeated, trying to make him understand the seriousness of my words. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but it's the truth. I don't expect you to understand or believe me right away, but I need you to know that I'm not making this up."
He raised an eyebrow skeptically, a hint of disbelief in his expression. "If you are a time traveller," he said, his voice filled with sarcasm, "then I must be Leonardo da Vinci himself." The skepticism in his tone was blatant, and it was clear that he was finding my story hard to believe. He obviously didn't believe a word I was saying.
I could feel my frustration growing as he voiced his doubts and skepticism. I grabbed my hair in frustration, trying to keep myself from lashing out in anger. I knew that I had to find a way to convince him of the truth, but what could I say or show him that would make him believe?
I wracked my brain, trying to come up with some proof of my time-traveling claims, something that he couldn't possibly deny.
I decided to try a different approach, hoping that providing some specifics would lend credibility to my story. I took a deep breath and asked, my voice steady, "What year is it?" I figured that it couldn't hurt to at least know the date and place I had time-traveled to, and maybe it would help him understand that I wasn't lying.
I listened intently as he responded, taking in the information he provided. "1661," I repeated, my voice trailing off as I tried to connect the date to my own knowledge of history. I tried to remember what had happened in this year, but my mind was drawing a blank. I realized that this date confirmed my theory that I had indeed traveled back in time, far into the past.
I paused for a moment, trying to recall my knowledge of history, specifically the events that had unfolded in 1661. I remembered bits and pieces of information, and then suddenly, a specific memory came to mind - the recent war between his kingdom and the Joseon dynasty.
I spoke up with newfound confidence, "You recently had a war with the Joseon dynasty, and you won it, right?"
He frowned, his expression becoming even more skepticism as he responded to my statement. "Just because you know about the war with the Joseon dynasty doesn't prove that you are a time traveller," he said, his tone slightly condescending. "Everyone knows that we won the war - it's common knowledge."
I felt my frustration and anger boil over as his words dismissed my claims once again. I couldn't contain my irritation any longer and I yelled out in frustration, the words escaping my mouth before I could stop them. "You know what? Fuck you!" I cursed, my voice filled with anger and annoyance.
He frowned further as my curse echoed in the small room, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What is that that you just yelled?" he asked, clearly perplexed by my use of modern swear words. His question only served to frustrate me more, and I groaned in annoyance once again.
I tried to think of another fact that could convince him of my time-traveling claim. I racked my brain, searching for something specific and significant that would make it undeniable that I was from a different time. I needed something that couldn't be easily explained away or dismissed as mere luck.
Suddenly, it hit me - the diary. I remembered reading somewhere that the king had a specific habit of writing down important events in a secret diary, and nobody knew about its existence. This would serve as the perfect proof to convince him of my time-traveling claim. I felt a surge of excitement and hope at this realization, knowing that this was the key to making him believe me.
I took a deep breath and then spoke up, my voice hopeful, "You keep a diary, right? A secret diary where you jot down important events that nobody knows about?" I waited for his response, my heart pounding in anticipation.
He stared at me in disbelief, his eyes widening as I mentioned the secret diary. He asked, his voice firm and filled with surprise, "How do you know about that? Nobody knows about it." His expression was marked by a mix of shock and curiosity, and I could sense the skepticism he had initially harbored starting to waver.
It was like a crack in his disbelief, the first hint of doubt seeping through. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he pondered the implications of my knowledge."You keep a diary," I repeated, my voice steady. I continued, my voice firm and determined.
"I know about it because it will be discovered after you die. Generations later, historians will find your diary and read about the events you wrote down. It will serve as a record of your rule and the events that occurred in your time." I paused for a moment, giving him time to process my words.
I could see the skepticism slowly start to give way to a reluctant acceptance on his face. He spoke, his voice slightly dazed, as if struggling to come to terms with my claim. "So... you really are a time traveller," he said, his words coming out slowly and carefully. It was as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying, but the evidence was undeniable.
I could sense his mind grappling with the implications of my words, trying to make sense of the reality that I had just thrown at him. It was a difficult concept to grasp, and I could only imagine the multitude of questions and doubts running through his head. I held my breath, waiting for his next response, hoping that he would finally accept the truth of my claim.
The king's expression hardened as he looked at me, his mind clearly still struggling to wrap its head around the concept of time travel. But then, he spoke up, his voice steady and calm, "If you are truly a time traveller, then how did you end up here, in this time?" There was a tone of skepticism in his words, hinting at his lingering disbelief.
I nodded, sensing the king's skepticism but also recognizing that he was at least open to the possibility of time travel being real. I replied calmly, "I can explain that later," I said, "but first, I need your help with something." I looked directly at him, my eyes meeting his, hoping that he would agree to assist me.
There was a small moment of silence as he considered my words, his expression betraying no hint of what he was thinking. I held my breath, waiting for his response, praying that he would agree to help me. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice firm and resolute. "What kind of help do you need?" he asked.
I explained to the king that I needed his help in finding something incredibly important to me - a bracelet that was actually the remote of my time machine. "I lost it, or maybe someone stole it," I said, my voice laced with urgency. "But I need it in order to go back to my time. Without it, I'm stuck here." I looked directly at him, my eyes pleading for his assistance.
I felt a pang of frustration as the king raised his eyebrow skeptically and asked why he should help me. He said, his voice matter-of-fact, "You can get stuck here, and I wouldn't even care."
His tone was cold and uncaring, as if the idea of leaving me stranded in this time period bothered him no more than accidentally stepping on an ant. I knew I had to find a way to convince him that helping me was in his best interest as well.
I couldn't help but cringe in annoyance at his cold and uncaring tone. I spoke up, my voice filled with irritation and disgust, "You really are a sucker," I said, my words dripping with sarcasm. I knew that appealing to his selfishness might work, but his lack of empathy was hard to swallow.
The king was clearly confused and intrigued by my use of the word "sucker." He spoke up, his tone curious but also slightly offended, "What is the meaning of the word you just called me?" He looked at me expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
I let out a frustrated groan, feeling the weight of his skepticism and stubbornness bearing down on me. But I pushed through the irritation and spoke up, my voice firm and determined. "Alright," I said, "let's make a deal." I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts before continuing.
I laid out my proposition to him, my voice steady and confident. "If you help me find the bracelet, I'll use my knowledge of the future to guide your decisions," I proclaimed. "It's a win-win for both of us. You'll benefit from my foresight, and I'll get the bracelet I need to return to my own time. What do you say?"
The room was filled with a tense silence as the king scrutinized me, his expression inscrutable. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to dissect my intentions and determine whether or not he could trust me. I could see the wariness in his eyes, the slight doubt in his mind.
It was clear that he was still struggling to believe my claim, even with the evidence I had provided. But at the same time, he seemed to be considering my offer, weighing the benefits of working together against the risk of trusting a stranger.
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