The village of Gray Hollow was slowly waking up.
The sun had only just begun to rise above the mountains when the first sounds of the day filled the air.
Chickens pecking at the dirt.
An axe striking wood.
The creaking of a cart rolling along the muddy road.
For anyone else, it was a normal morning.
For Caelan, everything was a memory.
He walked slowly along the main dirt road of the village, his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn shirt. The ground was damp with morning dew, and the smell of wet earth mixed with smoke drifting from the chimneys.
Everything was calm.
Caelan observed the crooked wooden houses.
The poorly repaired fences.
The dry fields stretching beyond the village.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing ever changed.
A man passed by carrying a sack of grain.
"Morning, Caelan."
Caelan barely lifted his gaze.
It was Harven, the miller.
In his first life, that man had died in the third year of the disaster.
In his fourth life, he had been devoured by something that came out of the forest.
In his tenth life, soldiers of the kingdom had executed him when food began to run out.
Caelan responded with a small nod.
"Mm."
Harven continued walking, not noticing anything strange.
Caelan kept moving.
People greeted him occasionally.
He responded just enough.
Not because he was rude.
But because he saw no reason to talk much.
All of them were dead.
They just didn't know it yet.
A group of children ran down the dirt road.
They laughed as they chased a skinny dog that barked endlessly.
One of the children tripped and fell into the dust.
The others burst into laughter.
Caelan watched them pass.
He remembered some of them.
One would die of hunger during the second winter.
Another would be dragged into the forest by a creature of the night.
Another would simply disappear.
The world was cruel.
It always had been.
But what was coming would be worse.
Much worse.
Caelan continued walking until he reached a small wooden house at the edge of the village.
It was an old building.
The roof sagged slightly, and the wooden boards of the walls were worn by time.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The smell of boiling soup filled the room.
A man sat at the table, slowly sharpening a knife.
He looked up when Caelan entered.
He was a large man with a rough beard and a face hardened by years of labor.
His uncle.
"You're up already," the man grunted.
Caelan closed the door.
"Yes."
The man set the knife down on the table.
"I thought you were going to sleep all day again."
Caelan didn't respond.
His uncle watched him for a few seconds.
"If you're going to live under my roof, you could at least help a little," he finally said.
Caelan walked over to the table.
He looked at the knife.
Well sharpened.
In one of his lives, that same knife had saved his uncle.
In another, it hadn't been enough.
In another…
his uncle had frozen to death during the first winter of the disaster.
Thirty-seven times.
Caelan had counted.
His uncle frowned.
"What?"
Caelan realized he had been staring too long.
He looked away.
"Nothing."
The man snorted.
"Strange kid."
He picked up the knife again and continued sharpening it.
The scraping sound of metal against stone filled the room.
Caelan looked around the interior of the house.
The table.
Two chairs.
The fireplace.
He knew it all.
He had lived in this house too many times.
He had argued with his uncle.
Worked beside him.
Tried to convince him to leave the village.
It never worked.
In most lives, his uncle died here.
In this same village.
In this same house.
Caelan let out a quiet breath.
"I'm heading out."
His uncle didn't even look up.
"Be back before dark."
Caelan opened the door.
"Yeah."
But they both knew that was a lie.
He stepped back onto the dirt road.
The sun was higher now.
The village was fully awake.
A small market had begun forming in the square.
Two women were arguing over the price of vegetables.
A blacksmith worked outside his forge.
The sound of his hammer echoed through the street.
Caelan walked without hurry.
There was nothing he needed to prepare.
Nothing he needed to warn anyone about.
He had tried those things in other lives.
The result had always been the same.
The disaster came.
People died.
The world collapsed.
Changing small details had never altered the ending.
It only changed the path toward it.
As he walked, he heard a nervous voice.
"Has anyone seen Tomas?"
Caelan stopped.
A group of villagers stood near the well.
A woman spoke with clear worry in her voice.
"He didn't come back last night," she said.
Another man shrugged.
"He's probably in the forest again."
"That boy spends too much time there."
The woman shook her head.
"No. He always comes back before dark."
Caelan watched them from a distance.
His gaze grew slightly colder.
Tomas.
The miller's son.
In almost every one of his lives…
that boy had been the first to disappear.
The forest held ancient things.
Things that had been there long before the world began to fall apart.
One villager sighed.
"He probably fell asleep somewhere."
Another added,
"Or he went fishing by the river."
The woman didn't look convinced.
"That's not like him."
Caelan turned away.
He said nothing.
He didn't approach them.
In his previous lives, he had run to the forest when he heard that conversation.
He had found the boy.
He had fought the creature.
He had saved the village.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
The final result had always been the same.
The world ended.
Saving small lives never changed that.
Caelan walked toward the edge of the village.
The forest began just beyond the fields.
The trees were tall.
Dark.
Ancient.
The wind moved slowly through their leaves.
In his previous lives, Caelan had taken years to discover the secrets hidden within that forest.
Ruins.
Creatures.
Forgotten things.
This time…
he knew exactly where to look.
He stopped for a moment before entering.
He looked back.
The village was still alive.
People talked.
Worked.
Laughed.
They had no idea what was coming.
Caelan watched them in silence.
In another life, that moment would have made him hesitate.
He would have felt guilt.
Responsibility.
The urge to protect them.
Now he only felt tired.
A deep exhaustion.
"Ninety-nine times…" he murmured.
This time…
he would do something different.
Caelan turned toward the forest.
And began walking between the trees.
The sunlight slowly disappeared beneath the canopy of leaves.
The air grew colder.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Branches cracked under his steps.
Caelan moved forward without hesitation.
After a few minutes, the forest grew denser.
The sounds of the village disappeared.
Now there was only the wind.
And the whisper of leaves.
Caelan stopped in front of a hill covered in twisted roots.
There.
Beneath that hill…
he had found something during his twenty-third life.
Something that had allowed him to survive several years longer.
A small smile appeared on his face.
"Let's begin."
Caelan slowly started climbing the hill.
Because if he wanted to survive the end of the world…
he would need power.
A lot of power.
And this time…
he would obtain it before anyone else.
Much earlier.
End of Chapter 2