The next morning came with aching muscles and blistered hands.
I woke to the familiar shout of the inn's wife banging on the storage room door. My body felt heavy, but when I clenched my fists and stretched my arms, I noticed something different.
I didn't tremble as much as yesterday.
After cleaning dishes and sweeping the dining hall, I stepped out back to chop firewood again. The innkeeper stood nearby, sharpening a kitchen knife against a whetstone. He glanced at me with a small nod.
"Ready for round two?" he asked.
I picked up the axe, feeling its weight settle into my grip. My blisters stung as I tightened my hold. I took a deep breath, raised the axe, and brought it down.
Thwack.
The blade split the log cleanly in half. The innkeeper let out a quiet whistle.
"Looks like you're getting the hang of it, Haru."
I paused mid-swing. "…Haru?"
He tilted his head. "The old lady at the vegetable stall said she spoke to you yesterday. She told me your name was Haru."
My mind went blank for a moment. Then I remembered – the old woman had asked for my name as she handed me the sweet bun yesterday. I hadn't answered, lost in my confusion and shame. Had she… given me that name herself?
"Haru… it suits you," the innkeeper said, wiping his knife with a cloth. "Spring is a good name. It carries warmth and hope. Besides, calling you 'boy' all the time feels wrong."
Spring… warmth… hope.
I stared down at my hands. Small, blistered, and shaking with fatigue. But they were human hands. Haru's hands.
Dagahra…
That name echoed like a distant storm in my mind. The name of a king feared by demons and Dragonewts alike. The Crimson Storm King who bathed battlefields in fire and lightning.
That name belonged to someone who died.
I clenched my hands tighter around the axe handle.
"Thank you," I murmured softly.
The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head. I raised the axe again and swung it down with all my strength.
Thwack.
Another log split cleanly in two. My arms burned, my shoulders ached, but deep inside… I felt a small flame of determination flicker to life.
If Dagahra was the name of the king who brought only fear and death… then Haru would be the name of the human who learned warmth, bonds, and what it truly meant to live.
I would live as Haru from now on.
"Oi, Haru!" The inn's wife shouted from the kitchen window. "After you're done with the firewood, go to the market and buy a sack of rice. We're out."
"Yes, ma'am!" I replied.
The innkeeper chuckled under his breath. "Looks like she's already treating you like family."
Family…
That word stung in a place I didn't even know existed within me. In my past life as Dagahra, I ruled countless demons and Dragonewts, but I never had a family. Only subordinates, worshippers, and traitors.
I finished chopping the last log, stacked them neatly by the wall, and washed my face in the water barrel. As I walked towards the village market with a small pouch of coins the innkeeper handed me, I felt the cool morning breeze brush against my skin.
Children ran past me, laughing and shouting about some upcoming harvest festival. Merchants shouted their prices, and farmers carried crates of fresh vegetables and herbs.
For the first time since my rebirth, I felt… alive.
Haru…
I whispered the name in my mind again.
This is my name now.
I glanced at the blue sky above, dotted with drifting white clouds.
Dagahra, the Crimson Storm King, died under the Hero's holy sword.
Haru was born under the light of this world's gentle dawn.
And from now on… I will live this life fully. No matter what awaits me beyond this peaceful village.