He lay on the bed for a long time. Sasha brought him food and everything he needed. As the night approached, she left him to sleep.
He wasn't sleepy. Staring at the ceiling, fully awake, was the only thing he could do. The big window was open, and the wind came inside, making the room chilly. Sasha wanted to close it, but he asked her not to.
It's suffocating in here. He thought.
The lamp flickered on the nightstand as he sat up and looked around, noticing every little detail of the room. His eyes landed on the mirror kept in the corner.
Let's see—how does this kid look? He thought and got up from bed. His feet felt the cold when he finally took first step.
His mind was racing with the thoughts of everything that had happened and how he was a new person now.
...
The boy in the mirror stared back at him with wide, unfamiliar eyes. Black hair— softer, untamed. A rarity in Solare family. Every generation of this family carries red hair, except this one.
His face untouched by scars, by hunger, by war. He raised a hand, and the reflection did the same. Small fingers. Clean skin. No calluses. No proof that this body had ever held a sword.
So this is Zeron Solare. He said quietly.
He leaned closer, searching for something, anything that looked like his past self or the body he once had.
There was nothing.
Yet, beneath the softness, he saw it. Not in the face, but in the eyes. A tiredness that didn't belong to a child. A stillness that had learned what death felt like.
He stepped back from the mirror.
Whoever this kid had been before, he was gone now.
And whatever Caelan had become, the gods had placed him exactly where it never should have.
He stepped away from the mirror. There were too many questions, but no one to answer them.
I missed Edrin. He always had answers for everything. He thought
He felt the cold breeze and felt his body relax. He walked up to the window and looked outside. The moon was shining in the sky, with stars twinkling like they were talking to each other or maybe fighting.
There was a training ground below, and he saw someone training with a sword. It was the same boy who had tried to hit him back then. The kid looked exhausted, and then he swung his sword once again but this time weaker.
He stopped for a moment and just stood there, unmoving, then dropped to his knees. Caelan could see his shoulders shaking. Was he crying? Caelan was confused and worried.
After a few minutes, he wiped his face to remove the tears and got up.
Something didn't sit right with Caelan. That kid was all tough and acted like a bully, but now he saw the child. The real one.
He reached for his sword and turned to go back inside, but before that, he looked up—toward the window.
Caelan didn't know if the boy saw but he really thought that their eyes met for a second.
He stayed by the window long after the boy disappeared, the cold air brushing against his skin like a reminder that this body was real. This life was real.
Somewhere below, doors closed, footsteps faded, probably the boy or servants. The estate slowly fell into silence. A silence too practiced to be peaceful.
He finally stepped back and closed the window himself. The room felt smaller to him without the night watching him. He climbed back onto the bed, curling up instinctively, even though he hadn't done that in years.
Zeron Solare
Son of Warren Solare.
The words felt foreign, like clothes borrowed from a stranger. He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall, replaying everything he'd seen since waking up.
The training ground. The circle of children. The way Warren looked through him instead of at him. And the red-haired boy—kneeling in the dark, exhausted, crying where no one could see
He squeezed his eyes shut.
This place raised children like weapons. Some were sharpened. Some were discarded.
Assets.
He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling, at the painted figures frozen mid-battle, eternally glorious and eternally untouched by consequence.
Heroes, saints, victories without cost. Lies carved in color and gold. Painted so beautifully that it real.
I wondered how many children had slept under this ceiling believing those lies. He thought to himself.
His chest tightened and felt difficult to breath.
A faint ache pulsed in his chest.Like a reminder. Or a warning. He breathed slowly, steadying himself, counting each inhale the way he used to before battles.
His body was weak. Small. But his mind was still his. For now.
He thought of Edrin again. Of his voice, singing the songs of gods and folklore.
Survive the void. The voice from then. He still didn't know whose voice it was.
Once his breathing stabled, he let out a quiet breath and stared into the dim room, letting the truth settle in.
He had survived. But why? He was relieved that he will finally be free from that life. And now he was here again just in different body.
His eyelids felt heavier than they should have. This body tired too easily. It didn't know how to stay alert through fear or pain the way his old one had. He had trained for years and fought in battles to make that body strong.
He turned onto his side again, pulling the blanket closer without realizing it. The bed was softer than any place he had ever slept before, too soft, almost unfamiliar. It swallowed him whole, like it was trying to convince him to stay and let go of every thing.
Somewhere far away, the people in estate settled for the night. Guards changed shifts. Torches dimmed. Life moved on without him.
And for the first time since waking up, Caelan let himself rest.
Sleep took him quietly, without dreams.