Headmaster Aldric's office was exactly what you'd expect from someone who'd run the most prestigious academy in three continents for twenty years: pretentious, expensive, and designed to intimidate.
The walls were lined with books that probably cost more than my mother's house. Magical artifacts sat on pedestals—some functional, some purely decorative. A massive desk dominated the center, carved from wood so dark it was almost black. Behind it, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the entire campus.
And sitting behind that desk, fingers steepled, expression unreadable—Headmaster Aldric.
Not the fat, pompous figure from the opening ceremony. That had been an act. This was the real Aldric: lean, sharp-eyed, A-rank power signature barely contained. Someone who'd reached his position through skill, not just politics.
"Sit," he said.
I sat in the uncomfortable chair across from him. Probably designed that way on purpose. Power dynamics and all that.
We stared at each other for a long moment.
"You flew," he said finally.
"Yes."
"True flight. Not levitation, not wind manipulation. Actual, sustained flight against gravity."
"Yes."
"That's an SS-rank ability."
"Yes."
"You're sixteen."
"Technically."
His eye twitched. "Technically?"
"Long story. Involves reincarnation and temporal mechanics. Probably not relevant to this conversation."
"Mr. Vale." His voice was dangerously calm. "You just challenged a god. In public. In front of hundreds of witnesses. You flew into the upper atmosphere. You summoned three... entities that every professor I've consulted agrees were soul fragments, which is forbidden magic that should have killed you. And you somehow convinced said god to not only spare your life but make you a church consultant."
"That's an accurate summary, yes."
"EXPLAIN."
The word cracked like a whip. Power flooded the room—his A-rank presence pressing down, trying to intimidate me into submission.
I released just enough of my first seal to counter it. Purple-black energy flickered around me, pushing back against his pressure.
His eyes widened slightly. "You're... what are you?"
"Complicated. The short version: I'm stronger than I look, older than I appear, and operating on information you don't have access to. The long version would take several hours and require you to believe things that sound insane."
"Try me."
"Are you sure? Once I tell you, you can't unhear it. And knowing what I know tends to complicate people's lives considerably."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "I've been watching you since you arrived, Mr. Vale. Perfect entrance exam. Training at ungodly hours with students who shouldn't know you exist. Mysterious absences. And now this." He gestured vaguely. "You're either the most dangerous student I've ever admitted, or the most important. Possibly both."
"Definitely both."
"Then yes. I want the long version. And before you ask—this office is warded against eavesdropping, scrying, and temporal observation. Whatever you say stays between us."
I looked at him—really looked. Tried to remember if he'd been an ally in previous loops.
Loop 34: He'd expelled me after the Solaris incident. Hadn't seen him again that loop.
Loop 56: He'd been killed by demons in the first wave. Never got a chance to know him.
Loop 78: He'd helped me, quietly. Provided resources, asked no questions. Died in the final battle.
Loop 96: He'd already been dead before I returned to the academy. Never learned how.
Mixed results. But the ward claim checked out—I couldn't sense any observation magic. The room was genuinely secure.
"Alright," I said. "But you're going to want to sit down for this."
"I am sitting."
"Sit more comfortably, then. This is going to take a while."
I told him everything.
The reincarnation from Earth. Marc dying on a Portland street. The entity's offer. Being born as Marcus Vale in Aethermoor. The first death at sixteen. The regression. Loop after loop after loop, 127 times dying and returning, accumulating power and trauma in equal measure.
The soul-splitting in Loop 84. Creating Mordain, Selene, and Azrael. The cost it had taken, the pain it had caused, the way it had kept me functional when I should have shattered completely.
Loop 96. Defeating Azkaros. Dying anyway. Sarah pregnant with our daughter. The victory that became my greatest failure because I didn't survive to see it through.
The loops that followed. The deterioration. Loop 89 and the destruction of Valenhall. The guilt. The shame. The slow realization that I was breaking, loop by loop, death by death.
And finally, Loop 128. The anomaly Luna. The curse specialist Raven who'd been bound to observe my deaths. The timeline acceleration—Azkaros coming in seven years instead of twelve. The mysterious watcher. The conviction that something was fundamentally different this time.
When I finished, the sun had moved significantly across the sky. My throat was dry. Blood still crusted under my nose from the fight with Solaris.
Aldric sat in silence for a long moment.
Then: "That's the most insane story I've ever heard."
"I warned you."
"It's also probably true." He stood, walking to the window. "I've been alive seventy-three years, Mr. Vale. I've seen things that shouldn't exist. Met people who claimed impossible origins. Witnessed magic that defied every known principle." He turned to face me. "But you? You're something else entirely."
"Is that a problem?"
"That depends. What are your intentions?"
"Survive. Keep people I care about alive. Stop Azkaros when he comes. Break my regression curse before I shatter completely." I shrugged. "Standard apocalypse prevention, nothing fancy."
"And the alliance with Solaris?"
"Pragmatic. He's powerful. Azkaros will target him anyway. Better to have him as an ally than an enemy."
"You're building an army."
