"THE BOY GOT STABBED, NOT CURSED! GIVE HIM A DAMN TURNOVER!"
Soma stopped outside the medical wing and closed his eyes.
There were few things in Hallowcrown more terrifying than a determined veteran soldier.
An angry dragon, perhaps.
An enraged archduchess.
Or Igor discovering that someone had denied his favorite student a pastry.
"Sir, the young master is recovering from a serious injury," a physician replied from beyond the doors. "His diet must be monitored."
"His diet? He's ten years old!"
"That does not make him immune to medical complications!"
"Neither does starving the poor bastard!"
Soma gently pushed open the door.
"Are we having a meeting, or is this a hostage negotiation?"
The room went silent.
Igor stood beside the nearest treatment bed, glaring at a physician whose expression suggested he was reconsidering his career choices.
Samantha sat nearby, her injured leg elevated on a cushion.
On the little table between them rested a basket of pastries.
Soma stared.
"You brought ammunition."
Igor grinned.
"Breakfast."
"It's nearly afternoon."
"Then lunch, you smart-mouthed shit."
Samantha began laughing.
The physician looked toward the ceiling, apparently appealing to the Pantheons for patience.
Soma approached Samantha carefully.
"How's the leg?"
"Much better."
"That's suspiciously vague."
"The healers removed the damaged tissue and applied a restorative treatment. I'll be walking normally after a little more recovery."
"How much more?"
"Enough that you can stop interrogating me like a criminal."
Soma folded his arms.
"Given recent events, I'd prefer we retire that particular expression."
Her smile faded.
"Sorry."
He shook his head.
"No. I'm sorry."
Samantha studied him.
"For what?"
"For getting you caught in all this."
She reached out and caught his wrist.
"Soma, you didn't arrange the ambush."
"I know."
"You didn't shoot that arrow."
"I know."
"And you didn't betray your family."
He lowered his gaze.
"I know."
Samantha squeezed his hand.
"Then stop trying to accept responsibility for every terrible thing that happens around you."
From behind them, Igor grunted.
"Listen to the woman, brat. She's got more sense than both of us put together."
Soma glanced toward him.
"That's an exceptionally low bar."
"Careful. I'll make you run laps when you're healed."
"There he is."
Soma stayed beside Samantha while the physician changed her dressing.
He watched the healer's movements carefully, asking questions about the treatment, the tissues affected, and how long she would need to recover before walking comfortably.
Samantha eventually sighed.
"If you stare any harder, you're going to frighten the poor doctor."
"I'm learning."
"You're hovering."
"Those are not mutually exclusive."
She smiled.
But when the physician finished, her expression grew more serious.
"Your father said you spoke with Cardinal Rodriguez."
Soma nodded.
"Yes."
"About your blood?"
"Among other things."
Samantha waited.
For a moment, Soma considered telling her everything.
She had known him since infancy. She'd helped raise him, defended him, and nearly died protecting him.
Keeping a secret from her felt wrong.
Yet the king had warned him about the danger of revealing his reincarnation.
And Soma had already learned what could happen when dangerous information reached the wrong people.
"I learned some things," he said carefully. "But there are details Father wants kept private until we understand them better."
Samantha studied his face.
Then nodded.
"All right."
Soma blinked.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"You're not going to demand an explanation?"
"Of course I want one."
"Then why—"
"Because you've had enough people demanding things from you."
Her voice softened.
"When you're ready, I'll listen."
Soma felt something tighten in his chest.
"Thank you, Sam."
She ruffled his hair.
"Now eat your pastry before Igor starts another war."
It was late afternoon when Preston came to find him.
Soma had finally been persuaded to leave the medical wing and was sitting in the library with a book resting open on his lap.
He hadn't turned a page in nearly twenty minutes.
His thoughts kept drifting toward his mother.
He'd imagined their conversation several times.
None of those imagined versions ended particularly well.
Preston stopped beside his chair.
"Soma."
