Chapter Twenty — (Title TBD)
By the time Azeroth woke, the sun was already sinking.
He stirred to the faint sound of fabric shifting—soft, distant, almost too easy to ignore.
His eyelids felt unbearably heavy, as though something weighed them down from the inside. When he finally forced them open, the world returned in fragments—blurred shapes first, then color, then depth.
Canvas filled his vision.
Muted brown cloth stretched overhead, gently swaying. It sloped downward on all sides, drawn taut where four anchors pinned it to the ground. Between two of them hung a narrow flap—a simple entrance.
It took several seconds for the image to settle, and several more for him to realize that he was looking at the inside of a tent.
The same one he had pitched with Garet just the day before.
And yet—this was the first time he was seeing it from the inside.
They had begun training immediately after setting it up on the first day. On the second—today—he hadn't even been awake long enough to return on his own.
The realization felt distant. Detached. As though it belonged to someone else entirely.
Before he was aware of it, warmth slipped from the corners of his eyes, trailing silently into his hair.
Tears.
Azeroth closed his eyes, but it didn't help.
The memories that had begun stirring the moment he woke surged forward without restraint—images, sensations, fragments of a life he had believed buried deep enough to stay buried.
They dragged him backward through moments he had thought no longer had the strength to hurt him.
Yet they did.
And no matter how tightly he kept his eyes shut, they didn't stop coming.
Memories of the orphanage surfaced first.
Not faces.
Not names.
Just smells—thin porridge, damp stone, old wood soaked with years of quiet expectation and resignation.
Then her voice.
Soft. Warm. Too gentle for the place it belonged to.
Mrs. Mabel.
Her hand resting on his shoulder. Her smile that never quite reached her eyes. The way she always spoke about opportunity as if it were something kind.
They'll take care of you, Sam.
You're special.
The word twisted now.
Azeroth clenched his teeth as the warmth at the corners of his eyes turned hot, the tears spilling faster no matter how hard he fought them.
He remembered the doors.
Too clean.
Too white.
How her hand had loosened from his before he realized she wasn't walking in with him.
How she hadn't looked back.
The realization struck suddenly.
I've forgotten, haven't I?
His eyes flew open, breath catching—then slowly closed again as a single tear escaped.
The pain.
The fear.
The lessons.
—Her.
I drowned it all in the comforts of this new world.
Ever since his reincarnation, he had never once thought about home.
No—that place had never been home.
But he hadn't thought about them either.
Not once.
The ones who had actually given a damn.
The ones who whispered encouragement in the dark.
The ones with whom he had shared stolen food, bruised smiles, and quiet defiance.
For a moment, he wondered how they were.
Were they still grieving his death?
Or angry—because he had escaped while they were left behind?
A quiet sound slipped from his throat.
A laugh.
Hollow. Brittle. Entirely without humor.
I wonder if I could meet them again.
The thought froze him.
His breathing stalled.
That's right.
Uncle Bran had said that through evolution, anything was possible.
If that was true—
Then returning wasn't impossible.
Not unreachable.
But only if he continued forward.
Only if he became something far greater than he was now.
The thought didn't comfort him.
But it did stop the tears.
The canvas above him shifted as the wind passed through the clearing.
Azeroth inhaled slowly.
Then let go of the breath as he rose and crawled out of the tent.
The evening air greeted him cool and still.
The clearing had changed while he slept. Shadows stretched longer now, painted gold at their edges by the sinking sun. At the center, a fire pit burned low—embers glowing red beneath curling flames.
Garet sat nearby, back against a tree, arms crossed, watching as some unidentifiable beast slowly roasted over the fire.
His gaze lifted the moment Azeroth emerged.
They locked eyes.
For a heartbeat, Garet said nothing—only studied him. Whatever he saw, he neither questioned nor commented on. He simply acknowledged it.
"…You're awake," he said at last. "Come sit."
Azeroth nodded and took a seat beside him on a thick log Garet had dragged close.
Silence settled between them—easy, unforced.
Then Garet spoke again.
"I want to tell you a story."
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A/N:
Guys I'm sorry to announce, but the book has been rejected.
While this is not the last chapter, I'm not going to be updating as regularly anymore.
Anyway it's been quite an eventful moment. Thanks for giving it a try.