Joan laid on the bed, panting with exertion from the tests with her magic. She wanted to punch the past hero in the face, though she was pretty sure that would just break her hand again. He would have deserved it.

She had been one of the greatest, most powerful warriors and mages in the world, with only the chosen able to compete with her. Now? She could only barely cast spells that were so weak she had often abandoned them within a few days of learning. Even some of those made her feel as if she just tried to lift a wagon over her head. Her enhancement magics could only be used at the lowest possible levels, otherwise they threatened to break her body. How did people live like this? How had she not noticed just how weak others were?

Then again, her sword had snapped after a single swing. Perhaps this was just what she was like now. She’d accepted this risk. She knew she’d be weaker. So why did it upset her so much?

She then gave a soft, gentle sigh and stared at the roof. “Because now I know better,” she said softly to herself. Back at the academy she’d acquired so much praise, been told how talented and amazing she was. Even if she wasn’t a full mage, the fact she could pick up so many spells so easily had been considered amazing, she was better than some full mages who had graduated. Her skill and finesse with the blade had made her the target of idolization from students who should have been her senior. Even her skill with a bow was considered masterwork. There were even rumors that she wasn’t a human at all, that she was actually an elf who had been practicing for decades prior. A silly rumor that anyone who had actually seen an elf would have easily known was impossible, but still.

By all accounts she WAS incredible, logically she knew that. But now she knew how amazing she COULD have been. It felt like she was struggling to lift a dagger with both hands, after spending lifetimes swinging around great swords in each hand without breaking a sweat. Even worse, she was distressingly aware of the strength and capabilities of the seven. She wouldn’t be able to do anything but slow them down.

She punched the bed and glared at the roof. “Idiot!” she yelled at herself, cursing her past lives. She’d devoted so much time, energy and training to getting the most power out of her techniques and spells, but almost nothing on what she would do if her limits were reduced to a mere fraction. If she had spent more time developing weaker abilities, she…

Probably would have died even more times than she already had. She gave a soft sigh. Well, even if she hated it, things WERE different now. She could no longer be that person or have access to that power, no matter how much she whined about it. No creature could. That was what made the hero and chosen so valuable. It was the reason she had been allowed this opportunity. She had to accept who she was now and move on with her life.

Until this one ended and she had to start over again. She lifted a hand to her chest and gave a soft whimper. How many times had she already died in this life? How many more times would she die before she got it right? What if it had all been impossible from the beginning? What if things couldn’t be set right no matter how hard she tried?

She froze, her body going still. Someone was coming. She looked around for a weapon of some sort, then shook her head. She was a guest, nobody was going to try and hurt her. That thought alone shocked her, considering where she was. After a few moments the door to the servant’s tunnels opened silently and one of the servants appeared, carrying a tray. Her eyes locked with his and he froze.

“My apologies,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was already awake,” she said, eyeing the tray. It had a bowl of red soup on it and a mug filled with a light purple drink. There was also a small meat pie.

“I see,” he said, placing the tray on the desk besides her. “Her highness wishes you to only eat the pie if you feel you can handle it, please do not push yourself. If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed politely before turning to leave. She was all too familiar with this kind of behavior, she imagined he probably would have preferred she hadn’t noticed him until he had already walked in and given her the instructions. Well, it was too bad for him. The fact she didn’t let him sneak up on her gave her a small sense of success. Even if she was still so pathetically weak.

Besides, she needed answers so she couldn’t allow him to just leave. “Wait,” she said. “Who’s room is this?”

“Yours, my lady,” he said firmly.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. Wonderful, apparently he thought he was clever. She wondered if he thought she was too stupid to realize this was obviously not a normal guest room. Then again, she supposed not many people ever had the ability to compare. “Funny, but no. This isn’t a guest room and it’s not an infirmary. So where am I?”

“This room is, normally, the chamber of the queen’s personal attendant.”

Joan’s eyes went wide. The room of the queen’s personal servant? That didn’t make any sense. “What? Why would she put me here?”

The man looked uncomfortable now, his gaze drifting away from her. “I couldn’t guess, my lady.”

