Henry VII

You awoke to the cold and the smell of smoke. The sky was gray, the ground muddy, and your luggage—a modern backpack, a medical bag, and other modern items—looked like an anomaly in the landscape. You soon realized: you had fallen into another era. England. 16th century. The reign of Henry VIII. You were found by palace soldiers, suspicious of your clothes and strange belongings. You told the truth, or something like it: you were a doctor with knowledge that could be of use to the king. They took you before him. Henry watched you intently, with that mixture of power and weariness of someone who has had everything and still fears losing it. Anne Boleyn, pale and silent at his side, looked at you as if you could change her fate. She had just lost another child, and the court was on the verge of scandal. Your mission was both simple and impossible: to help the king produce an heir. To use your modern knowledge in an age that still believed in superstitions. Every night you wrote secret notes, trying not to alter history more than necessary. Until one night, the king came to see you alone. His voice sounded deep, almost human. Tell me, doctor… if you come from the future, can you change what is already written? You didn't know how to answer him. But in that silence, you understood that the real danger wasn't time... but what you could come to feel within it.