**THREE WEEKS LATER - LATE AUTUMN**
"I still think this is a terrible idea," Celeste muttered, pulling her cloak tighter against the evening chill.
"All my ideas are terrible," I replied, leading our group through Valenhall's Lower District. "That's why they work."
Behind us, Sarah laughed. She'd taken to wearing commoner clothes when we went off-campus—practical pants, a simple shirt, her hair in a basic braid. No jewelry. No markers of royalty. Just another student out for the evening.
Seraphina walked beside her, looking far too comfortable in the decrepit streets. Her white hair was hidden under a hood, crimson eyes dimmed to something approaching human brown. "The Twilight Market opens at 9 PM. We have twenty minutes."
"And we're going there because...?" Raven asked, notebook already out despite the poor lighting.
"Because the academy's restricted archives don't have what I need. But the black market might." I turned down an alley that most people avoided. "Specifically, information on dimensional anchors and curse-breaking rituals that would get me expelled if I researched them officially."
"You have the headmaster's permission—"
"For normal forbidden magic. This is abnormal forbidden magic. There's a hierarchy."
The alley opened into what looked like a dead-end courtyard. Except it wasn't. If you knew where to look—and I did, from Loop 56—you could see the shimmer in the air. A perception ward, hiding the entrance.
I walked through it. The others followed.
Reality twisted, and suddenly we were somewhere else entirely.
The Twilight Market.
It wasn't in Valenhall. Wasn't even in this dimension, technically. A pocket space carved out by some ancient mage, maintained by the various illegal enterprises that operated here. Half marketplace, half criminal nexus, entirely dangerous.
"Holy shit," Celeste breathed, staring at the impossible architecture. Buildings that defied gravity, stairs that led nowhere and everywhere, merchants selling things that shouldn't exist.
"Welcome to where regulations come to die," Seraphina said cheerfully. "Try not to steal anything. The merchants here have creative punishments for thieves."
The market was crowded—cloaked figures, masked buyers, merchants hawking wares that ranged from harmless to apocalyptic. I'd been here dozens of times across different loops. Knew which merchants were trustworthy, which were dangerous, and which were both.
"Stay close," I told the group. "Don't touch anything unless I say so. Don't make deals without consulting me first. And absolutely do not accept any food or drink from anyone."
"Why not?" Sarah asked.
"Because half the vendors here are fae-adjacent. They love binding contracts hidden in hospitality."
"That's horrifying."
"That's capitalism without oversight."
We moved through the market. I ignored the weapons dealers—I had my own. Passed the potion merchants—most sold diluted garbage. Avoided the "rare artifacts" section—ninety percent forgeries.
Finally found what I was looking for: a small stall tucked in the back, run by an elderly woman who looked human but definitely wasn't.
"Madame Vex," I said, using the formal greeting.
She looked up, eyes that were too green and too knowing. "Well, well. The boy who's died too many times. Back again, are we?"
"You remember me?"
"I remember everyone, child. Comes with being a Keeper." She gestured to her wares—books, scrolls, tablets, all radiating power that made my teeth ache. "Though you've never visited in this particular timeline configuration. Interesting."
"Timeline configuration?"
"Your companions. The demon-blooded seer, the dead sister, the curse-bound observer, the princess playing commoner. Quite the collection." Her too-green eyes fixed on me. "You're building something different this cycle. More... collaborative."
I shouldn't have been surprised she could see through Seraphina's disguise and Luna's anomaly nature. Keepers existed outside normal reality. They saw everything.
"I need information on dimensional anchors. Specifically, how to sever one that's maintaining a regression curse."
"Ah. The Trial of Truth. Planning to break your eternal return, are we?"
"Eventually. First, I need to know if it's possible."
She pulled out a scroll that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago. "Possible? Yes. Survivable? Unlikely. The Trial forces you to confront every truth about yourself simultaneously. For someone who's lived 127 lives..." She smiled, showing too many teeth. "The experience would be catastrophic."
"I can handle catastrophic."
