Escanor woke up. The cave was cold. The fire was almost gone. He sat and closed his eyes. A memory came. Not Spain. Not the ship. His old life in America.
He saw a small room. Cheap bed. Broken window. Cold in winter. Hot in summer. He saw rent notes on the door. He heard the landlord knocking. He counted money. Never enough.
He remembered the bus. The smell of wet coats. People with tired faces. He stood when seats were full. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He remembered work. Long hours. Grease. Heat. People shouting orders. He remembered a manager with a fake smile. Always angry. Always asking for more.
He remembered the warehouse. Boxes heavy. Dust in the air. Back pain. Hands cut. He wrapped his wrist with tape and kept working. If he stopped, no money. If no money, no rent.
He remembered pay day. He opened the envelope. Too little. Always too little. He paid rent. He paid bus pass. He bought cheap food. Nothing left. He remembered standing in the market. Bread. Milk. Eggs. He had to put something back. He felt eyes on him. He felt small.
He remembered walking home in the rain. Shoes wet. Socks wet. Holes in his shoes. He sat near the heater and dried them. He remembered hunger. He skipped meals to save money. He remembered rich people on screens. Cars. Houses. Rings. Smiles. He remembered anger. He remembered shame.
He remembered seeing a hotel. Bright lights. A guard at the door. A man his age with clean clothes and a nice watch. The man did not see him. He was invisible. He remembered the word in his head. Weak.
He remembered the last night. Driving home. Rain on glass. Lights in the mirror. A horn. A truck. White light. Pain. Then nothing. Then the beach. Then this life.
Escanor opened his eyes. The fire cracked. He stood. He picked up the sword. He hit a tree. The bark broke. He hit again. The trunk shook. He hit full power. The tree split and fell. He breathed hard. He whispered, "I was weak there. I am not weak here."
He walked to the river. He drank. He remembered counting coins. He looked at the forest. He whispered, "Not here."
He worked. He fixed traps. He carried stones. He lifted logs. He trained. His body was strong. His hands were hard. He smiled a small smile.
He sat by the fire. Stars filled the sky. He whispered, "There I was poor. Here I can be rich. There I was nothing. Here I can be everything."
He lay down. The sword and spear were close. He closed his eyes. His last thought was clear: This time I will rise.