I woke up screaming.
Not from demons. Not from watching friends die. Not from any of the 127 loops.
I woke up screaming because I'd dreamed of home.
My real home.
Earth. 2067. A world without magic, without demons, without any of this.
Sarah was at my side immediately, her hand on my shoulder. "Marcus? What's wrong?"
I couldn't speak. My throat was raw from screaming. My hands were shaking.
Because I'd forgotten.
127 loops in this world, and I'd forgotten where I really came from.
"Marcus, talk to me," Sarah pressed, genuine fear in her voice.
"I..." My voice cracked. "I remembered. My first life. My real life."
She went very still. "Your real life?"
I sat up, pressing my palms against my eyes. The dream was already fading, but I held onto it desperately—because it was mine, the only thing that had ever truly belonged to just me.
"I wasn't from this world," I said quietly. "I was born on Earth. Twenty-first century. A world with no magic, no demons, no mana cores. Just... normal. Cars, computers, smartphones. I was seventeen. Senior year of high school."
"That's impossible."
"So is dying 127 times and regressing. So is splitting your soul into three knights. So is existing as a temporal anomaly." I laughed, bitter and broken. "Impossible is just Tuesday for me now."
Sarah sat on the edge of my bed, processing. "What happened? How did you... end up here?"
---
**Earth, 2067. Portland, Oregon.**
*I was walking home from school with my friends—Jake and Mira. We'd just finished finals, celebrating the end of senior year. Jake was talking about his college plans, engineering at MIT. Mira was heading to Berkeley for pre-med.*
*"What about you, Marc?" Jake asked, using the nickname only they used. "Still set on that gap year?"*
*"Yeah. Gonna backpack through Europe. See the world before adulting kicks in." I'd been saving for two years, working weekends at a coffee shop.*
*We were cutting through downtown when we heard the sirens.*
*Police cars screamed past, chasing a black sedan that was weaving through traffic like something out of an action movie.*
*"Whoa," Mira breathed. "That's insane."*
*The sedan jumped a curb, careening onto the sidewalk.*
*Straight toward us.*
*I saw it happening in slow motion. Saw Mira frozen in fear. Saw Jake starting to run. Saw the driver's face—young, panicked, desperate.*
*I pushed them.*
*Hard. Both of them. Out of the way.*
*The impact came before I could move myself.*
*Pain. Bright and sharp and everywhere.*
*I was on the ground. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Blood pooling beneath me.*
*Jake was screaming. Mira was crying. Someone was calling 911.*
*"Hang on, Marc! Just hang on!"*
*But I couldn't. I could feel it—life slipping away like water through fingers.*
*My last thought wasn't fear or regret.*
*It was anger.*
*Anger that this was it. Seventeen years. One stupid random accident. All those plans, all those dreams—gone.*
*"This isn't fair," I tried to say. No sound came out.*
*Then darkness.*
*And then...*
*Light.*
*Warm. Blinding. And a voice—deep, resonant, everywhere and nowhere—*
*"An interesting soul. Died saving others. Noble. Selfless. Rare, in your world."*
*"Who—what—"*
*"You were not meant to die today. The drunk driver who hit you—his fate line intersected yours incorrectly. A mistake. The universe occasionally makes mistakes."*
*"Am I dead?"*
*"Yes. But you needn't stay that way."*
*"What do you mean?"*
*"I offer you a choice. Move on to whatever comes next—peace, oblivion, rebirth, whatever you believe. Or... accept a second chance. A new life. A new world. One where your actions might matter more than a random street corner."*
*"What world?"*
*"One where magic exists. Where heroes and demons wage eternal war. Where your selflessness could save millions—or where you could die trying, again and again, until you learn what it truly means to live."*
*"That sounds terrible."*
*"It is. But it is also magnificent. The choice is yours."*
*I should have said no. Should have chosen peace.*
*But I was seventeen and stupid and angry at dying for nothing.*
*"If I go to this world... can I actually make a difference?"*
*"You can try. I offer no guarantees. Only opportunity."*
*"Then yes. Send me."*
*"Very well. But know this—the world you're entering is harsh. It will break you. Repeatedly. You may come to regret this choice."*
*"I already died once. How much worse can it get?"*
*The voice laughed—not unkindly, but knowing. "You'll find out."*
*And then I was falling, falling, falling—*
*Until I wasn't.*
*Until I was crying in a language I'd never spoken, in a body that wasn't mine, in a world I didn't understand.*
*Until I was Marcus Vale. Newborn son of Margaret and Thomas Vale.*
*Thomas. My father in this world. Who abandoned us when I was three because he couldn't handle the responsibility.*
*I remembered him, vaguely. Dark hair like mine. Grey eyes. A weakness for alcohol and running away from problems.*
*Margaret raised me alone. Worked three jobs. Sacrificed everything.*
*And I—carrying memories of being seventeen, of Earth, of Jake and Mira and a life I'd never get back—I became the perfect son. Never complained. Always helped. Excelled in school.*
*Because I knew something she didn't.*
*I knew what sacrifice looked like from both sides.*
---
"I grew up remembering both lives," I told Sarah, the words coming out slowly. "Earth and here. Marc from Portland and Marcus from Valenhall. For years, I thought I was insane. Hallucinating. That the memories of Earth were just fever dreams."