"Can you? You've been fracturing for thirty loops, child. Each death weakens the coherence of your soul. Attempt the Trial now, and you might simply... dissolve. Cease to exist across all timelines simultaneously."
"That's concerning," Raven muttered, writing frantically.
"That's life," Madame Vex corrected. "Or in his case, lives. Plural. Excessive."
"Is there a way to make it safer?" I asked.
"Strengthen your soul before attempting it. Rebuild the coherence you've lost. Stop dying for a few loops—though I suspect that's not realistic." She set down the scroll. "Or find an anchor point in this reality. Someone whose existence stabilizes yours. Make them your tether."
Sarah and I exchanged glances.
"An emotional anchor," Seraphina said slowly. "Someone he's connected to deeply enough that their presence holds him together."
"Precisely. Though it's risky. If that person dies while you're in the Trial, you'd experience their death and all your deaths simultaneously. The shock would..." Madame Vex made an explosive gesture with her hands.
"So my options are: attempt the Trial and probably dissolve, or find an anchor and risk catastrophic feedback if they die."
"Those are the pleasant options. The unpleasant ones involve significantly more screaming."
"Fantastic."
"You did ask." She tapped the scroll. "This contains the preparatory rituals. Three thousand gold."
I pulled out the payment—most of my scholarship money, but worth it. She took it, counted it with impossible speed, and nodded.
"Pleasure doing business. Do try not to unmake yourself from existence. It's terrible for repeat customer relationships."
We left her stall, regrouping near a fountain that flowed upward instead of down.
"So," Celeste said. "You're definitely going to try this suicide ritual."
"Eventually."
"And you need an emotional anchor to avoid dissolving into nothing."
"Apparently."
"And if that anchor dies during the Trial, you experience every death simultaneously and probably go insane or cease to exist."
"That's the summary, yes."
She looked at Sarah. "You're the anchor, obviously."
"Obviously," Sarah agreed. "Which means I need to not die for..." She looked at me. "How long does the Trial take?"
"Unknown. Could be hours. Could be days. Time is weird in divine spaces."
"So I need to not die for an undefined period while you face every truth about yourself across 127 lifetimes. No pressure."
"Welcome to my world. Everything is pressure and nothing is guaranteed."
Seraphina had been quiet, staring at something across the market. "We should go."
"Why?"
"Because someone very powerful just noticed us. And they're coming this way. Fast."
I followed her gaze. A figure was approaching through the crowd—tall, elegant, moving with purpose. As they got closer, I could see features: sharp, androgynous, with silver hair and eyes that shifted colors like oil on water.
"That's a high demon," Luna breathed. "Third Circle minimum."
"Actually," the figure said, stopping in front of us, "I'm Second Circle. But I appreciate the flattery." They smiled, showing perfect teeth. "Marcus Vale. The Regressor. I've been looking for you."
My hand went to my swords. "Looking for me why?"
"Because my master wants to meet you. Properly. Not through proxies or attacks." They held up their hands, showing they were unarmed. "I'm just a messenger. Name's Kael. Pronouns are they/them. And before you attack me—I'm under market protection. Violence against messengers voids all market privileges permanently."
Madame Vex's voice echoed from her stall: "He's correct. Don't make me ban you, boy. I like repeat customers."
I kept my hand ready but didn't summon the swords. "Who's your master?"
"Someone you'll meet eventually. Someone who's been watching you across loops. Someone who wants to make a deal." Kael pulled out an envelope—actual paper, sealed with wax. "An invitation. For you and your companions. Three months from now. Winter Solstice. A meeting on neutral ground to discuss... mutual interests."
"I don't do deals with demons."
"I'm not asking you to deal. I'm delivering an invitation. You can refuse. But..." They smiled again. "My master knows things. About your regression. About who cursed you. About why Azkaros is ahead of schedule. Information you desperately need."
"And they want what in exchange?"
"Nothing yet. This meeting is information only. Consider it a... job interview. For an alliance you didn't know you needed."