He looked up.
"Father."
"Your mother is waiting in our private sitting room."
Soma's stomach dropped.
"Oh."
Preston sat beside him.
"Are you frightened?"
"No."
His father raised an eyebrow.
Soma sighed.
"Absolutely terrified."
Preston smiled gently.
"Aria knows what you told us."
"And?"
"She wants to hear it from you."
Soma looked down at the book.
"What if she doesn't understand?"
"Then you'll explain it."
"What if she's angry?"
"She probably will be."
"Father, you're spectacularly bad at reassurance."
Preston chuckled.
"Your mother loves you. Nothing you've told us changes that."
Soma wanted to believe him.
He did believe him.
Mostly.
But there was something terrifying about revealing a secret that touched the very foundation of who he was.
He had spent ten years being Soma Locke.
What if his mother suddenly saw someone else?
Preston stood and offered his hand.
"Come on, son."
Soma took it.
Aria Locke sat beside the window overlooking the manor gardens.
The late sunlight illuminated her pale-blue hair, gathered into an elegant braid that rested across one shoulder. Her lavender eyes followed the movement of the trees outside, but her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that Soma immediately knew she'd been crying.
His heart sank.
"Mother?"
She turned.
The instant she saw him, she rose.
"Soma."
He barely had time to react before she crossed the room and wrapped him in her arms.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
With the desperate strength of someone who had spent too many hours imagining what might have happened.
Soma gasped.
"Mother—my ribs!"
Aria immediately loosened her embrace.
"Oh! I'm sorry!"
"It's all right."
"It isn't all right!"
Her voice cracked.
She took his face between her hands and examined him as though she could discover every injury simply by looking.
"You were attacked. You were stabbed. Samantha was injured. Simon nearly died. And now your father tells me—"
She stopped.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Soma swallowed.
"Mother..."
"Do you have any idea how frightened I was?"
He lowered his gaze.
"Yes."
"No, darling. I don't think you do."
Aria knelt before him.
"When you were born, I thought I might lose you before I ever held you."
Soma looked up.
His father had told him about the strange light.
But hearing his mother speak about that day felt different.
"I remember the physicians shouting," Aria continued. "I remember Preston trying to reassure me even though he was terrified. And then there was this extraordinary warmth."
She smiled through her tears.
"Suddenly, you were there."
Soma listened silently.
"You were so quiet. Everyone expected you to cry, but you simply looked around the room."
She brushed his hair away from his forehead.
"And when I held you, you looked directly into my eyes."
Soma felt his throat tighten.
"Mother, there's something I need to tell you."
Aria nodded.
"I know."
He took a breath.
"I remember being born."
Her expression changed.
He continued before he could lose his courage.
"Not everything. I remember voices, light, and being held. But I also remember knowing that I'd lived before."
Aria remained silent.
"I don't know where. I don't know who I was. I only know that my life didn't begin here."
His voice trembled.
"I was reincarnated, Mother."
The room seemed impossibly quiet.
Soma could hear the soft ticking of the clock above the fireplace.
The rustle of leaves beyond the window.
His own breathing.
Aria stared at him.
Not with disgust.
Not with fear.
With sadness.
A sadness so profound that Soma almost wished she'd shouted instead.
"How long have you known?"
He hesitated.
"Since I was born."
Aria closed her eyes.
"Ten years."
Soma nodded.
"You've carried this for ten years?"
"Yes."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Oh, my precious boy."
She pulled him into another embrace, this time carefully avoiding his wounded side.
Soma froze.
Then slowly hugged her back.
"I thought..." His voice cracked. "I thought you might not want me anymore."
Aria pulled away.
For one terrible instant, she stared at him in disbelief.
Then her expression hardened.
"Soma Locke."
He straightened instinctively.
"Yes, Mother?"
"Don't you ever say that again."
He blinked.
Aria placed both hands against his cheeks.
"I carried you. I gave birth to you. I fed you, comforted you, and held you through every fever and every nightmare."
