Chapter 3: The Town of Nuevis

(Ethan’s POV)

"Martha, stop," I whisper urgently.

The soldiers are just ahead, maybe twenty paces away, with their footsteps crunching softly on the leaves. They haven't spotted us yet.

Martha's breathing quickens. "Ethan, what are you—"

"Hide," I interrupt, tugging at her sleeve. "Now."

She hesitates, probably wondering how a five-year-old can sound so certain, but something in my voice convinces her. Quietly, she leads the horse off the path and crouches down with me behind a sturdy oak tree.

We sit there, pressed against the roots, our breaths shallow.

The two soldiers stroll by slowly, chatting in hushed tones about heading back to the city. The moonlight glints off their armor as they fade down the trail.

Only when their footsteps disappear does Martha finally release a breath. "That was close," she mumbles.

I nod, continuing to monitor the path. This had never happened before. In my previous life, this road was empty.

“Why is it different this time?”

It feels like fate is shifting.

Perhaps each decision I make changes the path I thought I knew.

Martha squeezes my shoulder. "Come on, we have to keep going."

I look up at her. She appears so young—her face smudged with soot and worry, yet her eyes burn with the same fiery spirit that has kept me alive through countless lives. She deserves peace. Jane deserves peace.

But peace doesn’t exist while Lunice remains on that throne.

We climb back on the horse and ride deeper into the woods. The castle recedes behind us, its towers swallowed by smoke and shadows. I can feel the walls in my mind crumbling, erasing all memories of home.

"Where are we headed?" I ask quietly.

"To my sister," Martha replies. "Somewhere far from here. She’ll protect us."

Her voice quivers a bit on that last word—protect.

I've never known a truly safe place.

But I can’t say that.

Instead, I tighten my grip around her waist and gaze ahead. The forest opens into a clearing, the stars shimmering silver along the path, and I pray this time it will be different.

The wind grows colder as we delve deeper into the woods. Leaves rustle overhead, carrying wisps of smoke from the burning palace. The air is thick with ash and sorrow. I can still see the faint orange glow far behind us, lingering like the dying eyes of a creature that won't close.

Martha stays silent, her arms clasped tight around me, each breath trembling against my back. I sense her heartbeat—steady yet strained—as she carefully leads the horse across a narrow stone bridge; the stream beneath glimmers like liquid glass.

Moonlight washes over her face when I sneak a glance up; sweat beads on her forehead, and stray strands of hair stick to her cheeks. She’s exhausted, but she doesn’t slow down.

"Martha," I whisper, "we're far enough. You should take a break."

She shakes her head, her voice thin but resolute. "Not yet, Ethan. They'll keep searching until dawn. We have to reach my sister's town before morning."

“Her sister's town.” That name stirs something inside me—Nuevis. In my past life, I never made it there. We took a different route back then, one that led to blood; maybe this change… this path… is my first victory against fate.

The woods stretch on, endless and shrouded in shadows. Every few minutes, I glance back, half-expecting to see torches flickering through the trees, but there’s nothing—only the rhythm of hooves and the whisper of wind through the leaves.

Finally, after what feels like ages, the trees part to reveal faint lights ahead. Small, flickering lanterns dot the hillside—like stars that have fallen to earth.

"We're here," Martha breathes, her voice breaking slightly with relief.

The town is small and quiet, centered around a lonely square with an old well standing in the middle. The houses are close together, made of wood and stone, their roofs heavy with moss. Dogs bark from a distance, then quiet down as our horse clops along the path.

Martha guides me through a narrow alleyway toward a cottage with a crooked fence. A woman rushes out before we even reach the gate—her face pale with worry until she sees Martha.

"By the moon, Martha!" she gasps, pulling her into an embrace. "You made it! We heard rumors about the palace—everyone said that—" Her voice falters as she notices me peeking from behind Martha's skirt.

Martha lowers her voice. "Not everyone."

The woman's eyes widen, then soften with understanding. "So this is him… the prince?"

Martha nods. "But no one can know, not even your neighbors. He’s just a child in your care now. Promise me."

"I promise," the woman replies without hesitation.

Her name is Lira, and she looks like an older version of Martha—same dark hair, same gentle eyes, though her gaze carries the weight of someone who's witnessed too much loss.

Inside, the cottage smells of bread and herbs. The fire crackles softly, filling the room with warm light. In a small bed in the corner lies a little girl, fast asleep under a patchwork blanket.

My chest tightens instantly.

Jane.

Her face is exactly as I remember—soft, peaceful, with tiny strands of hair framing her forehead. She’s three years old again, innocent and untouched by the tragedy that once stole her life.

My hands tremble as I step closer. I shouldn’t wake her, but I can’t look away. Six lifetimes ago, I watched her die in my arms, an arrow piercing her chest. I can still feel the heat of her blood against my hands. I remember screaming her name until my voice gave out.

And now she’s here.

Breathing. Dreaming. Whole.

"Ethan," Martha whispers, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You should sleep too. It’s been a long night."

But I shake my head. "Can I… can I stay here? Just for a little while?"

She hesitates, then nods. "Alright. Just don’t wake her."

She turns to speak with Lira in hushed tones by the door. I barely hear them; my attention is fixed on Jane.

Slowly, I kneel beside the bed. My fingers hover over her hand, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching. A lump forms in my throat.

"Jane," I whisper softly, "the woman of my heart… my one and only love."

The words feel strange coming from a child’s mouth, but they’re too heavy to remain unspoken.

"I lost you six times," I continue, my voice breaking. "But not this time. I swear on every life I’ve lived—this time, I’ll protect you. I’ll protect Martha. And when I grow up, I’ll reclaim the throne they stole from me. No one will ever hurt us again."

The fire pops, and Jane stirs slightly in her sleep, her tiny hand twitching. For a moment, I imagine she heard me.

I smile faintly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill.

Then exhaustion crashes over me, the room becomes blurry, and my eyelids begin to feel too heavy. I lie down beside the bed, still watching her, and let sleep pull me under.

But sleep is never gentle for me.

Flashes of memory pierce the darkness—steel clashing, screams, fire, blood pooling in the dirt. My grandmother’s chilling voice echoes: “No male heir shall live.”

Then I see myself at eighteen again, standing by the river with Jane. The water glimmers red as she falls into my arms, an arrow through her chest. Her last breath warms my skin.

"Ethan," she whispers, her voice fading, "don't cry. You'll find me again."

And I did.

Now I understand what she meant.

I wake with a gasp, heart racing. Sweat clings to my face, and the cursed mark burns faintly beneath my left eye. For a fleeting moment, I forget where I am—until I spot Martha kneeling by the fire, whispering prayers.

When she sees I’m awake, she smiles tiredly. "Bad dreams?"

I nod slowly.

She sighs and stands to cover me with a blanket. "You're safe now, Ethan; sleep, and tomorrow, we'll figure out what to do next."

‘Safe.” That same word again. It feels like a lie, but no one knows anything but me, so for now, we have no choice but to believe it, because tomorrow, everything begins anew.