Memories of my former life were becoming increasingly sparse.

It seemed that as I aged in this life, the memories of my current existence were replacing those of my last. Attempting retention over the memories was exhaustingly arduous and often resulted in intense migraines--the kind typically reserved for the days that followed a night’s worth of carousing and libation.

Still, there were times when my current state aligned so perfectly with an event of my former life that my mind would be whisked away and plunged deep into the memory of another world. It occurred rarely enough that I couldn’t anticipate it, but frequently enough that I felt a need to name the feeling. Lucid deja vu. 

I found myself there now: atop a hillock covered in blurred grass, wind rushing through my ears, muted and distorted. My senses felt dulled, my mind both aware that I was immersed in memory and convinced that this was the present. Then, all at once, everything sharpened.

“Your highness,” the captain said, “Are you certain this is wise?”

“Are you questioning my decision?” asked my father in a bored tone.

The captain was immediately flustered. “N-no,” he stammered, “I was simply suggesting-”

“Then shut up.” My father handed a single arrow to me, tiny runes etched along its shaft and a tip carved to resemble a serpent’s head rearing its fangs. “If my son is to be emperor some day, he should learn how to protect his empire.”

How many children--even royal ones--had to defend against invading nations at merely twelve years old? I spared myself the back of his hand and dared not ask aloud.

Across the valley, an army rushed toward us, seeking to invade Zobrus. Rather than thinning our troops on multiple fronts to create a defensive host here, my father decided this could instead serve as a lesson for me and a test of my spellcraft. The opposing general paced behind the advancing force, rallying his men with--what looked to be--a passionate speech, though, at this distance, I couldn’t understand a word.

“Go on, Cronos,” Father said, looking down at me. “Defend my empire.”

I pulled the bowstring back and aimed high. The cry of the encroaching army rose like the roar of a tidal wave, deafening and imminent. I lowered my bow. “Father, I-”

“Another word, and I shall know you to be even more worthless than I suspected.” His eyes never even flinched. “Loose. Your. Arrow.”

I raised my bow high and pulled back as if to pierce the sky. I began to whisper an incantation, and the arrow listened, its runes glowing softly in reply. I let the fletching slip from my fingers and watched as the arrow soared overhead, waiting for it to arc downwards. With one last arcane word spoken, the single arrow suddenly became hundreds and fell upon the charging mass.

The unified roar shattered into cries of anguish and confusion. Those that remained standing couldn’t decide whether to run away or help the fallen back to their feet. It made my stomach twist. As more men got back to their feet, they continued their advance, though at a considerably slower pace this time.

I looked to my father, who stared outward to the onslaught. “Satisfactory. But you’ve missed your mark.”

The general was shouting commands to his men who were scattering around him like insects. My father raised his own bow, inlaid with crystals along its limbs. He drew the empty string back, aimed directly toward the general half a mile away. He loosed and, with a gust of wind, an arrow of silver light as long as a javelin sprang toward his target, striking with flawless accuracy and producing a spray of blood that painted the hillside.

“The key to control, whether over your domain or your foe, is not to simply attack the masses.” Any soldiers still marching toward us quickly turned at the heel in desperate retreat. “It is their will that you must aim for. When man’s will is broken, there is nothing you can’t do.

“There. That should give the heathens pause to their invasion.” Father tossed his bow to the captain as if the artifact were just a piece of junk. “We’re done here.”

Drops of blood had taken to the sky, caught in the wind and sailing across the valley. A crimson droplet splattered against my cheek.

I blinked, and the scene disappeared, a raindrop where the blood had been to take its stead.

“Come on, Crow,” my mother called. “You can do this!”

Looking at the target before me, I wished I had those enchanted arrows now; it certainly would have made this easier. I drew back my arrow, the sharp tip replaced with a cotton ball, and loosed it.

“WHOO! Yay, Crow!” My father cheered as the arrow bounced harmlessly against the round piece of wood, which he slowly maneuvered back and forth with pulley and string. “That’s my boy!” I didn’t even hit the bullseye.

“Yaay, son!” Mother held a parchment banner with words I was still incapable of reading, but judging by her whooping and chanting, I imagined they must have said something akin to Go Crow.

“Look out, Fenn! Here comes Crow, son of Krig, the deadliest archer in the empire!”

“Krig, the rain is coming down,” my mother warned. “Let’s get inside! I’ll make us all some stew.”

Despite their cheering, it was difficult to ignore the dozen arrows lying behind the target that I had missed with prior to my final shot. Still, even while watching me fail over and over, they never stopped cheering.

It was my will to continue that finally landed a hit on the target, but not from fear of what they’d do to me if I failed. My will was made stronger by their cheering and enthusiasm; their love. I wanted to succeed, because my parents weren’t simply praising my results; they had cheered for my efforts along the way.

For everything I had learned in my former life, everything my father had sought to teach me, I couldn’t help but feel relief at just how wrong he ended up being--and surprised that it took me this long to see it.

It made my little heart swell with pride. I dropped the bow and hurried after Mother.

I love you guys.