It was a typical day for the passengers of the Kings Cross Underground Station of London. People were rushing to get to their jobs, ignoring their surroundings and without paying attention to the bearded, filthy man that stood distrait in a corner.

"Mum, look at this man! He must be hungry," a childish voice exclaimed through the riotous sound of the crowd.

The woman was trying to locate her mobile phone inside her oversized, fawn handbag when her daughter gripped her coat and demanded her attention. She stopped searching and looked in the direction of the young girl's pointed finger.

A middle-aged man, dressed in grey rags, barefoot, stared off into the crowd with his river blue eyes but didn't seem to see anything.

"He needs help, mum," the girl insisted.

"We don't have time. . ." her voice trailed, but she looked at her daughter's defiant look and stopped.

The woman took a few pennies left in her pocket and neared the disoriented man.

"Here, buy some food." She put the coins on his open palm and smiled at him.

"I need. . . her," the man mumbled and let the coins fall on the ground. "I need my wife."

All of a sudden, he noticed the crowd around him. Brassy noises and voices surrounded him, and all the lights of the station blinded him. He tried to cover his eyes, and his weak body lost its balance and fell.

"Let me help you," the woman said and extended her hand.

"I need Boadicea. I can't find her." He shook his head with watery eyes.

People had stopped and stared at the fallen man, but most of them went on with their daily life. They knew him. He had been there for years, always in rags, walking around as if trying to find someone. He rarely talked, and the few times that the police came to help him, he started running and mumbling about soldiers and fallen men.

For everyone else, he was a madman, and at times he thought it himself. However, deep in his soul hid the truth. The memories of another life mingled with the present and confused him.

Clashes of battle and pleading cries filled his ears. He tried to cover them but stopped halfway. He stared at his palms, imagining the deep red blood that once dripped from them, and rubbed them on his rag in an attempt to clean them.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's go," the woman said in slight terror and dragged her daughter on the tube.

The little girl protested in vain. She mouthed: "I'm sorry" as the doors closed in front of her and lost him from her vision.

He was left there, on his knees, looking back at her innocent eyes while a pearly tear traveled his cheek and ended at his chapped lips.

A cry of happiness broke his thought, and a peal of small laughter filled his heart with joy. He could recognize those voices even after the passage of centuries. His body was left intact, but his mind and soul knew the longing and the loneliness he felt without his family.

Was he cursed for his actions and his egoistical behavior? Maybe.

Many centuries ago, he had failed to protect his family from the enemy and left them, preys to be beaten and killed without remorse or kindness. He had been naive and unworthy to save his wife and their two daughters, and the punishment was to wander through the centuries, always searching for them but never remembering his past.

He was a beggar and an outcast, and all the glory had left the fallen king.

However, this time something had changed. Was it the innocence of the girl or the memories proved to be more powerful? He knew that something was missing, and a magical cerulean blue beam of light passed through the crowd and fall on him.

The laughter became more robust, and a sweet smell of roses reminded him of a morning in the woods long gone.

He stood up, and doddering followed the light.

People stood aside as they faced this shadow of a man.

With each step, a new memory came back.

First, it was the scent of her hair and the taste of her lips. Then came her firm body and her fierce soul. That was his wife: his queen and his savior. He failed her once by not securing their children, but he had paid for his crime.

Two thousand years passed, and his soul realized its crime.

Stranger in a town he had never seen, he kept following the blue light. He had faith that it would lead to them.

"I'm coming," he murmured and walked faster, afraid to die again solely to be reborn with no memories.

Hours passed when he felt his heart lighter. His girls stood there. His wife and daughters were greeting him with beautiful smiles, and their silky hair waved in the breeze.

"I'm here." He cried and fell in front of the statue. "We are together now."

The light faded, and the stars lit the sky. The last breaths escaped from the lips, and with trembling hands reached for the people he remembered.

"Everything is over," he said, and his soul flew to meet its lost family.

Time kept ticking away, and the world continued traveling as if a man hadn't just redeemed for the crime of the past.

The only reminder of the fallen king was a curled body that the street cleaner found as the first rays of sunlight reached the bronze sculpture.