Chapter 6: The Change

This time… it will be different.

While Martha and Jane head to the market, I stay behind, sitting by the window and gazing out at the forest. The sunlight filters through the leaves, and for a moment, the tranquility feels genuine, but peace in this kingdom has always been a facade.

Because I remember.

I remember every life that unfolded after Queen Lunice’s ascent.

I recall the years of drought, children perishing from hunger, and merchants pushed to their limits. I also recall wandering through towns where people cursed the heavens and pleaded for mercy, and where laughter was a myth.

Under her rule, the kingdom that once glimmered with gold became a wasteland of ash and sorrow.

I recall her soldiers marching through villages, taking firstborn sons as offerings for her so-called “protection.” I remember mothers clutching lifeless babies, their tears mixing with the dust of the streets. I remember trying to save them—at least once, but I failed.

And it led to my death.

In one life, I was hanged as a traitor, in another, I was hunted through the woods and burned alive. In yet another, I became prince of another nation—only for Lunice’s curse to strike before I could enact change.

Every life ended the same way: with her voice echoing in my mind. “No male heir shall live.”

But this time, I’m not that same helpless boy. This time, I carry the wisdom of six lives etched into my soul.

I stand up, pulling out a piece of parchment and a dull quill from Martha’s table. My hands may be small, but my mind is sharp. I start writing—not with the eagerness of a child, but with the precision of a strategist.

Plan of Restoration.

The words look bold on the page. Below, I start outlining everything I’ve learned about the kingdom—its flaws, its broken systems, and its starving people. I take notes on trade routes, former allies, and the corrupt lords bowing to Lunice for gold.

When I’m finished, I draw maps. I sketch the palace layout, every tunnel, every secret passage I’ve discovered over lifetimes.

This is how I’ll return.

Not as a runaway prince.

But as a reborn king.

Footsteps pull me from my thoughts. Martha has come back with Jane and some bread. She sets the basket on the table, her gaze landing on my parchment.

“What are you working on?” she asks, curiosity in her voice.

I quickly cover it with my arm. “Just something to help us later,” I respond.

She tilts her head, clearly suspicious, but chooses not to push. “You think too much for your age, Ethan,” she says softly. “Children should dream of play, not plans.”

I offer a faint smile. “I guess I’m not a normal child.”

That night, after they’ve fallen asleep, I slip out of bed quietly. The moon hangs high, pale and solemn, bathing the ground in silver light. Behind the cottage, the woods stretch wide and silent.

Lira’s husband was once a Sujata knight. His old sword still hangs by the wall—rusted, but sturdy. I take it down carefully, feeling its weight in my hands. It feels right and familiar.

I step into the woods, where the trees whisper secrets to the night. I draw the blade and begin to move. Slowly, steadily. My body may be small, but my memories remember the dance of combat—the rhythm of defense and attack.

Each swing feels like reclaiming a piece of myself.

I can almost hear my father’s voice. “A king’s strength lies not in his crown, but in his heart.”

I must keep going, even though I am exhausted and sweating, because this is the only way I can win.

Then I hear it—a noise behind me, a rustle.

I tighten my grip on the hilt.

“Who’s there?” I whisper, turning slowly.

The forest answers with silence.

But then—I saw a shadow between the trees.

Someone is watching me.

For the first time since my seventh rebirth, I realize I may not be the only one with memories.