"I'm building a chance. There's a difference." I met his eyes. "In Loop 96, I fought Azkaros alone. I won, barely, and died doing it. This time, I'm not making that mistake. I'm gathering everyone I can—students, gods, anomalies, whoever's willing to stand when the time comes."
"And you think that will be enough?"
"No. But it's better than nothing."
He was quiet, processing. Then: "What do you need from me?"
"Excuse me?"
"The academy. My resources. My authority. What do you need?" He walked back to his desk. "If what you're saying is true—and my instincts say it is—then Azkaros is coming in seven years. The academy will be a target. My students will be in danger. So: what do you need?"
I blinked. "You're... helping me?"
"I'm being pragmatic. Which seems to be your approach as well." He sat down. "In Loop 78, you said I helped you. Provided resources quietly. That implies I'm capable of recognizing threats and responding appropriately."
"That's one way to put it."
"So. What do you need?"
I thought about it. What did I need?
"Access to the restricted archives. The real ones, not the student section. I need information on Azkaros—his previous attacks, his patterns, his weaknesses."
"Granted. What else?"
"Training facilities. Better than the old grounds. Somewhere I can push my students without attracting attention."
"The underground complex. It's technically off-limits, but I'll give you clearance." He made a note. "Continue."
"Protection for my mother. She works in the factories. When Azkaros comes, she'll be a target because of me."
"I'll arrange private security. Subtle, but effective." Another note. "What else?"
"The vault. Luna mentioned there's a key hidden here. Something that can break my regression curse."
His expression darkened. "The Trial of Truth. I was wondering when you'd ask about that."
"You know about it?"
"I know it's real, dangerous, and has killed everyone who's attempted it in the last two hundred years." He leaned forward. "The key you're after—it's not just hidden. It's guarded. By a divine trial that judges worthiness. You have to face every truth about yourself, every sin, every failure. Most people break before they even reach the key."
"I've faced my failures 127 times. I think I can handle one more."
"It's not about handling it. It's about surviving it. The trial doesn't just show you your failures—it makes you live them. Experience them. Feel them all simultaneously." His voice was grave. "You'd be experiencing 127 deaths at once. Feeling every moment of pain, every loss, every mistake. Most people's minds shatter after one death. You'd be enduring all of them."
"So it's dangerous. Everything in my life is dangerous."
"This is suicidal. Even for you."
"And yet, it's the only way to break the curse before Loop 150. Before I shatter anyway." I met his eyes. "I'll take suicidal over certain death."
He sighed. "You're stubborn."
"It's my most consistent trait."
"Fine. I'll give you access. But not yet. The trial requires preparation. Mental fortitude. And you're currently bleeding from multiple orifices after fighting a god. Give yourself time to heal."
"Time is something I don't have much of."
"You have seven years until Azkaros. That's more time than most people get to prepare for their death." He stood, walking to a cabinet. Pulled out a crystal vial filled with silver liquid. "Healing potion. Military grade. Drink it. You look like hell."
I took it gratefully, downing the contents. Immediate relief—bones knitting, internal bleeding stopping, the strain from releasing three seals easing.
"Better?" he asked.
"Functional."
"That seems to be your standard." He returned to his seat. "One more thing, Mr. Vale."
"Yes?"
"The students. They saw everything today. They know you're not normal. Questions will be asked. Rumors will spread. How do you want to handle that?"
"Honestly? I have no idea."
"Then let me offer a suggestion: lean into it. You're already exposed. Hiding now would be suspicious. Instead, be mysterious. Let them wonder. Let them speculate. Just don't confirm the worst of it."
"You want me to be enigmatic?"
"I want you to be useful. An enigmatic, powerful student who defeated a god in single combat? That's a recruiting tool. Other talented students will be drawn to you. Want to learn from you. That could be beneficial when you're building your army."
"I'm not building an army. I'm building a survival coalition."
"Semantics." He waved dismissively. "The point stands. Use your notoriety. Build your reputation. Just try not to cause more international incidents in the process."
"No promises."
"I didn't think so." He pulled out several documents. "Clearances for the archives, the training complex, and authorization for your... unique curriculum with Miss Brightwood and Miss Nightvale. Officially, you're a special student with advanced standing. Unofficially, you're preparing for the end of the world."
"Accurate summary."
"One last thing." His expression turned serious. "The watcher. The one observing you across timelines. Any progress identifying them?"
"No. But they're powerful. SS-rank minimum. Access to temporal magic. Possibly involved in summoning Azkaros early nineteen years ago."
"That's concerning."
"That's an understatement."
"Do you think they're in the academy?"
"Luna does. I trust her instincts."
"Then I'll increase security. Quietly. And I'll keep my own observations." He handed me the documents. "Be careful, Mr. Vale. You're making powerful enemies very quickly."
"I've been making enemies for 127 loops. I'm very experienced at it."
"That's not reassuring."
"Nothing about my existence is reassuring. You should get used to that."
He almost smiled. "Dismissed. And Mr. Vale?"
"Yes?"
"Try not to challenge any more gods this week. My heart can't take the stress."
"I'll do my best."
I left his office with authorization documents, a slight headache, and the bizarre feeling of having an actual ally in authority for once.
Loop 128 was getting stranger by the day.