The trees grew denser as the Eastern cohort pressed deeper into the wilds.
Carlos rode at the front, hood pulled low. The path ahead shimmered with dew and silence, the kind that warned of blood.
They'd been riding three days.
And something felt wrong.
The stars were not where they used to be. The old forest trails had twisted into stranger shapes. Even with his memories—battle-hardened, blood-washed—Carlos could no longer recognize the world ahead.
"Even the forest has changed…"
In his past life, it had taken two days to reach the Elven border.
This time?
It had taken three just to see the sky begin to darken.
Carlos clenched the reins tighter.
The past was unraveling. The future wasn't waiting.
And then—
Screams.
A cry from the rear. Then the clash of blades. A horn.
Orcs.
Carlos twisted in the saddle. Shadows thundered from the treeline—hulking, armored beasts with tusks gleaming and blood in their eyes. They came in fast, teeth bared, blades raised.
"Form up!" Carlos barked.
Some obeyed. The Eastern soldiers, his soldiers, moved instantly, shields up, flank lines spreading wide.
But a group near the back hesitated—palace conscripts, new to the ranks.
"He's just a boy!" one of them shouted. "He's not even the heir—!"
Carlos didn't flinch.
"You think this is about thrones?"
A blade sang free from his back. He spurred his horse forward, straight into the chaos.
A soldier screamed. Orcs closed in. Carlos leapt from the saddle like fire, his blade cleaving a beast through the chest in one blow.
"No one dies before I reach that tree!" he roared. "Not. One. Of. You."
He moved like he'd done it a thousand times—because he had. Not in this life, but in another. The way his blade turned. The way he read the battlefield like language.
Steel flashed in the air. Blood hit the soil.
And the men who doubted him—
He saved them.
Three fallen soldiers dragged from the jaws of orcs by a teenage prince with fury in his bones.
The orcs retreated before sunrise. What few remained bled into the trees.
Carlos stood over the bodies—only two lost. It could have been far more.
"Commander…" one of the Eastern captains knelt beside him. "What are you?"
Carlos didn't answer. His eyes were on the horizon.
---
Later that day…
The Elven border rose ahead.
But it was not how he remembered it.
The trees were alive—breathing, almost. Bark folded in patterns like runes. Vines coiled like serpents. There was no gate. No welcome. Only a towering green wall of tangled life.
They couldn't pass.
Carlos approached slowly, pressing his palm to the bark. It shivered beneath his touch.
"Even the forest is rejecting me."
Behind him, the soldiers waited.
Three days had passed. Three days of fighting, bleeding, changing.
Carlos had memories of this place—of trees that once opened at his whisper. Of elves who once trusted him.
But now…
Even that had shifted.
"All of this," he muttered, "just because my brother waited for me in the garden."
And he realized:
Every change reshaped the world.
Even the smallest mercy.
He lowered his head.
"Ole," he whispered. "I need power."
There was silence.
Then—warmth.
A voice, not quite human, echoed in his mind:
"We are the god of dreams. You are our mask."
Carlos's breath caught.
"As long as you dream—truly dream—you may take anything. But only if it is for him."
Carlos's eyes widened. He closed them.
He remembered his brother's pale face. The blood on his shirt. The slow flicker of breath.
He dreamed of fire.
And fire answered.
A flame bloomed in his hand. Not earthly. Not sorcery. But divine.
It crackled with silver and gold, heatless in the palm—but deadly when cast.
Carlos turned to the trees.
He raised the flame.
"I do not ask for permission," he said.
"I dream for my brother."
And the fire roared.
It shot forward, not scorching, not destroying—but unraveling.
The forest opened.
The path to the Elven village twisted open like a wound in the world.
Gasps rang out behind him.
"The gods—"
"He's only fifteen—"
"But the god's power awakens only when the Mask turns sixteen—!"
Carlos turned.
His cloak swirled in the ashlight. His eyes glowed like embers. The mask of the god, still only half-formed, flickered across his shadow.
"Then let the world know," he said quietly, "that I do not wait for time to bless me."
"I take what I need."
He turned and walked through the broken forest.