Shadows of a second life

The journey to the royal capital began at first light.

Elias and Elaric left Willowbrook under a pale, washed-out sky. The village gates closed behind them with a heavy, final thud that seemed to echo longer than it should have. The carriage provided by the chief was modest but sturdy, its wooden frame reinforced and its wheels well-greased. Two reliable horses pulled it at a steady pace. Inside, supplies were packed with careful efficiency—dried meat, hard bread, waterskins, spare cloaks, and a small collection of defensive tools Elaric had insisted on bringing. The road ahead would take weeks, winding through forests, open hills, and a string of smaller towns before they finally reached the capital.

As soon as the carriage passed beyond the outer boundary of the walls Elias had raised, he felt it.

A sudden, profound relief washed through him, as if a massive invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For days—weeks, really—he had carried a constant, low-level drain he had never fully noticed until it was gone. His mana pool, which had felt subtly compressed and sluggish, began replenishing at its natural rapid rate. The sensation was almost euphoric. He leaned back against the carriage seat, closed his eyes, and simply breathed.

So that’s what it was, he realized.

All my constructs—the walls, the water channels, the bridges—they were constantly drawing on my mana just to maintain their form. It was so gradual I never registered it as a true cost. Now that I’m away from them… it’s like I can finally breathe again.

He had always known, in theory, that anything shaped directly from raw mana was temporary by nature. Structures of pure magical will could not last forever without sustained support. His recovery rate was exceptionally fast, but given the sheer size of his mana pool, it would still take the better part of a week to refill completely. Even so, the difference between his reserves and those of an average mage was staggering. He estimated that a typical mage possessed something close to 0.0001 percent of what he carried. A fraction of his power, properly applied, could overwhelm most opponents.

A quieter concern followed the relief.

What happens to the walls without me nearby?

The quantity of mana they had been unconsciously draining from him had been enormous. Without his continuous presence, they would eventually begin to degrade. They were not true stone and mortar in the deepest sense—they were an extension of his will given solid form. Still, he reasoned, the residual mana already saturated into the structures should be enough to keep them stable for years. They would hold.

Elaric noticed the change in his son’s posture and the way the tension had left his face. “Feeling better already?”

Elias opened his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. A lot better.”

Elaric’s expression grew more serious as he looked ahead at the road. The early light caught the lines of fatigue and responsibility etched into his features. “The plan is simple in theory and difficult in practice. We need to get the kingdom on our side—or at least force them to listen. We’ll present our case to the royal court: the bandit attack, the local lord’s refusal to send help, the cutoff of supplies, and the ultimatum demanding we tear down our own defenses. But we stay on high alert the entire way. That lord is petty enough to hire assassins rather than face the consequences of his own cowardice.”

Elias nodded in quiet agreement. His mind, however, was only half on the political danger.

The other half remained tangled in the words Elyra had thrown at him the day before.

It’s not like I even loved you. I just did that out of immaturity.

The rejection still echoed with painful clarity. She had been his only real friend outside the family—the one person who had seen him in the months when he still hid in the garden, still raw from the wreckage of his previous life. In some ways he had been closer to her than to his own parents. The sudden coldness, the deliberate cutting of the connection, felt like a blade drawn across something still tender.

I should’ve given in, one part of him whispered.

Maybe things would have been different if I hadn’t kept pushing her away.

The other part answered immediately, cold and absolute.

And then get discarded again? The same way Aiko did it? Publicly. Casually. Like I was nothing? No. Never again.

He made a quiet decision as the carriage rolled forward. When he returned—if they succeeded, if the village still stood—he would try to speak with her again. Not to chase affection. Simply to understand. But the capital was weeks away, and the distance already felt heavier than the physical miles.

Their first stop was the town of Rappa.

The carriage rolled into the modest town as the sun began to sink toward the horizon, painting the streets in long amber light. The same lively energy they had seen on previous visits filled the square—evening traders packing up stalls, travelers seeking rooms, the scent of roasting meat and woodsmoke drifting through the air. They found the Silver Moon Rest without difficulty and secured two small rooms for the night.

After a hot meal of stew and bread eaten mostly in silence, Elaric retired early, citing the long road still ahead. Elias remained in the common room a little longer, staring into the cooling remains of his bowl. The pain in his chest had not fully faded. It sat there like a dull stone, familiar and unwanted.

I’ll fix this when I get back, he promised himself.

I won’t lose another friend the same way I lost everything before.

Outside, the sky darkened. The road to the capital waited beyond the edge of town—long, uncertain, and full of threats both political and personal. Elias finally rose, paid the innkeeper, and climbed the stairs to his room. Determination burned quietly beneath the ache.

Whatever waited in the capital, he would face it.

Whatever waited when he returned to Willowbrook, he would face that too.