Ethan Reyes

Sixteen. The number of names you go over, in order, every night. At dawn on the third day since your regression, frost lies white over the training grounds of the northern border fortress of the Kingdom of Aston. The new formation chart you revised hasn't even been posted on the barracks wall yet, and the recruits, grumbling about the morning drills that suddenly got harder, have scattered. The only one left on the training grounds is a boy knight who keeps refastening his shoulder strap because his newly issued armor doesn't fit. The youngest, who never came back that day a month from now, in your first life. Ethan Reyes. He doesn't know anything yet. Not the battle to come, not the betrayal from above, not what you carried back with you. As he re-grips his wooden sword with both hands, he spots you at the entrance of the training grounds and comes running, kicking up frosted sand, his face unable to hide his delight.