Chapter 3 — The Land Remembers
The days bled together in a rhythm sharp as a blade’s edge. Mornings came cooler now, the sun slower to rise and the light softer as it spilled over the ridges of the mountains. Autumn had begun to settle its quiet claim on the valley—still warm enough for comfort, but each breeze carried the first hints of something colder lurking on the horizon.
My home sat between the jagged spine of the mountains and the whispering forest. From the tower window, I could see where the trees stretched like a dark sea to the north, and where the peaks stood sentinel beyond them, streaked faintly with lingering summer snow. The manor was sturdy stone and timber, the kind that held heat well enough to keep the night air at bay. Beyond the walls, the river ran steady, carrying fallen leaves downstream in swirling ribbons of red and gold.
To the north, dense woodland rolled into untouched forest—a hunter’s paradise to most, but to me, it was something far more. In my past life, iron veins had been discovered deep in that ridge, rich and untouched for decades. Nobles paid fortunes for a fraction of what lay beneath my feet now.
To the east, the river twisted toward fertile lowlands. In a few years, merchants would fight for rights to build mills and docks there. I remembered the trade routes that would eventually cut through these lands, the caravans that once lined these banks with banners and noise.
To the west, the mountain paths narrowed into dangerous passes—long abandoned by traders because of old bandit routes. But I knew where those routes led. And I knew what lay hidden along them: a cavern system that once became a fortress mine, a lifeblood of wealth for western dukes in my first life.
To the south, my family’s farmlands stretched toward the village, the soil rich and heavy with autumn. These were lands built for survival, but with the right hands… they’d be lands built for dominion.
This land had always been valuable. I’d just never taken it for myself before.
It was the 988th year of the Empire—the first of my second life. And this time, the world would not move faster than me.
Training became the heartbeat of my days. Sword drills in the cool morning air, breathing and mana work beneath the rising moon. The nights were lengthening—just enough to notice. The warmth of summer was still here, but it clung to the edges of the day like something reluctant to leave.
Steel was easy. My body, though still that of a boy, carried the memory of how to move, how to strike, how to kill. But magic was different. Mana was stubborn, a river trapped in a narrow streambed. I pushed it until it ached, forcing it to flow a little wider each night. Some evenings it responded, warm and eager. Other nights it bit back, punishing me for impatience.
The servants had begun whispering about the light from my room burning long after the rest of the manor slept. A few even knocked on my door. I ignored them.
If I’m going to cut down an empire, I can’t afford to be weaker than I was before.
About a week passed before I returned to the forest clearing. The air carried that crisp scent that always came before frost—the kind of air that bit at your lungs when you breathed too deep. The trees were shedding their summer colors now; red and gold leaves blanketed the ground. When the wind blew through, it sounded like whispers.
I knelt where the hum had been strongest.
It was still there, faint but different. The lingering thrum of power beneath the soil had changed texture, as if someone had traced their fingers through it. When my mana brushed against it, it caught on something sharp—fine runes laid with precision and care. Not wild magic. Not some wandering hedge mage.
Someone had come back. And they’d left their mark.
You’re testing me, aren’t you?
The trees shivered as a breeze passed through. No figure stepped forward. No voice answered. But I didn’t need to see them to understand: this wasn’t a coincidence.
Watch me then. But remember—little lions bite back.
She found me on the way home.
Seraphine came down the path at an easy run, her boots kicking up small piles of fallen leaves. Her auburn hair caught what light remained from the late afternoon, and her green eyes were bright and lively in a way only childhood allows. She smiled the way she always used to when things were simpler—before betrayal and blood and all the years that only I remembered.
“You’re out here again,” she said between breaths, cheeks flushed from the run.
“Morning,” I replied, though the sun was already beginning to sink lower.
“You’ve been avoiding everyone,” she accused lightly. “Even me.”
Because when I see you, I see the blade I didn’t see coming.
“I’ve been training,” I said instead.
“You’re always training,” she murmured.
There was a quiet stretch of road between us and the manor gates. She walked beside me without saying more, but I could feel it in the way she stole glances at me—there were words pressing against her lips, the kind that never quite found their way out.
As the manor came into view, Elias was already waiting at the edge of the yard, wooden sword propped against his shoulder, that familiar determined look in his eyes. Seraphine’s steps slowed just a fraction.
