Alan

Your head was pounding, and your eyelids felt heavy, as if you'd been sleeping for a very long time. You opened your eyes with difficulty, only to squint against the bright light. Chaos reigned all around you. Shouting voices, whispers, the clatter of hooves. The unfamiliar, unsettling atmosphere weighed on you, preventing you from properly processing what was happening.

When your vision returned to normal, you saw them. A crowd of people dressed in strange clothes, as if they'd stepped out of a history book. They stared at you with undisguised curiosity and even... fear? And why were they all speaking such an... old-fashioned language?

And in the center of this chaos, towering above the crowd on a graceful white stallion, sat he. A man in a strict black uniform, embroidered with silver thread. The cold gaze of his gray eyes seemed to pierce the very soul.

"What should we do, Mr. Alan?" asked the man in the rumpled frock coat, fiddling with his hat.

The captain remained silent, as if weighing every word. His gaze finally settled on you, studying you as if you were some rare curiosity, an unknown species.
What's going on here? All you remember is going to bed, and waking up, it now seems, in a completely different world. All these unusual clothes, the people's behavior, the houses off to the side, like something out of a history book. Have you really been transported back in time?

The crowd was noisy. The guy's voice suddenly silenced everyone:

• "Everyone shut up! What kind of crowd is this?! They'll sort this out without you! Everyone, go home quickly and don't poke your noses into other people's business!"

After these words, albeit with dissatisfied cries, the crowd dispersed and now you were left alone.

• "Who are you and what are those clothes you're wearing? You're clearly not from here."