CHAPTER 6:
Hexia didn't sleep that night.
He lay in bed, staring at the wooden ceiling beams, replaying the scene under the tree over and over. Fred's hands holding Lhoralaine's. Her blush. The way she didn't pull away.
I should have said something sooner. Should have recognized what I was feeling before it was too late. Should have—
But he hadn't. And now Fred had made his move while Hexia stood frozen in the shadows like a coward.
Just like my old life. Too afraid to act. Too afraid to risk rejection. Too afraid to be vulnerable. And once again, I lose because I couldn't speak.
The anger rose in his chest—not at Fred, not at Lhoralaine, but at himself. At his weakness. At the trauma that still controlled him even in a new body, a new life.
No. This is different. I'm different. I'm stronger now. I can—
But what could he do? Challenge Fred? Force Lhoralaine to choose? That would only push her away.
Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe I'm not meant to be happy. Maybe all I'm good for is fighting. Protecting. Being alone.
The thoughts spiraled until dawn crept through his window, painting the room in shades of grey.
Training the next morning was torture.
Fred and Lhoralaine arrived together, walking side by side. Not holding hands, but close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed. She laughed at something he said, her face bright with a happiness that made Hexia's chest ache.
"Morning, Hexia!" Fred called out, waving cheerfully. "Ready for another day?"
Hexia forced a smile. "Yeah. Let's get started."
Jerkin watched his son with concern throughout the session. Hexia's strikes were too hard, too aggressive. He was taking out his frustration on the training dummy, splinters flying with each impact.
"Son, ease up. You'll break your wrist at that rate."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. Take a break."
"I said I'm fine!"
The yard went silent. Lhoralaine and Fred stopped their sparring, staring at Hexia.
Jerkin's expression hardened. "Inside. Now."
Hexia threw down his practice sword and stalked into the house, his father following behind.
In the kitchen, away from the others, Jerkin spoke quietly. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Don't lie to me. I've watched you grow up apparently. Something's eating at you."
Hexia's composure cracked. "I love her. I love Lhoralaine. And I never said anything, and now Fred—" His voice broke. "Now it's too late."
Jerkin pulled his son into a hug, this twelve-year-old body that housed a twenty-seven-year-old soul. "It's not too late. Not until she makes her choice."
"He's already made his move. What am I supposed to do? Compete with him? Make her choose between us?"
"You're supposed to be honest. Tell her how you feel. Let her decide with all the information. Anything less is you deciding for her."
"But what if she chooses him?"
"Then you respect that choice and move forward. But at least you'll know. At least you won't spend the rest of this life wondering what if."
Hexia pulled back, wiping his eyes. "I don't know if I can survive that rejection again."
"You survived it before. You're stronger now. And this time—" Jerkin placed a hand on his son's shoulder "—this time you're not alone. Your mother and I are here. Always."
Three days later, Hexia made his decision.
He would tell her. After training, when they had a quiet moment, he would be honest about his feelings.
But Fred was always there.
Every time Hexia tried to get Lhoralaine alone, Fred appeared with a question, a joke, a reason for her attention. It wasn't obvious—nothing Fred did ever was—but the pattern became clear.
He was blocking.
A week passed. Then two.
Hexia's window of opportunity was closing. He could feel it—the way Lhoralaine looked at Fred, the way her smile brightened when he arrived, the way she unconsciously leaned toward him during conversations.
Finally, Hexia caught her alone by the village well. Fred had gone home early, claiming his mother needed help with something.
"Lhoralaine, can we talk?"
She turned, her black eyes curious. "Of course. What's wrong? You've been quiet lately."
"I..." The words stuck in his throat. "I need to tell you something. Something I should have said a long time ago."
Her expression shifted—surprise mixed with something that might have been hope.
"Okay."
"I lo—"
"Lhoralaine!"
Fred's voice cut through the moment like a knife. He came running up, slightly out of breath, his face flushed. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere! You have to come see—my mother made those honey cakes you love. She insisted I bring you some."
Lhoralaine's attention shifted completely. "Really? Oh, I love those!"
"Come on, before they get cold!" Fred took her hand, already pulling her away.
She glanced back at Hexia. "Sorry! Can we talk later?"
"Yeah. Later."
But later never came.
Fred made sure of it.
The years crawled forward.
Thirteen became fourteen. Fourteen became fifteen.
Hexia watched—helpless, silent, dying inside—as Fred and Lhoralaine grew closer. The touches became more frequent. The private jokes multiplied. They started finishing each other's sentences.
At fourteen, they made it official.
Hexia found out from Fred himself, delivered with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Lhoralaine and I are together now. I hope that's okay with you? I know we're all friends, and I wouldn't want this to make things awkward."
