Dawn came too early.
It always did when you actually needed sleep.
I was already at the old training grounds by 4:45 AM, running through warm-up exercises that my body knew by heart after 127 loops. The morning air was cold, crisp, and carried the smell of dew-soaked grass.
Sarah arrived at exactly 5 AM, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee and looking far too awake.
"How are you so functional this early?" I asked, taking the offered coffee.
"Royal training. We start at 5 AM every day from age seven. You get used to it." She took a sip of her own coffee. "Also, I went to bed at 9 PM like a responsible person."
"I'm starting to think you're the only responsible person in this entire operation."
"Someone has to be, and it's clearly not going to be you."
Celeste arrived ten minutes late, looking like she'd crawled out of bed five minutes ago. Her hair was a mess, her eyes had bags under them, and she was carrying what appeared to be yesterday's coffee in a travel mug.
"You said dawn," she grumbled. "Dawn is when the sun comes up. The sun is not up."
"Dawn is the beginning of twilight before sunrise," I corrected. "If I'd wanted to meet at sunrise, I would have said sunrise."
"I hate you."
"Get in line. It's pretty long at this point." I set down my coffee. "Alright. Let's start with basics. Both of you, show me your mana control."
Sarah went first. She held out her hand, concentrating. A small flame appeared in her palm—controlled, steady, about the size of a candle flame. Not bad for someone who'd been training in secret.
"Good. Stable. But you're using too much mana for that output. You're powering a campfire but only producing a candle. More efficiency needed."
"How would I—"
"We'll get to that. Celeste, your turn."
Celeste held out her hand. A massive burst of flame exploded outward, nearly setting a nearby tree on fire before she cut it off, gasping.
"That's..." She was breathing hard. "That's the smallest I can make it."
I looked at Sarah. "See the problem?"
"She has too much power and no control."
"Exactly. It's like trying to water a plant with a fire hose." I turned to Celeste. "Your mana core is huge. Probably C-rank, maybe B-rank. That's exceptional for your age. But you have the control of an F-rank. You're hemorrhaging power constantly."
"I know," she said defensively. "I've been trying to fix it—"
"You've been trying the wrong way. Academy methods are designed for people with normal cores. You need specialized training." I pulled out a small crystal from my pocket—something I'd prepared in advance. "This is a mana-sealing crystal. Not permanent, just a training tool. It'll limit your output to about thirty percent."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is, a little. But so is broadcasting your location to every demon in three counties. Your choice."
She hesitated, then took the crystal. The moment it touched her skin, I saw her mana signature compress, shrink, become manageable.
"That's... weird. I feel constrained."
"You feel normal. You've been operating with no constraints your entire life. This is what control actually feels like." I gestured to both of them. "Now. Hand-to-hand combat. Let's see what you've got."
For the next hour, I put them through basic drills. Stances, footwork, simple strike combinations. Sarah's secret training showed—she had fundamentals, even if they were too formal. Celeste was a disaster, all power and no technique.
"No, no, no," I said, catching Celeste's wild punch and redirecting it past my shoulder. "You're throwing your whole body into every strike. That works maybe once if you catch someone by surprise. In a real fight, you'll be off-balance and dead in three seconds."
"Then how am I supposed to hit hard?"
"You don't need to hit hard. You need to hit smart." I demonstrated, a quick jab that barely looked like it had any force behind it. "Power comes from structure, not strength. Use your skeleton, not your muscles."
"That makes no sense."
"Welcome to advanced combat theory. Nothing makes sense until it suddenly does." I turned to Sarah. "You. Stop being so careful. You fight like you're afraid to hurt someone."
"I am afraid to hurt someone."
"Then you've already lost. Hesitation gets you killed." I moved into her guard, tapping her throat lightly with two fingers. "Dead. Because you paused before committing to your block."
Her face flushed with frustration. "This is harder than I thought."
"Combat is always harder than you think. That's why most people die."
"Very encouraging."
"I'm realistic, not encouraging. There's a difference."
We continued drilling. I corrected Sarah's stance thirty times. I made Celeste run through basic mana-control exercises until she was shaking with exhaustion. By the time the sun was fully up, they were both drenched in sweat and looking at me with varying degrees of resentment.
"Good," I said. "That's enough for today."
"That's enough?" Sarah gasped. "We've been going for two hours!"