Her voice trembled.
"I watched you take your first steps. I heard your first words. I watched you grow from a tiny little boy into the stubborn, brilliant troublemaker standing in front of me."
She pressed her forehead against his.
"I don't care where your soul came from."
Soma's eyes widened.
"You are my son."
The words broke something inside him.
He began crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just ten years of uncertainty escaping in quiet, trembling breaths.
Aria held him.
And held him.
Until he finally stopped.
When Soma could speak again, he sat beside his mother on the sofa.
Preston remained near the fireplace, pretending to examine a decorative vase with extraordinary concentration.
His mustache twitched suspiciously.
Soma noticed.
"Father."
"Hmm?"
"Are you crying?"
"Certainly not."
"Your mustache looks damp."
"It's the humidity."
"We're indoors."
"Very humid indoors."
Aria laughed.
It was a small sound.
But it filled the room with warmth.
She looked toward her husband.
"Come here, you ridiculous man."
Preston obeyed.
The three of them sat together while the sunlight faded beyond the gardens.
For a while, they discussed nothing extraordinary.
Serena's latest attempts at embroidery.
Sean's newest practical joke.
The fact that Scott had somehow damaged another training dummy.
Ordinary things.
Family things.
Eventually, Aria looked toward Soma.
"Do you miss your other life?"
The question caught him off guard.
"I don't know."
She tilted her head.
"I know that sounds strange," he continued. "But I can't remember the people I knew. Sometimes I feel like there should be someone or something I miss, but I don't know who."
Aria listened.
"Does that frighten you?"
"Sometimes."
She nodded.
"Then we'll face it together."
Soma studied her.
"Even if I remember something unpleasant?"
"Even then."
"What if I was someone terrible?"
Preston snorted.
"I've seen your handwriting. I'm already prepared for the worst."
Aria elbowed him.
Soma laughed.
His side immediately protested.
"Ow!"
His mother narrowed her eyes.
"Which brings us to another matter."
Soma went still.
Oh, no.
Aria folded her arms.
"You followed armed assassins into a dungeon."
Soma looked toward Preston.
"Traitor."
His father smiled innocently.
"I believe in honesty."
"Selective honesty, apparently."
Aria pointed toward him.
"Young man."
Soma straightened.
"Yes, Mother?"
"If you ever do something that reckless again, I will personally arrange for Igor to supervise you every waking moment."
Soma's face went pale.
"Mother, please. There are limits to acceptable punishment."
Preston burst out laughing.
Aria tried to remain stern.
She failed.
And for the first time since the ambush, Soma felt entirely at home.
That evening, Soma visited Simon.
His brother lay unconscious beneath clean white sheets, his face pale but peaceful. A faint glow from the healing sigils hovered above his bed.
Soma pulled a chair beside him.
"You're missing an awful lot of excitement," he said quietly.
Simon didn't respond.
"Mother threatened to assign Igor as my permanent shadow. So if you wake up and decide to save me from that fate, I'd appreciate it."
Still nothing.
Soma looked down.
The humor faded.
He remembered the dungeon.
The blood.
His brother's weak grip on his sleeve.
"I thought we were going to lose you."
The words sounded strange in the quiet room.
Soma swallowed.
"I don't know what happened down there. I don't know why you went. But I'm going to find out."
He rested one hand against the edge of the bed.
"And next time, I'll be better prepared."
Not stronger merely to defeat someone.
Stronger so he could recognize danger.
So he could act before people he loved were bleeding on the floor.
So he could make decisions without confusing confidence for certainty.
Soma looked toward Simon.
"Just... wake up first, all right?"
The next morning, Soma returned to the training grounds.
Not to run.
Not to spar.
He carried a notebook.
Igor spotted him immediately.
"Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?"
"You told me not to train."
"Same damned thing."
"Technically, those are different instructions."
Igor glared.
Soma smiled.
"Good morning."
