I woke up because the ground was too hard.

  Not uncomfortably hard.

  Unacceptably hard.

  The floor consisted of roughly hewn stone, with no discernible leveling layer. No insulation. No separation. Direct contact. I lay flat; my back immediately registered a clear objection to a surface that was neither ergonomic nor intended for temporary accommodation.

  I opened my eyes.

  Above me, a stone ceiling. Uneven. Moisture stains. Cracks in at least two places. I estimated the clear height at roughly two and a half meters, though without consistent levelness. The room was lit by a single light source mounted on the wall—open, flickering, an exposed flame.

  Fire load present.

  I sat up.

  The room was small. Four walls, no window, a wooden door with metal fittings. No viewing hatch. No evacuation plan. The door opened inward.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Of course,” I muttered.

  I checked my clothing. Suit trousers, shirt, coat. All present. My wallet as well. Keys. Notebook. Calipers.

  Good.

  My phone, however, was gone. That surprised me less than expected. There would have been no reception here anyway, and the lighting conditions would not have allowed for safe use.

  I stood and examined the floor. Uneven. A tripping hazard at the threshold. No marking. No bevel.

  I made a mental note.

  Only then did I ask myself the question I would normally have expected to come first:

  Where was I?

  The answer was obvious: no longer in Germany.

  And therefore outside the legal framework I was familiar with.

  That did not mean, however, that no rules applied here. Only that they apparently had not yet been formulated.

  The door opened without my touching it.

  A man entered. Tall, broad-shouldered, chain mail. A sword at his side. Helmet under his arm. He stopped when he saw me.

  “You’re awake,” he said.

  “Obviously,” I replied.

  He frowned.

  “The mage said it might take longer.”

  I looked past him into the corridor. Narrow. Low ceiling. No continuous lighting. Torches at irregular intervals. Smoke stains along the ceiling.

  “Who is responsible for this room?” I asked.

  The man blinked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The accommodation. The safety measures. The structural execution.” I gestured toward the open flame. “This light source alone violates basic safety principles.”

  “You are… strange,” he said cautiously.

  “That is irrelevant,” I replied. “What is relevant is that this door opens inward. In an emergency situation, that would be problematic.”

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  He looked at the door, then at me.

  “It’s a dungeon.”

  “All the more reason.”

  Silence.

  The man cleared his throat. “You were brought here because… well. Because you’re not from here.”

  “That is correct.”

  “The mage said you were important.”

  I considered this briefly.

  “I am a lawyer,” I said. “Specialized in construction and administrative law. Additionally, I am a certified DIN expert.”

  He said nothing.

  “My name is Max Mustermann,” I added. “And if I look around here, I see a considerable need for corrective action.”

  Voices echoed from the corridor. Another man stepped in, wearing robes and carrying a staff. He examined me as though I were an interesting but potentially unstable artifact.

  “This is him,” said the mage. “The outsider.”

  I nodded at him.

  “Then let’s clarify this,” I said. “But not here. This room, in its current condition, is not suitable for an extended conversation.”

  The knight opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked at the mage.

  The mage sighed.

  “I’m afraid,” he said slowly, “this is going to be more complicated than expected.”

  I looked once more at the ceiling, then at the door, then at the open flame.

  “That,” I said, “it already is.”

  They gave me no choice. At least, that was what they said. In reality, my choice consisted of either coming along voluntarily or taking the same route under armed escort. I chose the former, on the explicit condition that I be given sufficient time to look around.

  The knight nodded uncertainly. The mage pretended not to have heard a thing.

  The corridor outside my room was narrower than it had first appeared. The ceiling ran unevenly, in places so low that a taller person would have had to duck. The torches were mounted at irregular intervals—some loose, others placed too high to be extinguished quickly in an emergency.

  “How many people use this corridor regularly?” I asked.

  The knight considered. “Guards. Servants. Sometimes prisoners.”

  “Then it’s undersized,” I concluded. “And unsuitable as an escape route.”

  We continued.

  The floor changed from rough stone to worn slabs, several of which were loose. I deliberately stepped around them.

  “Why are you walking like that?” the knight asked.

  “Hazard avoidance,” I said. “Loose slabs are tripping hazards.”

  “No one has ever fallen here.”

  “That’s what people always say—until the first time.”

  At the end of the corridor, the space opened abruptly. A large hall. High ceiling. Banners on the walls. Open fire pits. No visible exits apart from the one we had come through.

  I stopped again.

  The knight let out a quiet groan.

  “This,” I began, “is a disaster from a fire safety perspective.”

  The mage turned to face me. “You are not here to inspect.”

  “Yes,” I said calmly. “I am. I always am.”

  We were led up a broad staircase. It was at least more uniform than the one in the dungeon, but even here there were deviations. The steps were too high, the handrail ended too early, and the edge was sharp.

  I ran my hand along it.

  “Who built this?” I asked.

  “The palace has stood for centuries,” the knight replied.

  I nodded. “That explains a great deal.”

  At the top, two more guards awaited us. They opened heavy doors that swung inward, blocking the passage as they did so.

  I stopped before entering.

  “One moment.”

  “What now?” the knight asked.

  I pointed at the doors. “Double-leaf doors, opening inward, without any holding mechanism. In a panic situation, these doors would be lethal.”

  The knight looked at me. For a long moment.

  Then he said, “The king is waiting.”

  “That doesn’t change physics.”

  We entered.

  The throne room was large. Too large. The ceiling disappeared into the height; light poured in through high windows that were unsecured. The throne itself stood elevated on a dais, accessible via three steps without a railing.

  I exhaled slowly.

  The king sat upon the throne. Crown. Cloak. Posture impeccable. Beside him advisers, guards, a scribe.

  “This is the outsider,” said the mage.

  The king studied me. “They say you are… unusual.”

  “That is correct,” I said. “But irrelevant.”

  A murmur passed through the hall.

  “You were brought here because you come from another world,” the king continued. “Because you possess knowledge that could help us.”

  I looked around. Counted exits. One. At most two, if one counted the side door. No signage.

  “Then we should not be having this conversation here,” I said.

  The king raised an eyebrow.

  “Excuse me?”

  “This room is unsuitable for an assembly of this size,” I explained. “Insufficient escape routes, open fire loads, no barriers at the edge of the dais. These steps alone—”

  “Enough,” the king said sharply.

  I fell silent.

  He leaned forward. “You stand before your king.”

  I met his gaze. “Then I strongly recommend that Your Majesty clarify responsibility for this room.”

  Silence.

  The scribe stopped writing.

  The mage looked as though he were considering whether he could make me disappear on the spot.

  The king inhaled slowly.

  “Who are you?” he asked at last.

  “Max Mustermann,” I said. “Lawyer. Expert witness. And, quite frankly, your most urgent necessity.”

  A soft, incredulous laugh rippled through the hall.

  The king did not smile.

  “You speak boldly.”

  “I speak factually.”

  He regarded me for a long time. Then he beckoned an adviser closer and whispered something.

  Finally, he said, “Very well, Max Mustermann. Then explain one thing to me.”

  With a gesture, he indicated the throne room.

  “What exactly is wrong here?”

  I took a breath.

  “How much time do we have?”

  Feel free to share any ideas for scenarios you would like to see him thrown into — especially situations where the German controller is pushed to his limits, or moments where he might despise this barbaric world and try to turn it into something different.