Time passes like water overflowing its banks—fast, relentless, and leaving changes in its wake. Days blur into weeks as we settle deeper into life in Mear village, and with each sunrise, I find myself more drawn to this quiet place than I ever thought possible. The peace here wraps around me like a warm blanket, chasing away the cold shadows of my past that still haunt my dreams sometimes.
Cael has grown so attached to Marta that he spends most of his days helping her at the inn—mending chairs, carrying firewood, even learning to bake her famous honey bread. I've caught them laughing together in the kitchen more than once, and the way she looks at him with motherly affection makes my chest feel tight with something I can't quite name. He's found a piece of family here that he never had before, and I'm grateful for it.
Tarrama too has become a true friend—not just someone in our network, but someone I can talk to when the weight of everything becomes too much to bear. She brings herbs to help me sleep through the nightmares, tells me stories of the village's history, and never pushes me to talk about things I'm not ready to share. We sit by the stream on quiet evenings sometimes, just watching the water flow and saying nothing at all—a kind of companionship I never thought I'd be able to have.
The villagers have grown familiar with me now, greeting me warmly when I walk through the square. They know me as Kael—a traveler passing through, helping where I can with repairs or farm work. Only Marta and Tarrama know the truth of who I am, and while I'm grateful for their discretion, guilt gnaws at me sometimes. These good people have welcomed me into their homes, shared their food and stories with me, and I've lied to every single one of them about who I really am.
The issue of the bandit camp being wiped out still comes up in conversations around the village well or over mugs of ale at the inn—but the story that's spread like wildfire is that a massive wild boar, driven from the mountains by hunger, tore through their camp in a rage. The villagers nod along when it's told, pointing to claw marks on trees near the ravine as proof. I've even heard some of the children pretending to be the boar, charging through the square with sticks held like tusks. It's easier this way—letting them believe in a monster of nature rather than one who walks among them in human form.
Cael has never once asked me about it. Not when we find fresh tracks near the village and he sees me studying them with too much focus. Not when the rumors start spreading. Not even when we pass the ravine on our way to the eastern fields and he notices how I avoid looking at the spot where the camp once stood. But I know—from the way he watches me sometimes, from the way he stands a little closer when we're out after dark, from the quiet trust in his eyes—that he knows exactly what I did.
One evening, as we're sitting on the inn's porch watching the sun set over the fields, I finally break the silence that's been weighing on me.
"Why haven't you asked?" I say, my voice quiet enough that only he can hear it. "About the bandits. About what really happened."
He doesn't look away from the horizon, just pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "I'm not in the position to ask a prince what he's doing," he says simply. "You have your reasons for everything you do—reasons I probably wouldn't understand even if you told me."
I shake my head, looking down at my hands. "That's not fair to you. You deserve to know the truth."
Cael turns to look at me then, and his eyes are clear and steady. "The truth is, I don't need to know every detail of what you've done. What I know is this—you shared your meal with me when I was nothing more than a scared servant boy with no one to turn to. You could have ignored me, sent me away, treated me like I didn't matter. But you didn't. That's the moment I pledged my loyalty to you—not to Prince Vernom of Callibean, but to you—the man who saw me as a person worth caring about."
He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and warm. "I trust you, Kael. Or Vernom. Whatever name you want to use. I trust that whatever you do, you do it to protect the people you care about. That's all that matters to me."
I feel something catch in my throat, and I have to look away to keep the tears from showing. For so long, I've seen myself as nothing more than a killer, a monster wearing a prince's face. But here, in this small village, with these good people around me—with Cael looking at me like I'm worth trusting—I start to wonder if maybe there's more to me than that.
As the last light of day fades and stars begin to appear in the darkening sky, I think about all the choices I've made since waking up in Vernom's body. The lies I've told, the violence I've used, the secrets I've kept. I don't know if what I did to the bandits was right or wrong—if there even is a clear line between the two anymore. But I do know that standing here, with a friend by my side and a village that feels like home, I want more than anything to protect this peace we've found.
Even if it means facing the darkness inside me all over again.
The more I grow used to this body, to this life, the more I realize how far I've come from the man I once was. Little by little, day by day, I'm building something different—something I never could have imagined back when I was fighting on Custodian's battlefields, when the only things that mattered were survival and following orders.
I'm starting to see the beauty in life that I'd long since forgotten existed. The way morning light filters through the leaves of the oak tree by the village square, painting patterns on the dirt. The sound of Lila's laughter as she chases butterflies through the wheat fields. The warmth of Marta's honey bread fresh from the oven, shared with friends around a wooden table. These small things—things I would have dismissed as meaningless back then—now feel like treasures I'd give anything to protect.
I've also come to understand that I can't just live for myself anymore. When I first woke up in Vernom's body, all I cared about was surviving, about not throwing my life away like I did before. I told myself I'd never sacrifice for anyone again, that I'd run if I had to and leave kingdoms and people behind to save my own skin. But now I know—if I ran, if I only focused on surviving, I'd lose all of this. And without these moments of peace, these connections to people who care about me, I'd never truly be happy.
There's no escaping what's coming. I know the war between Custodian and Callibean is still years away, but the signs are already there—Custodian's armies moving closer to the border, their taxes growing heavier, their scouts seen more and more often in the villages around ours. Some events are set in stone, things I can't change no matter how much I want to. I know that even with all my knowledge of the future, there will be losses I can't prevent, choices I'll have to make that will haunt me.
But I can't just wait for it to happen either. I can't stay hidden in Mear village forever, enjoying this peace while the world outside prepares for battle. If I choose to live only as the prince who waits, who lets things unfold as they did before, I'll never be able to feel this peace truly—I'll always be looking over my shoulder, always knowing that every moment of happiness is borrowed time.
So I've made my choice. I won't try to change everything—that would be impossible, and likely dangerous for everyone involved. But I will change the things I can grasp, the moments I can reach. I'll use what I know to protect the people I care about, to strengthen Callibean not through war, but through building connections—with villages like Mear, with other kingdoms that might otherwise become Custodian's targets, with people who just want to live their lives in peace.
I'll teach the villagers how to defend themselves without becoming killers, how to store grain for hard times, how to work together so no one is left behind. I'll send messages to Prince Vonce, sharing what I know of Custodian's tactics—not as a rival, but as a brother who wants to keep their kingdom safe. I'll work with Tarrama and our network to spread word of what's coming, to help people prepare not just for battle, but for survival.
It won't be easy. There will be days when I doubt myself, when the old soldier in me wants to take up arms and fight rather than work for peace. There will be moments when I wonder if I'm making things worse instead of better. But every time I look at Cael laughing with Marta, every time Lila runs to show me a flower she's picked, every time the villagers greet me with a smile and a wave—I know I'm doing the right thing.
I may still carry the darkness of my past with me. I may still wake up some nights with the smell of blood in my nose and the weight of blades in my hands. But now I know that darkness doesn't have to define me. I can use it to protect the light—to be the shield that stands between the people I love and the war that's coming.
The road ahead is long and uncertain. I don't know what will happen, whether I'll be able to change enough to prevent the worst of what I remember. But I do know this—I'm no longer running from my past or from my future. I'm ready to face both, to live as Prince Vernom not because I have to, but because I want to. Because this life, with all its challenges and joys, is worth fighting for.