The veil of darkness still hung within the room. Yet the young boy sleeping in the bed — perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age, with brown hair, wheat-toned skin, a slender frame and an innocent face — suddenly jolted upright. He looked as though he had been wrenched from the clutches of a dreadful nightmare.

  A sharp pain echoed inside his head. His mind was shrouded in mist, his memories faint and blurred.

  “Damn it… my head is pounding,” he whispered. Even the slightest movement was agony, as though his body did not quite belong to him.

  As he tried to sit up properly, his eyes fell upon two figures in the room. A couple in their sixties stood close together. There was concern in their eyes, uncertainty etched upon their faces.

  Before he could question who they were or why they were there, the world spun around him and darkness claimed his sight.

  An incorrigible rooster’s crow announced the arrival of morning. The first light of day filtered through the window and fell upon Alek’s face. Slowly parting his eyes, he carefully surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings.

  When he sat up, he looked at his hands. They were not his hands. They were younger, more calloused, faintly scarred…

  He lifted his head slightly, then paused as he felt the bandage across his forehead. His fingers traced the cloth wrapped around his head.

  Has the tunnel transferred me into someone else’s body? he wondered. Even his own voice sounded foreign to him.

  He ought to have felt trapped within this strange new body, yet oddly everything felt natural — as though it had been his for years.

  He murmured to himself:

  “When the wisdom of an old mind merges with the energy of a young body… that is the perfect combination.”

  He would not repeat the mistakes he had made before. After all, youth was like a second chance.

  The walls of the room were made of adobe brick. The atmosphere was simple yet warm. In a space neither particularly large nor small, the bed, sitting area, and kitchen formed a single whole.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The fireplace stood at the centre of the room, old yet solidly crafted from stone. The soot marks upon the walls bore silent witness to years of burning wood.

  Alek watched the warm glow of the fire. Sparks danced within the hearth, and the crackling of logs filled the air. He could have listened to that soothing sound for hours.

  But this was no time to linger in admiration.

  He needed to learn more about where he was — and how he had come here.

  To ward off the cold, he wrapped the traditionally patterned blanket from the bed around his shoulders. Then he gently pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped outside.

  The wind was softer than he had expected, though the chill of morning could still be felt. His precaution had not been in vain.

  His eyes settled upon a small structure a little distance from the house, resembling a shed. It was clearly an outdoor lavatory.

  I never imagined I would find myself in such an old-fashioned village house, he thought.

  He frowned. The realisation that this world might not be particularly advanced unsettled him.

  Will I be able to find the comforts of my old world here?

  Only moments ago he had been filled with the joy of regaining his youth; now he understood he must confront the hardships of living in this new world.

  As he walked forward with heavy steps, his gaze drifted towards the distant field. Two figures were working the soil.

  He paused. There was something familiar about them.

  Narrowing his eyes for a closer look, he recognised them as the elderly couple he had seen the previous night.

  The man appeared to be in his late sixties, with a thick beard and a prominent, arched nose. What drew Alek’s attention most, however, was the red, cone-shaped cap upon his head.

  There was a serenity about him that could only come from years of experience.

  The woman, meanwhile, bore traces of the past in the few strands of black still visible among her snow-white hair. Her hazel eyes shone brightly, and the rosy flush upon her cheekbones reflected both the sternness and warmth the years had bestowed upon her.

  Yet what stood out most were her clothes.

  She wore a black headscarf — not a simple covering, but something like a work of art, adorned with colourful floral motifs.

  Her dress was black, though its collar and blouse were white, embellished with delicate flower patterns. The black apron tied over her trousers was decorated with soft pink blossoms.

  Even her dark mustard-coloured boots reflected the craftsmanship and labour of another era.

  Her posture carried both the diligence of a hardworking villager and the elegance of traditions that had withstood the passing of years.

  Alek tore his gaze away from her clothing and drifted back into his thoughts. Had he possessed his telephone, he would have taken a photograph without hesitation.

  But now, in this new world, he needed to learn who they were — and what he himself was doing here.

  He turned inward, examining his feelings. Not knowing who they were only deepened his unease.

  Why have I come here?

  And perhaps more importantly —

  What kind of fate will these people offer me?