The fever faded, but it left something behind.

  Samuel couldn’t name it exactly. It wasn’t pain. More like… awareness. A hum under his skin, like his body was a vessel and something inside had just started to stir.

  He began noticing things.

  The way the shadows curled unnaturally beneath certain trees. How the wind stilled every time he stared at the cracked tile above the hearth. How his father’s hand would linger near the hammer hanging from his belt whenever someone knocked on the door at night.

  Something was coming.

  And Samuel felt it long before it had a name.

  That morning, Ulaz Village woke earlier than usual.

  A merchant caravan had arrived—two covered wagons pulled by thick, horned beasts and flanked by armored escorts. Samuel watched from Eliara’s arms as people gathered in the square, bartering, gossiping, smiling in ways that felt like masks.

  There were no radios. No news broadcasts. No letters, unless someone rode a full day west to the city.

  So when a caravan came, it wasn’t just trade—it was information. The outside world condensed into gossip and rumor.

  Eliara spoke with the baker’s wife near the well. Samuel, half-draped in a blanket, caught fragments of speech.

  “Bandits to the north.”

  “War at the border, maybe.”

  “Someone saw a dragon’s wing in the clouds last month—swore on it.”

  Most of it was nonsense. But some wasn’t.

  Because Samuel saw the guard.

  One of the caravan escorts. Dressed in partial plate, scar over one eye. He wasn’t buying. He wasn’t talking. He was watching. And when his gaze swept over Eliara—

  Samuel’s tiny hands balled into fists before he even understood why.

  The man looked at her like she was… familiar.

  And then he looked at Samuel.

  And something glitched.

  Just for a second.

  > [ECHO CODEX: Interference Detected.]

  [Analyzing signature… Matching memory fragment…]

  [Error: Timestamp mismatch.]

  Samuel’s vision split—literally.

  A flicker. A flash. The guard’s face… warped. Not evil. Not monstrous. Just wrong. Like the Codex showed him someone else’s version of this moment. Another loop. Another path.

  He blinked—and it was gone.

  The guard turned away.

  But the system whispered one last thing.

  > [Memory Anchor Identified: “The Hollow One.”]

  Eliara carried him home without noticing his tension. She hummed a lullaby—soft, almost sad—and placed him gently in his cradle before starting dinner.

  Samuel stared at the wooden beams overhead.

  What had he just seen?

  Was it a warning? A fragment from a future that hadn’t happened yet—or a past he’d already erased?

  The system was acting stranger lately. Less predictable. More… aware.

  He’d thought it was a tool. A system.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  That night, Dorian returned with a quiet look in his eye.

  “Merchant’s guard asked about you,” he said while cleaning his hands.

  Eliara froze. “What did he want?”

  “Nothing,” Dorian replied, but his tone said everything. “Just said you looked familiar. That was all.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Eliara said nothing. She stirred the pot slower than usual.

  Samuel watched them both from his cradle, his breath shallow.

  She had looked scared. Just for a second.

  Dorian turned and glanced at Samuel, then lowered his voice.

  “He’s safe,” he said, almost to himself. “Doesn’t matter who he looks like.”

  Samuel didn’t know what that meant.

  But the Codex did.

  > [New Thread: “The One They Remember.”]

  [Progression locked behind TRUTH POINT 01.]

  [Requirement: Survive the next loop.]

  And that night, as rain whispered across the windows, Samuel dreamed of a shadow standing behind a guard’s eyes—

  —and smiling.

  The house was quiet after dinner.

  Too quiet.

  Eliara’s hands moved with practiced rhythm as she cleaned, but her shoulders were tighter than usual. Her humming had stopped. Her eyes lingered too long on the door. Every creak of the wood made her glance up, just a little too fast.

  Dorian sharpened one of his tools by the hearth, the rasping sound filling the silence. Samuel lay nearby on a padded cloth, watching them with wide, restless eyes.

  He didn’t understand everything—but he understood tension.

  Whatever that guard had said, it hadn’t left this room.

  Later, Dorian stepped outside. Said he was checking the coop. But Samuel saw the way he slipped the small hatchet into his belt.

  Eliara knelt beside Samuel and adjusted his blanket. Her fingers paused on his chest, hovering like she was afraid to let go.

  “You don’t know what any of this means yet,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “And I hope to the stars you never do.”

  He blinked at her, heart pounding.

  Because he did know. Not the details—but the fear in her voice? That was universal.

  She wasn’t scared of the guard.

  She was scared he might be right.

