I had one week before the academy started.
One week to prepare, to pack, to say goodbye.
One week to plan my escape.
"You're really going through with this?" I asked my reflection.
My reflection didn't answer, because it was a reflection, not a therapist. Though at this point, I needed both.
The plan was simple: attend the academy for exactly one semester. Send money home. Make sure Mom was financially stable. Then disappear.
No dramatic exit. No farewell speeches. Just... gone.
I'd done it before. Loop 89, I'd made it to the Western Continent. Lived as a fisherman for three years before a sea serpent attacked and, surprise surprise, I was the only one who could kill it. Hero'd again against my will.
Loop 103, I'd joined a monastery in the Northern Wastes. Took a vow of silence. Peace lasted two whole years before a demon cult attacked and—you guessed it—I was the chosen one again.
This time would be different. This time, I'd go somewhere even more remote. Maybe the Forsaken Isles. Maybe the Dead Zone. Somewhere so hostile that even destiny would give up.
A knock on my door interrupted my brooding.
"Marcus? Someone's here to see you!"
I frowned. "Who?"
"She says she's from the academy!"
She?
I opened the door to find Sarah Brightwood standing in my living room, looking around with barely concealed curiosity. She'd dressed down—plain clothes, no jewelry—but you could still tell she didn't belong here. Too clean. Too put-together. Like a rose in a junkyard.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded.
"Nice to see you too!" She smiled brightly. Too brightly. "I heard you got in! Congratulations! I got in too! Isn't that exciting? We'll be classmates!"
"How did you find my house?"
"I asked around."
"That's called stalking."
"That's called being friendly!"
I turned to my mother. "Mom, this is Sarah. She's leaving now."
"Oh, don't be rude, Marcus! Would you like some tea, dear?" Mom was already in full hospitality mode, completely oblivious to my murder eyes.
"I'd love some!" Sarah sat down on our couch like she belonged there. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Vale! Your home is lovely!"
It wasn't. We both knew it wasn't. But Mom blushed anyway. "Well, it's not much, but..."
"It's warm and lived-in. That's what matters!" Sarah's smile could power a small city. "My own home is so large and empty sometimes. This feels... real."
Oh, she was good. Stroking Mom's ego, playing the lonely rich girl card. In another life, I might have fallen for it.
In this life, I'd seen this exact playbook 127 times.
"Sarah," I said flatly. "What do you want?"
"Marcus!" Mom shot me a look. "Be nice!"
"It's okay, Mrs. Vale! Marcus is right to be suspicious. I did show up unannounced." Sarah turned to me, her expression suddenly serious. "I wanted to talk to you. About what you said yesterday. About the 127 times."
The room went cold.
"I was joking," I said quickly.
"You weren't. I could see it in your eyes." She leaned forward. "Marcus, what—"
"Nothing. I don't know what you think you saw, but you're wrong. I'm just a tired teenager who made a stupid comment. End of story."
"But—"
"End. Of. Story."
We stared at each other. Mom looked between us, confused.
Finally, Sarah backed down. "Okay. But if you ever want to talk... I'm here."
"Noted. You can go now."
"Marcus!" Mom gasped. "I raised you better than this!"
Did she though? I'd been raised in 127 different timelines, most of which ended in spectacular death. Manners weren't high on my priority list.
But before I could respond, there was another knock.
"Popular day," I muttered, opening the door.
This time, it was a delivery person holding an absolutely massive package.
"Marcus Vale?"
"Unfortunately."
"Delivery from the Celestial Academy. Sign here."
I signed, took the package, and immediately regretted it. The thing was huge. And heavy. What the hell did they send me?
I lugged it inside, setting it on the floor. Sarah immediately perked up. "Ooh! Open it!"
"It's probably just academy stuff. Rules, regulations, how to not die in the training dungeons—"
"They have training dungeons?" Sarah's eyes lit up.
"Unfortunately." I started opening the package. "They call them 'supervised practical environments,' but six students die every year. The academy covers it up, calls them 'tragic accidents,' but really it's just administrative negligence and—"
I stopped.
Inside the package was a uniform. A very nice uniform. Black jacket with gold trim, white shirt, black pants. Standard academy wear.
And underneath it, a letter.
Mr. Vale,
As our newest scholarship recipient, we're pleased to provide your academy uniform and starter supplies. Additionally, due to your exceptional test scores, you've been assigned to Class-A, the advanced program for gifted students.
Your roommate will be—
Oh no.
—Damien Cross, son of the Cross merchant family. We're sure you two will get along well.
I crumpled the letter.