“You can’t guess, or won’t say?” she asked, her own eyes narrowing on him.

“I’m merely one of the servants. It’s not my duty to question her highness’ motivations.”

Joan gave a soft sigh of annoyance. Servants almost always knew WHY or WHAT their master was doing, but good ones kept their mouths shut. She found it unlikely that he would give any more information than that to some random child the queen gave such favor to. “Okay, then. Who’s clothes are these?”

The way the man cringed told her that she hit the target dead on. “My lady, I should--”

“Who’s are these?” she asked again, her hands gripping her knees. The man didn’t answer, though. She had to take a gamble. “I’ll ask the queen if I must.”

He gave a sharp intake of breath. “Please don’t, my lady.”

“Then who’s?”

“The late Princess Raya’s.”

Joan stared at him for a moment, though he refused to meet her gaze. She tried searching through her memories, but she couldn’t remember a Princess Raya. She measured her response for a moment, trying to decide if she should risk expressing her ignorance. Finally she decided it was worth it. She needed information. “I’ve never heard of her, or any princess from the queen. Who was she?”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The man sighed once more, a look of defeat covering his face. “I’m not surprised. She passed away many years ago during the destruction of Batwatch Valley.”

“Destruction? It… o-oh,” she whispered. “My apologies. You may go.”

He gave a brisk nod before turning to leave, the door closing silently behind him.

Joan lay back down, staring at the ceiling. Batwatch Valley had been a surprise to most of them. In most of her memories it happened soon after the appearance of the Troll of Reflections. Once the valley had bordered the edges of the demon lands, but as the kingdom expanded further into those lands and started to take back the stolen territory the threats of the area had been believed to no longer exist. Or, at least, that the demons had become weaker and could no longer hold them. Unfortunately servants of the Inferno God had infiltrated the area, performing a ritual that had nearly destroyed the area. She had, of course, managed to stop them. But the losses had been incredible, she’d only ever managed to stop the ritual in the midst.

But that was who she had been, the hero. Now she tried to go through her memories of this life, to recall any bits and pieces she had heard. The valley had fallen, the territory was now controlled by the demons. Even that felt like she was trying to pull the small pieces of memories out from under a sea of past lives.

She gave a soft, annoyed sigh before rolling onto her side. The valley left a lot of unpleasant memories. In all her lives she’d still been young and not aware of the dangers she faced. Arrogant. Well, more arrogant than she was later. Fresh off the destruction of the troll. If she had been more cautious, more careful, more aware of the dangers, it might have been solved with far, far less deaths. It had never been something she enjoyed discussing in any of her lives.

She hadn’t realized there were any members of the royal family in the valley during that time, let alone the queen’s daughter. She never even knew the queen had a daughter. She then glanced down at the clothing she wore. They were a tiny bit worn and faded, but not really in bad condition. They must have been stored quite well.

Once again she cursed her past lives. She was still missing so much information she should have known. If only she had focused just a bit more on the kingdoms politics. Instead she’d only cared about what monster she’d slay, legend she’d live up to or glory she’d attain.

It was shortly after the events at Batwatch Valley that she had met the queen face to face, as the valley was what brought Hardwin into her life and the appearance of the hero to everyone’s attention. Though it shamed her to admit it, in most of her lives her mind had been more focused on meeting the ‘queen who was as beautiful as she was kind’. She let out a groan, gripping one of the pillows and holding it against her face. On more than a few occasions she had openly flirted with the queen. Had she REALLY been so daft as to have flirted with a woman who had just lost her child? Why hadn’t anyone warned her?

She held the pillow tighter when she realized that somebody had probably tried, but she had likely been so focused on her own glory that she had ignored them.

She had been such an idiot. Perhaps this was what her final punishment would be for her failure. A thousand lifetimes of remembering every single mistake she made, now that she lacked the strength to fix any of them. She shoved the pillow away and was thankful that nobody could possibly know the shame and humiliation she now felt. That and hunger, but at least the latter she could deal with. She gripped the tray and brought it to her lap.

