“Where Am I… And Who Am I, Really?”

  The first thing he noticed was the quiet.

  Not silence.

  Something deeper.

  Like a conversation had been paused mid-sentence… and no one ever came back to finish it.

  Samuel’s eyes fluttered open.

  The ceiling looked familiar.

  But not known.

  He blinked again, slower.

  The light that filtered in through the window was soft and golden, but it felt far away. Like it belonged to a memory, not a morning.

  He tried to sit up.

  A sharp pulse behind his eyes knocked him back down.

  Not pain.

  Just… wrongness.

  A misalignment.

  Like he’d been tilted sideways inside his own body.

  He swallowed.

  Frowned.

  Tried to speak.

  “…Wh…”

  The word broke in his throat.

  Not because of weakness.

  Because he didn’t know what came next.

  He glanced to his side.

  Someone had placed a blanket over him. Folded neatly.

  A hand-sewn pattern in the stitching.

  He didn’t recognize it.

  > [Codex: Active…]

  …Sync unstable…

  …Monitoring…

  The voice sounded thinner than before. Faint. Like it was calling across a canyon instead of from within his mind.

  The Codex wasn’t glitching.

  It was hesitating.

  Then came the second voice.

  Velara.

  Usually crisp. Balanced. Calm.

  Now?

  Soft. Cautious. Scared.

  “…Samuel…?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Because he wasn’t sure that name belonged to him anymore.

  The memories were there. Flickers.

  A village.

  A beast.

  A woman with silver hair.

  A name—Eliara?

  But they sat like dust on glass.

  He could see them, but they didn’t move when he reached for them.

  “Where… am I?” he whispered.

  His voice sounded strange to him. Smaller.

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  Like it had traveled too far to belong here.

  > [Codex Note: Identity anchor compromised. Partial loop trauma detected. Soul memory retention: 74%.]

  Velara: “You’re safe. You’re… recovering.”

  He turned his head toward the window. Shadows spilled across the floor—longer than they should be.

  They moved too slowly.

  The light outside felt staged. Scripted.

  He squinted.

  Was the sun… wrong?

  “What is this place?” he asked.

  More to himself than anyone else.

  “Why do I feel like I’m not supposed to be here?”

  Velara didn’t answer right away.

  When she did, her voice cracked for the first time.

  “…Because you aren’t.”

  He looked down at his hands.

  They were too small.

  Too soft.

  He didn’t recognize the curve of his fingers.

  Or the way his shadow clung to him like it knew a secret he’d forgotten.

  He pulled the blanket tighter.

  Not because he was cold.

  Because he didn’t want to feel how little of him was left.

  “Smile Like You Remember.”

  The door creaked open.

  Samuel flinched instinctively—too fast, too small a reaction—but covered it by gripping the blanket tighter around him.

  Eliara stepped through first.

  Her hair was pinned back messily, shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there before. Her smile broke the moment she saw him awake.

  Tears welled instantly.

  But she blinked them back, fighting to look strong.

  “You’re awake…” she whispered.

  Like she didn’t dare believe it.

  Dorian followed, slower, heavier in the doorway.

  His shoulders were tense, his sword still belted to his hip out of habit.

  He didn’t say anything.

  Just looked at Samuel with eyes that were too full for words.

  Samuel forced his lips into a curve.

  A smile.

  It felt like pulling a thread through scarred cloth—unnatural. Wrong.

  But he managed it.

  Because if he didn’t, they might break too.

  “Morning,” he croaked.

  His voice was smaller than he wanted it to be.

  But Eliara lit up like the sun had risen just for her.

  She rushed to his bedside, kneeling, brushing her hand against his hair like she was checking if he was real.

  “You had us terrified, little one…”

  She laughed. Broke. Sobbed. Smiled again.

  All in one breath.

  Samuel leaned into her hand when she cupped his cheek.

  Not because it felt safe.

  Because it felt expected.

  > [Codex Status: Monitoring Emotional Feedback]

  [Soul Fracture Level: Stabilizing – False Integrity Simulation In Progress]

  Dorian knelt beside them, his hands rough and calloused, trembling slightly as he rested a palm on Samuel’s tiny shoulder.