"When did you know they were real?"
"When I turned sixteen the first time. When the system window appeared. When I realized this world had rules like an RPG game from my old world." I looked at my hands. "That's when I knew. This was real. Magic was real. And somehow, I'd been given a second chance."
"And then you died."
"And then I died. Fighting bandits who attacked my mother. I was untrained, weak, stupid. I died protecting her, just like I died protecting Jake and Mira." I laughed without humor. "The entity was right. I was selfless to the point of stupidity. Some things carry across lifetimes."
Sarah was quiet for a long moment. Then: "What were they like? Jake and Mira?"
"Jake was brilliant. Engineering prodigy. Could take apart any machine and improve it. Mira was pre-med track—wanted to be a surgeon, save lives. Both of them got into their dream schools." I smiled, sad and distant. "I wonder if they made it. If they graduated. If they remember me."
"I'm sure they do."
"It's been..." I did the math. "138 years for them, if time runs parallel. They're probably dead now. Everyone I knew on Earth is dead."
"Marcus..."
"It's fine. I've had 127 loops to process it. Mostly." The lie tasted bitter. "I just... I hadn't dreamed of Earth in decades. Loops. Whatever. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be normal. To be Marc, not Marcus. To worry about finals instead of demon lords."
"Do you miss it?"
"Every day. Every loop. Every time I die and wake up sixteen again, part of me wishes I'd chosen peace instead of this." I met her eyes. "But I can't go back. That world, that life—it's gone. This is all I have now."
Sarah took my hand. Her fingers were warm, alive. Real. "For what it's worth... I'm glad you chose this world. Even if it's hell. Even if you've suffered. Because if you hadn't..." She paused. "I wouldn't have met you. In any timeline."
Something in my chest tightened.
"That's a low bar for gratitude. You've died in forty-two timelines because of me."
"And I've lived in others. Those count too." She squeezed my hand. "Besides, in twelve of them, we fell in love. That has to mean something."
"It means I have terrible taste in complicated relationships."
"Says the boy who split his soul into three knights."
"Fair point."
We sat there in silence, her hand in mine, while the dawn light slowly crept through the window.
"The dream," I said finally. "Of Earth. Of school. I was so happy in it. Walking home, talking about stupid normal things. No demons. No wars. No destiny." I looked at her. "I haven't felt that kind of simple happiness in 127 loops. Maybe longer."
"Then maybe," she said softly, "you need to create new simple happiness. Here. In this world. With people who actually exist in this timeline."
"That's terrifyingly optimistic coming from you."
"I'm a princess. Optimism is in the job description."
"Pretty sure the job description is 'look pretty and marry advantageously.'"
"That's the old job description. I'm writing a new one. Current draft includes 'kick demon ass' and 'keep traumatized regressors from spiraling.'"
Despite everything, I smiled. "How's that working out?"
"Mixed results so far. But I'm persistent."
"I've noticed."
The bells tolled 5 AM. Training time.
"Celeste is going to be late again," Sarah said, standing and stretching.
"She's always late."
"Should we start without her?"
"No. She needs to learn punctuality. Lives depend on it."
"You're very hard on her."
"She's powerful and undisciplined. That combination gets people killed."
Sarah headed for the door, then paused. "Marcus?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For telling me about Earth. About Marc. About who you were before all of this."
"Why are you thanking me?"
"Because now I know you better. The real you. Not just the regressor who's died 127 times, but the boy who saved his friends on a street corner. The boy who chose to come here even when he could have chosen peace." She smiled. "That boy deserves to be remembered too."
She left before I could respond.
I sat there alone, thinking about Marc from Portland who died at seventeen.
Thinking about Marcus from Valenhall who'd died 127 times and counting.
Wondering if there was any difference anymore, or if I'd lost myself somewhere between the loops.
"You haven't lost yourself," Mordain's voice echoed in my mind.
"How do you know?"
"Because we're you. If you'd truly lost yourself, we wouldn't exist. We'd just be hollow shells of power."
"Maybe we are."
"We're not," Selene said. "We're annoying and sarcastic and deeply traumatized. Those are very human traits."
"Comforting."
"We're not here to comfort you," Azrael added. "We're here to remind you that you're still fighting. Still trying. Marc from Earth saved two people and died. Marcus from Valenhall has saved thousands across 127 loops. That has to count for something."
"Does it?"
"Yes," all three said in unison. "Even if you can't see it yet."
I stood, pulled on training clothes, and headed for the door.
Behind me, the room was empty except for shadows and memories.
Ahead of me, two students waited to learn how to survive a world that wanted them dead.
And somewhere between the past and future, between Earth and Aethermoor, between Marc and Marcus—
I kept walking.
Because that's what you did when you'd died 127 times and still hadn't learned to quit.
You kept walking.
Again and again and again.
Until eventually, maybe, you found something worth staying alive for.