The soup was tomato, very thick but nothing solid. She gave a light chuckle when she lifted the bowl and brought it to her lips, slowly sipping from it. It brought back happy memories of Neia fretting over her after she’d been impaled by the dark knight through the stomach. Apparently such wounds should have been fatal, if not for Neia’s healing magic and her own enhanced abilities, they would have been. Korgron had always handled wounds like that far better. Probably because she was used to surviving things that would have killed a normal human. In the end, all the wound had caused was some nausea for a few days. Nothing but soup and wine for her.

Tears started to flow down her cheeks. How had she ruined everything? How could she possibly save everyone when she was like this? She was so weak now. She felt like a newborn babe trying to fight monsters. The Troll of Reflections was something she should have been able to dispatch with ease, easily one of the weakest of the beasts she’d have to contend with before her journey was over, If she had been older and stronger could she had faced it? Could a normal human faced it? How could she possibly be the hero who saved everyone if she couldn’t even defeat something as pathetic as that?

The tears flowed down her face, mixing with the soup. She slowly set it down, only half empty. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

Two days ago she had been worried that her uniform wasn’t clean enough and that her commanding officer would object to how she held her sword. That she’d end up disappointing them and be sent back to the academy or, worse, turned out on the streets. Now the fate of the world rested on her shoulders and she couldn’t even face down one of the weakest minions of the Inferno God. It was impossible.

“Stupid idiot,” she whispered to herself before laying back on the bed, hitting the mattress with both fists. She let out a yelp when the tray jumped and sloshed some of the drink from the mug, but fortunately nothing tipped over. “You were an idiot. You’re probably STILL an idiot. Why would you decide to make me a peasant? An orphan on top of it?” she asked herself. “Do you have any idea the kind of difficulties I’ve endured for the last twelve years? Did you not think that all those years of lives wasted would be enough to help me? You had to make me live this terrible life too?”

As much as she wanted to scold herself for the decisions she’d made, she knew it was a waste of time. She’d chosen to be an orphan, because she didn’t want to be tied to any parents and feel the struggle of losing them. Of risking them. To feel that pain again.

But because of that, she’d spent so long not knowing if anyone would care about her, or even if someone could. She thought she’d spend her whole life scrounging for food or dead in a gutter.

Common birth, because she was afraid that she’d end up thinking herself too superior, again, and miss the issue at hand.

But instead she had spent her life believing she was lower than dirt, struggling to find any relief.

Her life had only now begun to finally come together. She had a full stomach every night, people who respected her. She was seen as a talented, useful individual. Talent so strong it was impossible to ignore. Sure, she was still a child and many only saw that. But some saw more. She was even hoping to one day become a commander. Now the whole world was thrown on her shoulders and she felt like she was being crushed.

“I can’t even get mad and go ‘I never asked for this’. I literally did,” she whispered, the words like acid in her mouth. “Are you watching this now, oh Three Sisters?” she asked. “Is this funny? Another pawn in your game?” She slowly sat up and picked the tray up, putting it back on the counter. “Does it feel good to watch the great hero who believed herself invincible cry like a small child? To be helpless and weak?” She picked up the small meat pie and brought it to her lips, biting down on it hard.

To her surprise, it was still warm and filled to the brim with soft meat, so soft it almost melted in her mouth. None of those pockets of air or indistinguishable ‘something’ that most the meat pies she’d eaten in her life had held. It was probably the best one of her current life. But not of her lives. Still, it helped.

“I want my friends,” she whispered. “All six… no. All seven of them. I want them to be here. I want to tell them about everything. I want them to believe me. I don’t want them to fight or argue or hate me. I just want things to be fixed.”

But before any of that, she had to find them. At least this time she wouldn’t have to hunt the world over in a terrible search for the worthy. She supposed she’d need to find the weapons, first. Hardwin had drawn his sword. That meant the weapons had to have been found. Perhaps the queen had them stored somewhere. Probably hid them away, like she’d done. She’d just have to get the information from them somehow.

Joan slowly filled her stomach with the small pie before laying back down. It wasn’t going to be easy, though. He likely still had his doubts. The queen, nicer or not, was bound to be suspicious as well. She could hardly expect them to show the most powerful relics in the world to a strange orphan just because she asked.