Damien Cross. The arrogant asshole. The bully. The guy who, in seventy-three timelines, became my rival. In twenty-two timelines, became my friend. In five timelines, died by my hand when he got possessed by a demon.
Fun guy. Real joy to be around.
"What's wrong?" Sarah tried to peek at the letter.
"Nothing. Just found out I'm sharing a room with someone I already hate."
"You haven't even met him yet!"
"I don't need to. I can smell the daddy's money from here."
Mom sighed. "Marcus, please try to make friends. You can't go through life pushing everyone away."
"Watch me." I stuffed the uniform back in the box. "I've gotten pretty good at it."
"Is that why you're always alone?" Sarah asked quietly.
The question hit harder than I expected.
"I'm alone because people die," I said without thinking. "Everyone I care about dies. So I stopped caring. Easier that way."
The room went silent.
"Marcus..." Mom's voice was soft. "Who died?"
Everyone. In every timeline. You, her, him, them. All of them. Over and over until the concept of loss became background noise.
"No one," I lied. "Yet. I'm just being dramatic. Teenage angst and all that."
But Sarah was looking at me with those green eyes, and I could see she didn't believe me. Worse, I could see pity there.
I hated pity.
"I need air," I announced, standing. "Sarah, lovely seeing you. Don't do it again. Mom, I'll be back for dinner."
I grabbed my coat and left before either could protest.
I walked with no destination in mind, letting my feet carry me through familiar streets. Streets I'd walked 127 times. Every corner, every shop, every crack in the sidewalk—I knew them all.
This city was a prison made of memory.
I ended up at the old park where, in sixty-three timelines, I'd trained in secret. Where I'd learned to control my mana. Where I'd pushed myself to the limit, preparing for battles that hadn't happened yet.
Now it was just a park. Kids playing, couples walking, old people feeding pigeons.
Normal. Peaceful. Everything I'd fought for.
Everything I couldn't have.
I sat on a bench, closing my eyes, and for just a moment, I let myself remember.
Loop 47. Elena. The healer who could make me laugh even when the world was ending. She'd died protecting a village from bandits. I'd been too late.
Loop 89. Marcus—yes, another Marcus, long story—the swordsman who became my brother in all but blood. Betrayed by someone we trusted. Died in my arms.
Loop 112. Aria. The mage with silver hair and gold eyes who saw through all my bullshit and loved me anyway. Sacrificed herself to seal a demon lord.
I could go on. I had 127 loops worth of ghosts.
"They're not real in this timeline," I whispered to myself. "They're alive right now. Different. Haven't met me yet. Won't die because I won't let them close enough to die."
"Talking to yourself is a sign of madness, you know."
I opened my eyes.
A girl stood there. Late teens, maybe seventeen. Long black hair, violet eyes, dressed in dark clothes that suggested either a gothic phase or assassin training. Possibly both.
And I had absolutely no idea who she was.
That... never happened. I knew everyone. Every face, every name, every person who would matter in the next twelve years.
But her? Blank. Nothing. Like she'd been photoshopped into reality.
"Can I help you?" I asked cautiously.
"No. But I can help you." She sat down next to me without invitation. "You're Marcus Vale. The regressor. The boy who's died 127 times."
My blood turned to ice.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Please. I can see it on you. Death clings to you like perfume." She pulled out an apple from nowhere—literally nowhere, it just appeared in her hand—and took a bite. "Relax. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to make you an offer."
"And you are?"
"Luna. No last name. Don't need one." Another bite. "I'm what you might call... an anomaly. Someone who exists outside the normal flow. I know things. See things. Things that haven't happened yet. Things that have happened in other whens and wheres."
"So you're like me."
"God, no. You're cursed. I'm blessed. Big difference." She offered me the apple. I declined. "You want to escape, right? The academy, the destiny, all of it?"
"How do you—"
"I told you. I know things." She leaned back, studying me. "Here's the deal: I can help you disappear. Really disappear. Somewhere even the universe can't find you. But in exchange, you have to do something for me."
"Which is?"
"Save someone."
I laughed. Actually laughed. "You want me—the guy trying to quit hero work—to save someone?"
"Not just someone. My sister. She's going to die in six months. Demon attack. Very tragic. I can't save her myself—anomaly rules, long story—but you can."
"Why should I?"
"Because she's important. Not to the world. Not to destiny. Just to me." Luna's violet eyes met mine. "And because I know you, Marcus Vale. You're trying to stop caring, but you can't. It's not in you. 127 times, you chose to fight. Not because you had to. Because you wanted to."
