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I saw a great magical academy built into the side of a cliff, and a stern headmistresses listening to us with skepticism. I heard how, in exchange for old debts being cancelled, we would be granted shelter and sanctuary.
Then mountains of note pages. Hundreds of arcane formula. Thousands of hours spent in quiet study or at lecture. I knew the elation of my first successful spell. The happiness on a cousin's face as she wept for joy.
I knew the sting of betrayal when my cousin presented me with evidence of a certain faction seeking to use me as a bargaining chip in a bid for power. I knew the chill of night, of leaving safety under cover of darkness to once again seek some semblance of life in foreign lands, and maybe, just maybe, the faintest glimmer of a hope that my rightful throne might be restored.
And through all this, I was still somehow me- still somehow the kid always picked on, the teenager who sought some illusion of control in his life by learning how to twist the rules of a complex game to suit his whims, the man who eventually became a bitter recluse until he died of a brain aneurysm.
And it all happened in a moment that was somehow also a lifetime.
Then, as suddenly as it happened, I felt the tickle of grass on my neck and hands, felt the warmth of the sun on my face and the light invading my eyes.
"Wake up, my sleepy prince. You won't want to miss our destination, would you?"
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