Chapter 4: Whispers of the Past

(Ethan’s POV)

Sleep doesn’t come easy for me. Even when it does, it's hardly peaceful.

As soon as my eyes shut a second time, the warmth of Martha’s home slips away, and I find myself in a familiar place—a battlefield I've been to way too often.

The ground is soaked in blood, and the air is thick with the smell of iron and ash. Screams echo through the night, sharp like dying stars. I’m back in the thick of it again—older and stronger, my sword gripped tightly in my hand.

Then I see her, Martha, this time around.

She’s running with us as we try to escape from the queen’s men, her eyes filled with desperation, her lips calling my name like my real mother with so much love and concern. For a brief moment, we thought we had outrun them until Martha sustained an injury that slowed us down, and she left a note one night and returned so she wouldn't be a burden to us as we tried to flee to save ourselves. That broke both me and Jane because we had no choice but to move forward so that her sacrifice would not be in vain.

We knew that Martha's return meant either the soldiers would find her or she would surrender herself, in which case Queen Lunice would show no mercy and execute her for treason.

I remembered the pain in Jane's eyes and how we couldn't sleep for a few nights. We were like prey being hunted but trying to escape, hoping to find freedom one day.

Until our hopes were dashed and Jane was killed, then I met my end too.

Her last few words stayed with me: "Ethan, I love you and believe in you, and even if I had to come back to life a thousand times, I would choose you, and if we are ever reborn, come find me and know that I am always waiting for you. Those words hit me hard—and then she vanishes.

The battlefield dissolves, and suddenly, I’m standing in the grand throne hall of the palace I used to call home. The golden walls shimmer in the sunlight, banners of Ether proudly hanging above the court.

My father, King Gainos, is on his throne—strong and noble, his armor still showing the signs of battle. His crown shines like firelight, and next to him is my grandmother, Queen Dowager Lunice, regal and icy, her beauty sharp enough to cut.

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You should never have gone to war,” she says, her tone as smooth as silk but colder than ice. “We’ve already lost too much. You’ve brought a curse upon this family with your pride.”

Father exhales, looking worn out. "They killed my son, who is my blood, Mother." I did what any king would do.”

Her lips twist into a cruel smile. “And what about the sons you might still lose?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

Before he can react, a guard steps forward—one of her loyal followers—and takes out his sword, stabbing my father.

The crown hits the marble floor with a sharp clang just before my father’s body does.

The hall erupts in screams. I want to shout, to rush over to him, but my voice sticks in my throat. All I can do is watch the blood pool beneath his throne, creeping toward me.

The soldiers kneel, but not for the king—for her.

Queen Lunice, my grandmother.

“Long live the Queen,” they chant, their voices hollow and obedient.

Her eyes meet mine. Those dark, ancient, endless eyes hold me in place across the years. “No male heir shall survive,” she whispers. “The curse has already begun.”

The floor splits open beneath me. I fall, tumbling through time, screams, and shadows. 

“What memory was that?” Travelling back through time must be causing me to hallucinate a lot, because my father died during the battle and was not killed by my grandmother. Or what if there is something more to his death?

I land in another time frame; now, it’s on a battlefield—but this time, I see what I missed before. Now, it all makes sense. My grandmother betrayed my father, not the alleged war that claimed his life.

I see it clearly: an arrow from the trees—black-tipped and poisoned—shot by one of our own, by her command.

She killed him. She killed them all.

I wake up screaming once again.

The room rushes back in fragments—smoke in the air and the soft orange glow from the dying fire. My chest heaves, my heart pounding against my ribs. 

“Ethan!” Martha’s voice cuts through the fog. She rushes to my side, wrapping her arms around me. “You’re safe, my boy. It’s alright.”

But it's not. I can still see his blood, her eyes, and Jane’s fall.

I press my hand to my face, my fingers shaking. “I saw her… Grandmother. She killed him.”

Martha freezes. “What did you say?”

“My father,” I whisper, struggling for breath. “She betrayed him. She killed him herself.”

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, even she looks scared. “Ethan… you were dreaming. It was just a nightmare.”

“No,” I insist. “It wasn’t a dream. It was real. 

Martha looks away, her lips pressed tight. The firelight dances on her face, casting shadows that make her seem older, sadder.

After a long silence, she finally says, “There were always rumors. They said Queen Lunice rose to power too quickly and that the war didn't end the way it was supposed to, but no one could ever prove it. Anyone who tried…” She shakes her head. “They disappeared.”

I grip the blanket tightly, my knuckles aching. “She didn’t just take the throne. She cursed me. Every time I reach eighteen, I die. Every single time.”

Martha stares at me, her expression softening with pity. “You’ve had a terrible dream, Ethan. Let’s not—”

“I’ve lived it,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. “Six times, Martha. I’ve lived it six times, and every time, I die before I can fix it. She’s taken everything from me—my father, my brothers, my throne… Jane.”

Her expression crumbles at the mention of Jane’s name. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispers, pulling me into her arms again. Her embrace is warm and comforting—the only place I ever feel safe. “You carry too much pain for someone so young.”

“I’m not young,” I murmur against her shoulder. “Not inside.”

She exhales shakily and pulls back to meet my gaze. “Then promise me something: when the time comes—when you face her again—don’t let vengeance darken your heart. The moment you do, she wins.”

Her words pierced deeper than any blade, because I can already feel it—that dark whisper inside me that wants to burn her world down.

I swallow hard and nod. “I’ll try.”

She studies me for a long moment, then stands. “Rest now. Tomorrow we’ll plan what comes next; at least for now, you’re safe here.”

I stare at her and ask, “Do you believe anything I said?”

She looked right back at me and said, “Son, I trust you and believe you.”

I looked straight into her eyes and realized she doesn't; she must think I'm just a terrified young boy who has just lost everything, which is normal. Even if I were in her situation, I would find it hard to believe that a five-year-old boy could have just sprouted six lives.

As she walks away, I glance over at the small bed by the window. Jane is still sleeping, her tiny hand tucked under her cheek, her breaths slow and steady. The morning light peeks through the curtains, gently illuminating her and turning her hair golden.

I gaze at her again, envisioning a world free of pain where we love each other wholeheartedly, and I am determined to create that world, even if it is the last thing I do.

Outside, the forest comes alive—birds singing, the wind rustling through the trees, and the first hints of dawn renewing the world.

I turn back to the fire, feeling its warmth on my skin, and touch the mark beneath my eye. It still burns faintly—not like pain this time, but like a promise.

This curse started with death, but it will end with life.

And when it does, the world will remember the prince who refused to die.