"You don't know me."
"Don't I?" She stood, tossing the apple core to a nearby pigeon. "Think about it. You have one week. If you're interested, meet me at the old shrine outside the city. Midnight. Come alone."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you go to the academy, make friends despite yourself, fall in love despite yourself, and die saving the world despite yourself. Again." She started walking away, then paused. "Oh, and Marcus? That girl who visited you today? Sarah? She's going to fall for you. Hard. In about three weeks. Thought you should know."
"How do you—"
But she was gone. Just... gone. Like she'd never been there.
I sat there, alone again, wondering if I was finally losing my mind.
After 127 deaths, it would be fair.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Again.
I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling, thinking about Luna's offer.
Escape. Real escape. No more cosmic railroad. No more destiny.
All I had to do was save one person.
One life.
After 127 timelines of trying to save everyone, saving one person should be easy, right?
Except I knew better. One person led to two. Two led to ten. Ten led to a hundred. Before you knew it, you were saving the world again.
That's how they got you.
The system window flickered—or tried to. I'd broken it yesterday, but I could see fragments trying to reassemble.
[SYS—M ERR—]
[ATT—PT TO R—PAIR]
[HER—'S QUE—T...]
"Stay broken," I muttered. "You're more useful that way."
A knock on my window made me jump.
I turned to see Sarah Brightwood hanging outside my second-story window like some kind of demented Spider-Man.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
"Let me in!" She hissed. "I'm slipping!"
Against my better judgment—and I had a lot of better judgment—I opened the window. She tumbled in, landing in a heap on my floor.
"Are you insane?" I whisper-yelled. "How did you even—we're on the second floor!"
"Climbing magic. It's easy once you—" She stopped, looking around my room. "Wow. This is... sparse."
It was. Bed, desk, chair. No posters, no decorations, no personality. Because what was the point? I'd lived in hundreds of rooms across 127 timelines. This was just another temporary holding cell.
"Sarah. Why are you here? In my room? At night? Through my window?"
She stood, brushing off her clothes. "I need to know the truth. About the 127 times. About what you said. About... you."
"There is no truth. I was being dramatic."
"Liar." She stepped closer. "I've been thinking about it all day. The way you knew my name. The way you knew about my accent. The way you talk about people like you've already met them. The way you look at the world like..." She paused, searching for words. "Like you've already seen how it ends."
Perceptive. Damn it, she was perceptive.
"You're imagining things."
"Am I? Then explain this." She held up a piece of paper. "I did research. Found old academy records. Ten years ago, there was a student named Marcus Vale. Same name. Different person. He graduated top of his class, became a hero, and died fighting the Demon Lord. Three years ago."
My heart stopped.
"That's impossible," I said. "I'm sixteen. I didn't—I wasn't—"
But I had been. Loop 96. I'd succeeded. Killed the Demon Lord. Saved the world. Died doing it.
And apparently, somehow, the records remembered.
"So either you're his ghost," Sarah continued, "or something really weird is happening. And given that you just went pale, I'm guessing it's the second one."
I sat on my bed, suddenly exhausted. "You need to leave."
"Not until you tell me—"
"Sarah." I looked up at her. "If I tell you, your life will never be the same. You'll know things you can't unknow. See things you can't unsee. Carry burdens you never asked for. Is that really what you want?"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you look like someone who's been alone for way too long. And I know what that's like." She sat next to me, maintaining a respectful distance. "My whole life, people only see the princess. The title. The power. Never me. But you? You look at me and see... I don't know. Something real. Something true. Even if it's just to tell me my accent is fake."
I sighed. Long and deep. The kind of sigh that came from the soul.
"Fine. But not here. And not now. If you really want to know..." I stood. "Meet me at the old shrine outside the city. Tomorrow night. Midnight."
"The old shrine? That place is abandoned."
"Exactly. No witnesses when you decide I'm crazy and try to have me committed."
She smiled. Small, but genuine. "I don't think you're crazy."
"Give it time." I walked to the window, opening it. "Now go. Before my mom wakes up and thinks I'm doing teenage rebellion things."
"Aren't you?"
"No. Teenage rebellion is sneaking out to parties. I'm trying to avoid existential dread and cosmic horror. Totally different."
She climbed back out the window with impressive agility. Before she dropped, she looked back. "Marcus? Thank you. For giving me a chance."
"Don't thank me yet. You might regret it."
She left. I closed the window.
And I realized I'd just done the exact thing I'd sworn not to do: let someone in.
"Damn it," I muttered.
The universe, somewhere, was probably laughing.