The Eternal Empire

Prof. Dr. Dr. Heimrich von Wittelsbach opened his eyes to near-total darkness. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the faint scent of mold and earth. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the faint dripping of water, its rhythmic sound grounding him in this unfamiliar reality. He lay still for a moment, his sharp mind already processing the situation.

He was alive. That fact alone was remarkable, given the sheer force of the vortex that had consumed him. Yet, the silence and stillness around him confirmed one thing: he was far from the sterile brilliance of his laboratory.

Heimrich sat up, his movements slow and deliberate. His head throbbed slightly, a lingering effect of the violent displacement. His gloved hand instinctively moved to his chest, confirming the presence of three familiar weights. He allowed himself a rare moment of relief. His experimental devices had made the journey with him.

Reaching for the first device, he activated it with a simple press of his thumb. A faint, greenish light illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls around him. The scanner—a marvel of molecular engineering—projected a holographic interface into the air. With practiced ease, Heimrich swept the scanner across his surroundings.

"Organic material: fungal growths and wood remnants. Structural composition: stone, likely sedimentary, manually cut. Location: subterranean," the scanner's AI reported in a neutral tone. Heimrich nodded, his suspicions confirmed. He was in a cellar of some sort, primitive but structurally sound.

The next step was to analyze his environment more thoroughly. Heimrich moved to the nearest wall, allowing the scanner to gather data on its composition. As it worked, he considered his predicament. He was clearly no longer in the technological utopia of 2205. The rudimentary construction, the earthy smell, and the palpable absence of advanced infrastructure suggested a pre-industrial age. But how far back had he gone?

The scanner chimed softly. "Analysis complete. Material consistent with medieval-era construction techniques. Estimated timeframe: early Middle Ages."

"Fascinating," Heimrich muttered, his voice cold but tinged with curiosity. Time travel had been a theoretical possibility in his era, but he had never anticipated experiencing it firsthand. Despite the monumental implications of his displacement, Heimrich's rational mind refused to panic. Panic was a distraction, an indulgence of the weak.

His next move was clear: assess his resources. He retrieved the second device, the synthesizer. Sleek and compact, it hummed faintly as he activated it. Its internal systems performed a self-diagnostic before projecting a status report.

"Operational. Energy reserves at 64%. Capable of synthesizing registered materials within current database. Warning: raw material and energy input required for continued operation."

Heimrich regarded the device with satisfaction. This was his edge, his advantage in a world that likely understood nothing of molecular engineering. With the synthesizer, he could create tools, medicine, or even food, provided he found the necessary raw materials.

The final device was his most prized creation: the bio-enhancer. A small, palm-sized apparatus, it represented the pinnacle of his stem cell research. Its ability to heal wounds, cure diseases, and enhance physical traits had been revolutionary—and controversial. Many in his world had decried it as unnatural, an affront to the natural order. But here, in this primitive age, Heimrich saw its true potential.

He activated the bio-enhancer briefly, watching as its soft blue glow illuminated his hand. The device's interface displayed a reassuring message: " No diseases or injuries detected. Subject in optimal health." 

Relieved and reassured by the flawless functionality of his devices, Heimrich turned his attention to his immediate surroundings. The cellar was small and sparsely furnished, with little more than wooden crates and barrels stacked haphazardly against the walls. A narrow staircase led upward, and faint light seeped through the cracks in the door at the top.
He ascended the stairs with calculated steps, his mind already formulating possible scenarios. He pushed the door open slightly, peering into the room beyond. Sunlight streamed through small, unevenly cut windows, casting faint beams across what appeared to be a modest kitchen. The room was devoid of people, its silence broken only by the faint creak of the wooden beams.

Heimrich scanned the space and noted the simplicity of the utensils scattered across a sturdy wooden table. Clay pots, some glazed and others rough-hewn, sat next to wooden bowls and plates. A bundle of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, their aroma faintly discernible in the still air. Iron tools, including a small knife and a pair of tongs, lay near a stack of firewood. These objects spoke of an era far removed from his own.

This was clearly the Middle Ages. The rudimentary craftsmanship and absence of advanced materials confirmed it. "Fascinating," he muttered under his breath, his analytical mind absorbing every detail.

For now, survival was paramount. Heimrich knew he had the tools to thrive, but his success depended on careful planning and strategic action. This world was foreign, but its simplicity could be an advantage. Here, without the constraints of modern ethics or bureaucracy, he could operate with absolute freedom. For the first time in his career, there would be no human rights advocates, no moralistic overseers, no bureaucratic committees to challenge his vision. He would be unrestrained.

A faint, sardonic smile crossed his lips as he allowed himself to consider the possibilities. This age was a blank slate, untainted by the limitations of modernity. Here, he could create—and destroy—without interference. Here, his genius could flourish unfettered.

Turning his attention to himself, Heimrich activated the scanner's reflective mode, projecting an image of his own form into the air before him. His sharp eyes scrutinized the holographic display. His attire was unmistakably modern—a sleek, fitted lab coat of synthetic fibers, pristine gloves, and polished boots that bore no resemblance to the rough-hewn garments of this era. His clothing alone would mark him as an outsider.

More striking, however, was his appearance. His face, symmetrical to the point of perfection, pale skin free of blemishes or flaws. His hair, blond almost golden and impeccably styled, piercing blue eyes that seemed almost unnatural in their intensity. His body was a testament to peak human performance, lean and athletic without an ounce of excess. This was the standard of his time—a world where age, disease, and imperfections had been eradicated. Everyone was youthful, beautiful, and flawless.

And yet, Heimrich was an anomaly even in his own era. While many relied on advanced technologies to enhance their appearance, Heimrich—the inventor of these very innovations—had no need for them. His striking looks were entirely natural, untouched by modification. It was as if he had been crafted by the hand of a divine creator, his beauty and intellect so perfect they seemed almost otherworldly. At twenty-six years old, he had outpaced his peers, blazing through his academic career with unprecedented speed. By the time most were completing their initial studies, Heimrich had already secured multiple doctorates, earned international acclaim, and revolutionized entire fields of science.

But Heimrich's extraordinary intellect and ambition were not his only claim to fame. His lineage traced back to one of the most prominent families of medieval Europe: the House of Wittelsbach. Historically, the Wittelsbachers were grand dukes with a legitimate claim to the throne of Germany, a family steeped in power and legacy. Though far removed from the political intrigues of his ancestors, Heimrich had always carried a quiet pride in his heritage. The blood of kings and emperors ran through his veins, a reminder that greatness was his birthright.

Perhaps it was this lineage combined with his unparalleled intellect and natural perfection that sometimes led Heimrich to indulge in subtle shades of a god complex. How could he not, when he so effortlessly outshone others in both mind and form? To him, his achievements and natural advantages often felt less like mere luck and more like destiny.

Here, in this medieval world, his appearance would make him both a curiosity and a target. No one in this time could look as he did—untouched by hardship, unmarred by time. He would need to adapt, to conceal his origins and blend into this primitive society, at least until he had the resources to assert control.

"I am an anomaly," he muttered to himself, his tone devoid of emotion. "But anomalies shape the course of history."

For now, he would remain in the shadows, observing and planning. But soon enough, this world would feel the weight of his presence. Heimrich von Wittelsbach would not merely survive. He would redefine existence.