“You’re going to train with him again, aren’t you?” she asked softly.
I nodded.
She tried to smile, but it faltered halfway. “Then… I guess I’ll see you another time.”
She lingered after the words left her mouth, as if hoping I’d say something to stop her. Her green eyes shifted—first toward Elias, then back to me. There was something small and tight in her expression, something between frustration and sadness. She bit her lower lip, a habit she’d never lost even years later.
“You’ve changed lately,” she murmured. Not an accusation. A quiet confession. “Even when we’re together, it feels like you’re somewhere else.”
She wanted to ask what I was hiding. She wanted to demand why I’d built a wall she couldn’t see through. But Seraphine had never been good with questions that might lead to answers she didn’t want. So she smiled instead—soft, brittle, the kind of smile people wear when they don’t know whether to hold on or let go.
You don’t understand yet. And part of me hopes you never will.
“I’ll see you later, Ardyn,” she said finally, her voice steadier than her eyes. Her braid caught the dying sunlight as she turned toward the village road. Each step away sounded louder than it should have against the fallen leaves.
I stood where I was, the silence settling like ash. There were a hundred things I could have said—things the boy she once knew might have said. But I wasn’t that boy anymore.
Not this time.
Elias straightened as I approached, that faint grin growing into something sharper. His hair was a dark chestnut brown, wind-tousled, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. His hands bore the light scars of a boy who trained with discipline. The weight in my chest settled into something easier to carry. Training didn’t ask questions. It didn’t linger. It just waited for the next strike.
Elias trained like the season itself—steady, crisp, and relentless. His hands were roughened from practice, his breath fogging faintly in the cooling air. We worked behind the stables, away from curious eyes, with wooden blades and weighted staves.
I taught him to move like a whisper—how to make silence his ally. The Black Legion I once commanded had marched under banners and sunlight. The Shadow Legion would move in darkness, unseen and unstoppable.
“Again,” I ordered. He didn’t hesitate. He never did.
Good. Hesitation kills faster than any sword.
The trees around the yard had begun shedding their leaves more heavily. Soon, the ground would be a carpet of orange and red. Winter wasn’t here yet, but its steps could be heard in the distance.
Training with Elias continued in the evenings, the sound of wooden blades cutting through cool air becoming as regular as the toll of the manor bell. The days slid past like falling leaves, steady and unhurried. Each swing, each step, carved the future I was building.
One evening at dinner, Father’s voice was heavier than usual. “There are whispers from the north,” he said, setting his cup down with a dull thud. “Troop movements. A mage sighted in the frostlands. And a noble family gone from their estate.”
My fingers stilled on the edge of my plate. In my first life, these ripples came later—months later.
They’re moving early this time.
“Do they know who the mage was?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “But imperial banners were seen after. They’re already sweeping.”
Sweeping—clearing away anyone who didn’t bow quickly enough.
I nodded slowly, but my mind was already three steps ahead, mapping movements, patterns, outcomes. Less time to prepare. But I know the rhythm of their storm now. I can use it.
That night, training bled into darkness. The air had a sharper edge now, not quite cold enough to bite, but enough to make each breath feel crisp in my chest. When I lowered my blade, I felt it—the pulse again.
Not faint this time. Not just a scar left behind. It pressed against the edge of my senses, steady and controlled.
I turned toward the forest. The trees were still. The sky hung low, washed in deep blue.
The echo wasn’t hiding anymore. It was announcing itself.
Show yourself.
Nothing stirred. No figure stepped out. The pulse lingered, then slipped away like a shadow sliding into the dark.
You’re watching me.
Measuring me.
Deciding what I am to you.
Predator. Prey. Ally. Enemy.
Back in my room, the mirror reflected a boy’s face—loose hair from training, a smear of dirt across the cheek. But my eyes… my eyes belonged to someone who had seen too many winters.
It’s still the year 988. I ran a hand through my hair. And the pieces are moving faster than they should.
The wind picked up outside, rattling the shutters. Another leaf storm. Autumn was drawing toward its heart.
I blew out the candle, letting the darkness close in.
Tomorrow, I’d train harder.
The world wouldn’t wait for me. Not again.