The veteran grunted.
"What do you want?"
Soma approached the equipment shed.
"I want to talk about the ambush."
Igor's expression changed.
"All right."
They sat on the familiar wooden crates while guards began assembling for morning drills.
Soma described what he remembered.
The first arrows.
The formation.
The moment Samantha left the carriage.
The bandit approaching from behind.
And the instant he'd drawn his sword.
Igor listened without interruption.
When Soma finished, the veteran remained silent for a long time.
Then he spoke.
"You're looking for something you could've done differently."
Soma nodded.
"There are several things."
"Good."
Soma looked up.
Igor leaned forward.
"Then learn them. But don't spend the next five years punishing yourself because you weren't prepared for a fight you had no business being in."
"I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me."
"Then understand something, brat."
Igor pointed toward the training yard.
"Those guards out there? They chose this work. Samantha chose to protect you. Jaspar chose to take responsibility for that convoy."
His voice softened.
"You don't honor their choices by treating yourself like a burden."
Soma looked down.
"Then how do I honor them?"
Igor smiled faintly.
"By becoming someone worth following."
Soma sat quietly.
The words settled into him.
Then he looked at his old mentor.
"I still want to get stronger."
"Of course you do."
"Much stronger."
"Good."
"Strong enough that someday you won't be able to knock me into the dirt."
Igor stared.
Then began laughing.
"Now you're talking absolute bullshit."
Soma grinned.
"We'll see."
Several days later, Simon finally opened his eyes.
The news spread through Locke Manor faster than any official announcement.
Serena cried.
Sean shouted loud enough to wake half the servants.
Scott nearly knocked over a physician trying to reach the medical wing.
And Preston embraced his second son so fiercely that the healers threatened to remove the Supreme Archduke from the room.
Soma arrived last.
Simon lay propped against several pillows, exhausted but awake.
His eyes followed Soma as he approached.
"Well," Simon murmured.
Soma stopped beside the bed.
"Well?"
"You look terrible."
Soma stared.
Then laughed.
"Glad to see the stabbing didn't improve your personality."
Simon managed a faint smile.
"Unfortunately."
Soma pulled a chair closer.
For several seconds, he simply looked at his brother.
Then he reached out and carefully hugged him.
Simon seemed surprised.
But after a moment, he returned the embrace.
"Welcome back," Soma whispered.
Simon closed his eyes.
"Good to be back."
Neither spoke of the dungeon.
Not yet.
There would be time for questions.
Time for explanations.
Time to understand what had happened.
For now, Soma was simply grateful that his brother was alive.
By the end of the week, the healers finally cleared Soma to begin light activity.
Samantha was walking again, though she still favored her injured leg.
Simon remained under careful observation.
And the investigation into Melissa and the Red Distraction continued beyond the manor walls.
The danger hadn't vanished.
Neither had Soma's questions.
But something inside him had changed.
He no longer believed that becoming stronger meant simply mastering a sword or learning the right spell.
Strength was knowledge.
Preparation.
Responsibility.
And the willingness to stand beside people when they needed help.
One evening, as he stood on the balcony overlooking Highmere, Preston joined him.
The Citadel rose above the city, its impossible height disappearing into the clouds.
"Five years," Soma murmured.
His father looked down.
"Until your Awakening."
Soma nodded.
"Do you think I'll be ready?"
Preston considered the question.
"I think you'll work harder than anyone expects."
Soma smiled faintly.
"That's not an answer."
"No," Preston agreed. "It's a promise that we'll help you prepare."
The boy watched the city below.
Somewhere beyond its beautiful walls were people he'd only just begun to understand.
Families.
Workers.
Adventurers.
Children who'd never held a sword.
People who deserved to return home safely.
Soma rested his hands against the balcony railing.
"Then I suppose we'd better get started."
Preston smiled.
"Indeed."
And beneath the immense shadow of the Citadel, the next chapter of Soma Locke's life quietly began.