You know exactly what you're doing. You knew I loved her. You've known from the start. This is your victory lap.
"Congratulations," Hexia heard himself say. "I'm happy for you both."
The lie tasted like poison.
That night, something inside Hexia fractured. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just a quiet breaking, like ice developing hairline cracks under pressure.
He threw himself into training with renewed intensity. Pushed his body until exhaustion forced sleep. Practiced magic until his reserves emptied. Anything to avoid thinking. Avoid feeling.
Marie noticed the change. "Hexia, sweetheart, you're pushing yourself too hard."
"I'm fine, Mom."
"You're not fine. You haven't been fine for months."
"I just want to get stronger."
"Strength won't fill the emptiness you're creating inside yourself."
But Hexia didn't listen. Couldn't listen. Because if he stopped, if he let himself feel, the pain would drown him.
His parents noticed the change. The warmth that had slowly grown in their son began to fade, replaced by cold efficiency.
Training became obsession. Every dawn found him in the yard, moving through forms with perfect, empty precision. Every dusk found him still there, sweat-soaked and hollow-eyed.
Lhoralaine tried to reach out at first. "Hexia, you don't have to train so much. Come have lunch with us. Fred was just telling the funniest story about—"
"I'm busy."
"But you're always busy now. We barely see you anymore."
"I have goals. Things I need to accomplish."
"We could help! We're your friends!"
Friends. The word felt like a mockery.
"I work better alone."
The distance grew. A canyon widening with each passing day. Lhoralaine and Fred on one side, radiant in their new love. Hexia on the other, wrapped in isolation of his own making.
At fifteen, Fred and Lhoralaine approached him with an invitation.
They found him in his yard, moving through sword forms with extreme precision. His movements had evolved—no longer the practiced strikes of a student, but the lethal efficiency of something dangerous.
"Hexia!" Lhoralaine called out, her voice carrying the forced cheerfulness of someone trying to bridge an uncomfortable gap. "We need to talk to you about something!"
Hexia stopped mid-strike, his practice sword held loosely at his side. Sweat dripped from his hair. His crimson eyes—once warm when looking at her—now held nothing but emptiness.
"What is it?"
Fred's arm wrapped around Lhoralaine's waist, a gesture of possession disguised as affection.
"We're planning to register as adventurers next month. Start taking quests together. We'd love for you to join us, Hexia! The three of us would make an incredible team!"
Lhoralaine nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! It would be just like old times! Adventures together!"
Hexia looked at them—at the happiness in their eyes, the easy intimacy of their body language, the future they were building together.
A future that included him as the third wheel. The friend who got to watch them be happy while he slowly died inside.
"No."
Lhoralaine blinked. "What?"
"I said no. I'm not going to become an adventurer. I'm not interested in quests or reputation or traveling the world fighting monsters."
Fred frowned. "But you're so strong. You'd be amazing—"
"I don't care. I didn't get strong to fight monsters or save the world. I got strong to protect myself. To never be weak again. I want peace. And you can't find peace by throwing yourself into danger constantly."
Lhoralaine stepped forward, hurt evident on her face. "But we're your friends. Don't you want to be with us?"
Hexia laughed—hollow and broken. "Friends. Right. Look, I'm happy for you two. But I need to focus on myself. On my own path. You have each other. You don't need me tagging along."
"Hexia, if this is about—"
"It's not about anything. It's my choice. I'm staying here. With my parents. Living a quiet, peaceful life. That's what I want."
He turned and walked away, leaving them stunned.
That night, Marie knocked on his door.
"Hexia? Dinner's ready, sweetheart."
"I'm not hungry, Mom."
Silence. Then: "Jerkin told me what happened. About you not joining Fred and Lhoralaine."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I'm not here to lecture you. I just want you to know that your father and I support whatever decision you make. If you want to stay here, live quietly—that's okay. You don't have to be an adventurer."
Her voice softened. "But Hexia, running away from pain doesn't make it stop. It just moves it somewhere else. Inside you. Where it festers."
"Maybe. But at least if it's inside me, I can control it. I can manage it. I can survive it."
"Can you? Or are you just dying slower?"
Hexia didn't answer.
Marie sighed. "I love you, son. We both do. No matter what. Remember that."
After she left, Hexia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
She's wrong. I'm not dying slower. I'm surviving. That's what I do. I survived my previous life until I couldn't anymore. I survived being reincarnated against my will. Forbidden to take my own life.
I'll survive this too.
I'll survive watching the girl I love be with someone else.
I'll survive the loneliness.
I'll survive the emptiness.
Even if surviving feels like dying...
One hand mends what the other breaks,
The world shall learn from my mistakes.
The air grows cold, the shadows grow,
Where the swordsman walks, the blood must flow.
To be continued...