  “You scared the life out of us, boy.”

  “But you fought. You lived.”

  Samuel smiled again.

  A little wider this time.

  A little more hollow.

  Velara whispered from deep inside his mind:

  “They see you. But not all of you.”

  “Not the part still bleeding.”

  Eliara tucked the blanket closer around him, like that could fix everything.

  Like warmth and love could knit a soul back together.

  “Rest easy, Samuel,” she murmured, pressing her forehead against his.

  “You're safe now.”

  He didn’t correct her.

  Because part of him still wanted to believe it, too.

  Even if the Codex pulsed a quiet warning beneath his skin.

  Even if Velara’s heartbeat didn’t match his own anymore.

  Even if the name Samuel felt like a coat worn by someone else.

  He smiled.

  Nodded.

  And pretended.

  Because for now—pretending was all he had left.

  "You Were Never Enough."

  They left the room softly.

  Dorian first, heavy boots against creaking wood.

  Eliara lingered a moment longer, eyes shining, whispering something too soft for him to catch before closing the door behind her.

  Click.

  Silence.

  Real silence.

  Samuel waited.

  Five seconds.

  Ten.

  Until the sound of their footsteps faded completely.

  Only then did he let the smile fall off his face like a rotten mask.

  He sagged back into the bed, hands shaking under the covers.

  > [Codex: Passive Monitor Active. Emotional Resonance Critical.]

  Velara: “…Samuel…”

  She sounded worried.

  But even her voice felt distant now—as if it had to cross an ocean of grief just to reach him.

  He didn’t answer her.

  He couldn’t.

  Because the moment he was alone,

  the moment the warmth left with them,

  everything cracked open again.

  The thoughts hit hard.

  You’re weak.

  You lied to them.

  You couldn’t even stay conscious long enough to protect them.

  You had to be saved. Again.

  You’re still just a worthless body. A breathing mistake.

  Samuel clutched the blanket tighter, the thin fabric offering no protection against the voice inside his head.

  Not Velara’s.

  Not the Codex.

  His own.

  “I thought... I thought it would be different this time.”

  He said it out loud.

  The words felt ugly and raw.

  His chest tightened.

  His breath hitched.

  “I thought if I tried hard enough, if I fought hard enough, I could finally—"

  His voice cracked.

  He swallowed hard.

  “—be someone worth saving.”

  But he wasn’t.

  Not really.

  Not in his old life.

  Not here either.

  Because no matter what world he woke into,

  no matter what magic dripped from his hands,

  no matter how many second chances he was given—

  he was still him.

  And that would never be enough.

  The tears came hot and fast after that.

  Silent.

  Embarrassing.

  Unstoppable.

  He bit his lip so hard it split just to keep from sobbing aloud, from making noise that might drag them back into the room.

  He didn’t deserve their worry.

  Didn’t deserve their smiles.

  Didn't deserve them.

  Velara’s voice tried to reach him again—gentle, aching.

  “Samuel. You are not broken because you feel this way.”

  “You are proof that feeling broken does not mean you are.”

  He pressed his fists into his eyes until the stars bloomed behind them.

  But he couldn’t press hard enough to make the guilt stop echoing.

  The weight of a thousand failures—both remembered and forgotten—pressed down on his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

  “I hate this.”

  “I hate this feeling.”

  “I hate... myself.”

  The words tasted like blood and ash.

  But they were honest.

  Maybe the only honest thing he had left.

  He curled tighter under the blanket, trying to be small.

  Trying to disappear.

  Trying to be someone else.

  The Codex flickered once behind his eyes.

  Velara whispered again.

  Not as a guide.

  Not as a relic.

  But as someone who had once broken the same way.

  “Hate it if you must.”

  “Hate yourself if you must.”

  “But live anyway.”

  Samuel didn’t answer.

  He just buried his face into the pillow.

  And tried.

  Tried.

  Tried.

  To still be Samuel in the morning.