"Yes. And tomorrow we'll go for two and a half. Building endurance." I tossed them both water bottles. "Same time tomorrow. Don't be late."
"I'm never late," Sarah protested.
"I was talking to Celeste."
"I was TEN MINUTES—"
"Ten minutes is the difference between life and death in combat. Fix it."
She glared at me but didn't argue further.
As they stumbled off toward the dining hall for breakfast, Luna materialized beside me.
"You're harsh with them."
"I'm preparing them for reality. Reality is harsh."
"You could soften the approach a little."
"In 73 timelines, soft approaches got people killed. Hard training saves lives."
She was quiet for a moment, watching her sister disappear around a corner. "Thank you. For training her. For actually caring, even if you pretend you don't."
"I don't pretend I don't care. I just acknowledge that caring usually ends badly for everyone involved."
"That's the most Marcus Vale thing you've ever said."
"I'm consistent. It's one of my few virtues."
---
Classes that day were mind-numbing.
Advanced Magical Theory with Artemis, who spent the entire two hours being passive-aggressive toward Celeste after yesterday's callout. History of the Empire with Professor Vex, who had a voice that could put insomniacs to sleep. Basic Combat with Professor Hendricks, who showed up drunk and spent the class napping in a chair while students sparred.
I sat through it all with the patience of someone who'd done this 73 times before.
During lunch, I found myself at a table with Sarah, Celeste, and—surprisingly—Raven, who'd invited herself to sit with us.
"So," Raven said, pulling out her ever-present notebook. "Training session this morning. How'd it go?"
"How do you know about that?" Celeste asked suspiciously.
"I know about everything. It's my thing." She looked at me. "You're building a team. Interesting choice, considering you usually work alone."
"I'm not building a team. I'm preventing deaths."
"Same thing."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Because it's true," Sarah said, stealing a piece of fruit from my plate. "You can deny it all you want, but you're collecting people."
"I'm not collecting—"
"Two students you're training. An anomaly who's helping you. A curse specialist who's researching your condition. And a princess who moved into the room next to yours." Sarah counted on her fingers. "That's a team."
"That's a series of unfortunate coincidences."
"Keep telling yourself that."
Raven leaned forward, her dark eyes curious. "Speaking of unfortunate coincidences, I've been researching Loop 96. The one where you defeated Azkaros. Want to know what I found?"
"Not particularly, but you're going to tell me anyway."
"The timeline doesn't make sense. According to official records, Azkaros appeared nineteen years ago. You—or rather, Hero Marcus from a future loop—defeated him. But Demon Lords don't just appear randomly. They need time to regenerate after being banished to their home dimension."
"Your point?"
"My point is that Azkaros shouldn't have been able to attack nineteen years ago. By my calculations, his regeneration period after the Third War should have taken at least thirty years. Which means something accelerated his return."
I went very still. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying someone summoned him. Someone opened a rift and pulled him through before he was fully regenerated. Which explains why you were able to defeat him—he wasn't at full strength."
"And now?"
"Now he's had nineteen years to finish regenerating. Which means when he comes back—and Luna says it'll be in seven years instead of the projected twelve—he'll be stronger than he was in any previous loop."
The table went silent.
"So we're screwed," Celeste said flatly.
"Not screwed," I corrected. "Just facing a more powerful enemy than anticipated. Again."
"You're very calm about this."
"I've died 127 times. I'm calibrated for catastrophe."
"That's deeply concerning."
"Welcome to my life. It's mostly concerning."
Sarah put her hand over mine on the table. "We'll figure it out. We have seven years."
"Seven years to prepare for a continental-level threat that's been regenerating for nineteen years and was summoned early by someone with enough power to punch through dimensional barriers." I pulled my hand away gently. "Forgive me if I'm not optimistic."
"When are you ever optimistic?" Raven asked.
"Loop 43. I was optimistic for about three days before reality kicked me in the teeth."
"What happened in Loop 43?"
"I'd rather not talk about it."
"Was it the loop where you destroyed Valenhall?"
"That was Loop 89. Try to keep up."
She made a note in her book. "Right. Different trauma. My apologies."
I stood, picking up my tray. "I need air. You all enjoy your lunch."
Sarah started to stand. "Marcus—"
"Stay. Eat. I'm fine." I paused. "And Sarah?"
"Yes?"
"Stop stealing food from my plate. You're a princess. You can afford your own lunch."
"But yours tastes better."
"It's literally the same food."
