One year had passed since Wyxro Waxzi opened his eyes in this world.
Now four years old, he occupied a boy's fragile frame in a home that felt both safe and strangely distant. Despite his small size, his mind carried the clarity of someone far older—though he could not remember why. The truth whispered inside him: this is not my first life.
The Waxzi household had grown. His mother, Audinna, had given birth to a baby girl—Ariel Waxzi. Tiny, red-faced, and soft, she cried often and clung to Audinna like a barnacle. Yet her presence filled the house with a warmth Wyxro had never known before.
Even so, comfort did not erase unease.
Over the past year, Wyxro had been observing. His full name—Wyxro Waxzi—felt strange on his tongue, as though it belonged to someone else. His parents, however, were real enough: Audinna, gentle and soft-spoken, always humming in the kitchen; Ethan, his father, a quiet town guard whose eyes missed little.
From overheard conversations and bedtime stories, Wyxro pieced together fragments of this world. Seven continents. Cities, kingdoms, and traditions that echoed faintly of something he should know, yet didn't. The sun, moon, and stars were almost the same—but not quite. Everything was familiar, yet off, like a memory just out of reach.
Breakfast one morning found him staring blankly at his plate.
"What are you thinking about, Wads?" Audinna's voice pulled him back. She set bread before him with her usual smile.
"Nothing, Mother," he answered quickly, masking his thoughts with a polite smile.
The Waxzi home smelled of herbs, firewood, and laughter. It was warm, alive. A sharp contrast to… something he could never quite place. The memory was gone, but the absence ached like an old scar.
"How are you feeling, Wads?" Audinna asked again, chopping vegetables. "No more headaches?"
He nodded silently.
"You know, son… if your body hurts or your heart feels heavy, you can always tell me. I'll listen."
"Okay," he murmured.
After finishing his meal, Wyxro slipped outside. The house was modest but well-kept—wooden walls painted soft blue, flowers blooming in every window. In the front yard, a rickety swing swayed in the breeze.
He sat on it, gripping the ropes loosely as the sunlight filtered through the leaves.
"I need to grow stronger," he whispered. "I can't let this weakness hold me back."
His thoughts turned toward the future—studies, languages, history, anything that might help him understand this world. But he had to be careful. A child too wise, too aware, would draw suspicion.
A sudden bark broke his thoughts. Wyxro turned, spotting a small dog near the fence. Then a boy's face appeared.
"Wha—?!"
Startled, Wyxro nearly fell from the swing.
"Ah—sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" the boy exclaimed, flustered.
Wyxro froze, eyes narrowing instinctively. Blond hair gleamed in the sunlight, framing wide blue eyes that seemed almost too open, too honest. Freckles dotted his cheeks.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked, extending a hand.
Wyxro hesitated. His chest tightened with an old instinct: suspicion. Distrust. He didn't know why—it simply came. Forcing his hand down, he muttered to himself, "It's just a kid."
The boy blinked. "I—I'm Klyden Yurei! I live next door. I thought maybe you were lonely…"
"No," Wyxro cut him off, slipping past and heading back inside.
Klyden's fist clenched, but his voice carried after him: "I won't give up!"
From the window, Wyxro watched the boy walk back home with stubborn determination.
Friend?
The word felt foreign. Heavy. In another life—though he couldn't remember how—smiles had been masks, and trust had been dangerous. His head throbbed faintly at the thought.
"Is he your friend, Wads?" a voice asked.
Wyxro turned to see his father, Ethan, leaning against the doorway.
"…No," Wyxro replied.
"Why not?"
He didn't answer.
Ethan nodded. "It's alright. But I can tell—they're good people. That boy's family is kind. Dinner's ready. Don't forget to play with your sister later."
Wyxro lingered at the window, staring at the empty yard.
Maybe people could be good. Maybe not.
The ache in his chest pulsed again, a reminder that he had lived once before… and had regrets he could not name.
Still, one thought remained steady.
"I guess… I'll give him a tiny chance," Wyxro whispered.
And with that, he stepped away from the window.