  The fire dimmed. Eliara lit a single oil lamp and carried Samuel upstairs to the loft—where he usually didn’t sleep.

  It was warmer here. More hidden.

  She placed him in a woven cradle tucked against the wall and sat beside him on the floor, back pressed to the boards, knees pulled to her chest.

  She looked like she hadn’t sat like that in years.

  “Your father thinks I’m overreacting,” she said softly, voice barely audible above the rain. “He thinks Ulaz is safe. That we’re too far from the old roads to be noticed.”

  She leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling beams.

  “But I know better. I’ve seen what men like that bring with them.”

  A pause.

  “I just wanted to raise you quiet. Away from all of it.”

  Samuel’s fingers twitched. He reached out, weakly, and brushed the tips of her arm.

  She looked down, smiled faintly, and took his hand.

  It was nothing. A tiny movement.

  But her eyes welled up.

  “Still think I’m imagining it,” she whispered. “That you’re just a clever baby with quiet eyes.”

  She looked right at him now.

  “But sometimes… sometimes I swear you understand.”

  He did.

  He just couldn’t tell her.

  That night, the Codex appeared not as a system—but as a presence.

  It hummed faintly beneath Samuel’s skin. Soft blue light flickered at the edge of his vision.

  Then, just as sleep crept in, the interface bloomed open—silently, like a flower unfolding in the dark.

  > [Proximity Warning: Threat Signature Logged]

  [Guard 01 marked as “Watcher Class” — potential memory fragment carrier.]

  [Suggestion: Observe. Do not engage.]

  He wasn’t sure if the system was being cautious—or afraid.

  Because there was another line. One that hadn’t shown up before.

  > [Note: Soul Thread anchors detected in nearby individuals.]

  [If they die, they will not return with you.]

  Samuel’s blood turned to ice.

  Not because of the warning.

  But because of what it implied.

  Eliara and Dorian were not part of the system.

  If he died and looped… they wouldn’t come with him.

  He could lose them.

  Permanently.

  In the cradle above a quiet village, a child didn’t sleep.

  Not because he was afraid of the dark.

  But because he’d finally found something to live for—

  —and now, he was terrified to lose it.

  It didn’t hit him all at once.

  It came in fragments. Quiet thoughts.

  Tiny, sharp-edged things that drifted in and out of the back of his mind like stray leaves caught in a breeze.

  “If I die… I could go back.”

  “If something happens to them… maybe I could fix it.”

  He didn’t say the words, obviously. Couldn’t. But the thought was there.

  The idea.

  The possibility.

  Like a loaded gun hidden in his crib.

  Samuel lay there, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling beams, and felt something cold settle into his chest.

  He was already thinking about it.

  Not in fear. Not as a last resort.

  As a plan.

  A solution.

  His baby body didn’t tremble—but something inside him did.

  That wasn’t how he used to think. Not even at his worst. Back on Earth, in that gray apartment, surrounded by dust and silence, he’d never once thought of death as something useful.

  Now?

  It was part of his system.

  A mechanic.

  A lever he could pull.

  He hated that.

  He hated how easy it was to start treating death like a save point. A restart.

  But worse than that…

  He hated that it made him feel safe.

  Because he knew what that kind of thinking led to.

  It started small—"I’ll just try again."

  Then it became routine—"I’ll die once more to get it right."

  Then it became obsession—"I have to die, or they’ll suffer."

  And eventually…

  Eventually, you stopped valuing the life in front of you.

  Even if it wasn’t just your own.

  A creak from the stairs below. Eliara shifting in her sleep.

  Dorian’s boots near the door. Still within reach of the hatchet.

  Safe. For now.

  But Samuel could feel the thread tightening. The system watching. The story turning.

  He’d been gifted a second life.

  And already—just months in—he was planning how to lose it.

  That scared him more than death ever had.

  > [Codex Notice: Mental Flag Logged — “Loop Mentality Recognition”]

  [Monitoring psychological load...]

  [Soul Integrity: 96%]

  “No,” Samuel thought.

  Not this time.

  He wasn’t going to throw away the people who held him, fed him, sang to him in the dark.

  If it came to that—if he had to die to save them—he would.

  But he wouldn’t make that his first thought. Or his fallback plan. Or the crutch he leaned on every time something went wrong.

  Because this life?

  It wasn’t just his to rewind anymore.

  And as the Codex flickered out and the night wrapped around him again, Samuel made his first real promise in this world:

  Live first. Loop last.