"Is it, though?"
I left before she could logic me into a corner.
---
I found myself on the Observation Deck again, looking out over Valenhall. The city sprawled below, alive with afternoon activity. From up here, it looked peaceful. Beautiful, even.
From up here, you couldn't see the poverty in the Lower District. Couldn't see the factories where people worked themselves to death. Couldn't see the darkness lurking at the edges, waiting to consume everything.
"You run away a lot," a voice said behind me.
I didn't turn. "I prefer 'strategic retreat.'"
Luna joined me at the railing. Today she looked more solid, more real. Either she was expending energy to maintain a stronger presence, or I was getting better at perceiving her.
"You're afraid," she observed.
"I'm realistic."
"You're afraid of caring about them. Sarah, Celeste, even Raven. You're afraid that if you let them get close, they'll die like all the others."
"That's not fear. That's pattern recognition."
"Call it what you want. It's still fear."
I was quiet for a moment. Then: "What was Celeste like? Before you died?"
Luna smiled, sad and distant. "Brilliant. Stubborn. She wanted to change the world through magical research. Thought she could solve every problem with enough study and determination." She paused. "She blamed herself when I died. The accident—the drunk driver hit my car because I was driving her home from a late-night study session. She thinks if she'd just taken the bus, I'd still be alive."
"It wasn't her fault."
"I know. But guilt doesn't care about logic."
"Speaking from experience?"
"I'm an anomaly who exists outside linear time because I couldn't let my sister face the world alone. What do you think?"
Fair point.
"Why did you really seek me out?" I asked. "There are other powerful people. Other potential heroes. Why specifically me?"
"Because you're the only one who's succeeded. In Loop 96, you beat Azkaros. You saved the world. Yes, you died doing it, but you still won. That means you know how to win."
"I got lucky. And even winning, I lost everything."
"Then maybe this time, you win without losing everything. Maybe this time, you let people help carry the burden."
"The burden is mine to carry."
"Says who?"
"Says 127 loops of experience."
"Experience can be wrong. Just because something happened 127 times doesn't mean it has to happen the 128th time."
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe that this time could be different.
But hope was dangerous. Hope led to attachment. Attachment led to pain.
And I'd had enough pain for several lifetimes.
"I should get back," I said. "Need to review combat strategies for tomorrow's training."
"Marcus." She caught my arm, her touch barely there but still present. "Thank you. For taking care of my sister. For not giving up, even when everything tells you to."
"Don't thank me yet. Wait until she survives the demon attack."
"I will. And then I'll thank you again."
She faded, leaving me alone on the deck.
I stood there for a while longer, watching the city, thinking about hope and fear and the thin line between them.
Then I went back to my room, pulled out my notes, and started planning tomorrow's training regimen.
If I couldn't control the future, at least I could prepare for it.
Again and again and again.
Until eventually, maybe, something would stick.
---
That night, Sarah knocked on my door around 10 PM.
"Can't sleep?" I asked, letting her in.
"Nightmares. Not mine—I'm worried you'll have them." She sat on my bed without invitation. "So I figured I'd preemptively prevent them by being here."
"That's not how nightmares work."
"Do you have a better plan?"
"Sleep and hope for the best?"
"Terrible plan. My plan is better." She pulled out a book. "I brought reading material. You sleep, I'll stay up. If you start having nightmares, I'll wake you."
"Sarah—"
"Don't argue. I'm a princess. I'm used to getting my way."
I could have insisted she leave. Could have pointed out that this was inappropriate, that people would talk, that it complicated everything.
Instead, I lay down on my bed while she settled into the chair by my desk.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. If my father finds out I'm spending nights in your room, he'll declare war on your bloodline going back three generations."
"I don't think I have three generations worth of documented bloodline."
"Then he'll improvise. He's creative when he's angry."
I closed my eyes, and I felt safe again.
Not completely. Never completely.
But enough.
Enough to let myself drift off, knowing someone was watching over me.
Knowing that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to face everything alone.
The nightmares came anyway—they always did.
But when I jerked awake gasping, Sarah was there.
She didn't ask questions. Didn't demand explanations.
Just handed me water and said: "Loop 34?"
"Loop 112."
"Ah. The silver-haired mage."
"Yeah."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
"Okay." She went back to her book. "I'm here if you change your mind."
I didn't change my mind.
But knowing she was there helped.
More than I wanted to admit.