Throne Of Shadowed Rebirth

(Ethan’s POV)

Pain.

It always starts with pain.

The sharp jab in my chest steals the breath from me, like a knife plunged right into my heart. 

My body convulses with the memory of dying. I scratch my chest, but there's no blood, just a fading memory.

And then I come to a chilling realization.

I’m back again.

The scent of old wood fills the air. The darkness closes in around me. I can feel the rough splinters digging into my palms. I don’t even need to open my eyes to see where I am. I’m inside the cupboard, the same one where everything always begins, on the third floor of the palace tower: the chamber of heirs, which later became the chamber of death.

I force my eyes open and press against the tiny crack in the wood. There they are, my brothers, my blood, lined up, trembling, with fear and confusion etched across their young faces, and in the midst of them is Niall.

My second brother: taller, older, and kinder. He used to sneak me sweets when the cooks weren’t watching. The only one who would ruffle my hair and whisper that he believed I’d grow up to be someone great.

But I know what’s about to happen next.

The door creaks open. Heavy boots hit the stone floor.

The soldier strides in. His sword catches the flickering torchlight. He doesn’t say a word. No hesitation. He just raises the blade.

My breath hitches, and my body shakes. I could close my eyes, but I can’t. I never can. Six lives, six deaths, and I still can’t look away.

Steel pierces Niall’s chest.

The scream that erupts from him—part anguish, part disbelief—cuts through me like a bolt of lightning. His body trembles, then collapses onto the cold stone floor.

Tears blur my vision. I bite my lip until the taste of blood floods my mouth. My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. Six lives lost, and witnessing Niall’s body never hurts any less.

The soldier turns. His shadow stretches toward the cupboard.

It’s always this way. Always. This moment.

My cursed mark throbs hot against my cheek, the twisted scar that branded me from birth, searing as though it revels in my suffering.

The footsteps grow louder.

I hold my breath.

The cupboard door rattles.

And then, the sound I’ve been waiting for.

The sound of a crash of wood, accompanied by a shout, followed by a blur of motion.

“Martha!”

Her name bursts from my lips before I can hold it back, desperate and relieved.

She storms into the chamber, fire in her eyes, a heavy stone gripped in her hands. With a cry, she slams it into the soldier’s shoulder. He stumbles, snarling, but she doesn’t hesitate. She swings again, smashing the object into his head, causing a crack in his bone. The soldier drops lifeless on the ground.

“Ethan!” she breathlessly calls, rushing to the cupboard. She flings the door open, and I dive into her arms.

Everything seemed to stand still for a moment.

I bury my face against her, sobs breaking free. My little hands cling to her as if she might disappear if I let go. She stiffens at first, taken aback by my urgency, then wraps me close, whispering urgently.

“There’s no time, little one. We have to go!”

She doesn’t get it. To her, I’m just a terrified boy. She doesn’t know I’ve witnessed her die six times. She doesn’t understand how heavy her name sits in my heart. She doesn’t realize that she’s the reason I’ve fought against this curse for so long.

But I know.

I know, and I hold on to her like she’s my entire world.

Martha scoops me up and carries me to the window. An already-tied rope sways in the night air. Without hesitation, she wraps it around herself, pulls me close, and starts to climb down.

The wind slices against my skin. The night is thick with smoke and blood. Above us, I catch a glimpse of Niall’s lifeless body lying on the floor. Grief tightens my chest, but beneath it, anger simmers, hot and relentless.

This time, I swear, I won’t let fate win.

We hit the ground. Martha steadies us, her breath labored. She doesn’t pause; she takes my hand and runs, dragging me toward the stables.

My legs struggle to keep up, but I follow, gripping her fingers tightly. Each step feels too familiar, etched into my bones from past lives. I know where this path leads. I know where we failed.

She lifts me onto a horse and hops up behind me. Her arm wraps around my waist as she snaps the reins. The horse bolts into the night.

I allow myself to breathe for a few seconds, but then memories crash over me.

These are not memories from this night but memories from another life. My sixth.

I see it all—the village where I tried to be nothing more than a carpenter; the little hut where Martha cooked, where Jane helped her and laughed like the world wasn’t a cruel place. Oh, Jane, I love my sweet, stubborn Jane. My heart aches at the memory of her smile.

We lived quietly, hiding my cursed mark under a powdered substance, hoping the world would overlook me. For a while, it seemed real—a family, a life, and a shot at happiness.

Until that day by the river.

Water splashed on my face, washing away the powdered substance hiding my mark. The villagers saw it, and their gasps pierced deeper than any blade. They whispered the truth: the cursed prince, the heir who should’ve been dead.

The news spread like wildfire. Soldiers came, and then we had to flee.

Martha got hurt protecting me. Jane and I carried her as far as we could, but she urged us to go. 

Her voice still lingers in my ears—painful yet resolute. "Go on without me."

The guilt of leaving her never fades.

Jane and I ran. We hid in a hut, clinging to each other. She was my light, my hope, the girl I promised to marry when I turned twenty. But fate doesn’t honor promises.

The soldiers found us. An arrow whizzed through the dark, aimed at me. Jane stepped in its way.

I can still see her eyes as she fell and I can still feel her blood on my hands.

I died soon after.