I took the envelope carefully. The wax seal showed a symbol I didn't recognize—three circles overlapping, with a star in the center.
"Who is your master?" I asked again.
"Someone powerful enough to have noticed you. Someone old enough to remember the First Demon War. Someone who'd rather help you stop Azkaros than let him destroy this entertaining reality we all inhabit." Kael bowed slightly. "Winter Solstice. Midwinter's Rest, the abandoned shrine in the Northern Woods. Come alone or bring your collection of damaged friends. Your choice."
They vanished—literally dissolved into shadows.
"Well," Seraphina said. "That was ominous."
"That was a trap," I corrected.
"Probably both," Raven added, already writing. "A demon that powerful wouldn't send a personal messenger unless they were serious. But demons are also notorious for elaborate traps."
"So we ignore it?" Sarah asked.
"No. We prepare for it. And we go." I pocketed the envelope. "Because if they really do have information about my curse, about Azkaros, I need to hear it."
"Even if it's a trap?"
"Especially if it's a trap. I've survived 127 deaths. I can survive one demon meeting."
"Your confidence is either admirable or suicidal," Celeste muttered.
"With me, it's usually both."
We left the Twilight Market, emerging back in the Lower District alley. The real world felt almost boring after the impossible architecture.
"So," Sarah said as we walked back toward the academy. "Your evening plans now include: potentially suicidal curse-breaking trial, mysterious demon meeting, and probably several more apocalyptic revelations I don't know about yet."
"That's just Tuesday for me."
"Your Tuesdays are nightmare fuel."
"You get used to it."
"Do you though? Do you really?"
I thought about Loop 113 through 127. About burning cities. About the nightmares. About the slow fracturing of my sanity across decades of subjective time.
"No," I admitted. "You really don't."
She took my hand, squeezing gently. "Then it's good you're not alone anymore."
"Is it? Everyone who gets close to me tends to die horribly."
"Then we'll have to break that pattern too."
"You're aggressively optimistic."
"Someone has to balance out your aggressive pessimism."
Seraphina fell into step beside us. "You two are disgustingly sweet. It's like watching a romance novel in real-time."
"Says the demon descendant who's been watching me across timelines."
"That's observation, not romance. Completely different."
"Is it though?"
"Absolutely. One involves emotional investment. The other is just entertainment."
"I'm choosing to be offended by that."
"Choose away. I'll cope."
We reached the academy gates, slipping through the wards that recognized students. The campus was quiet—most people asleep by now, except for the dedicated insomniacs and late-night studiers.
"Same time tomorrow?" Celeste asked. "Training?"
"4 AM. As always."
"I'm going to die of exhaustion before demons kill me."
"Then you'll be well-prepared for death. Very efficient."
She flipped me off before heading to her dorm.
Raven lingered. "That scroll. From Madame Vex. I want to study it. If you're seriously attempting the Trial—"
"Eventually. Not yet. Need to prepare first."
"Let me help. Curse-breaking is literally my specialization."
"Fine. But no experiments on me without permission."
"I only did that once, and you survived."
"Your bar for success is concerningly low."
She grinned and left.
Luna faded away—back to whatever anomalies did when they weren't actively manifesting. Seraphina headed toward her assigned room—the academy had given her guest quarters after Aldric verified her identity.
Which left me and Sarah, standing in the courtyard under a sky full of stars.
"Your room or mine?" she asked.
"Both are equally inappropriate."
"Then let's be equally inappropriate in yours. It's closer."
We walked in comfortable silence. She'd been staying in my room most nights—officially to "keep watch for nightmares," actually because being apart felt wrong after the convoy attack.
"Marcus?"
"Yeah?"
"That thing Madame Vex said. About emotional anchors. About me being your tether." She looked up at me. "I'm not afraid. Of the responsibility. Of what it means."
"You should be. If something goes wrong—"
"Then something goes wrong. But I'm not leaving. Not running. Not when you need me."
"That's irrational."
"Love usually is."
I stopped walking. "Love?"
She turned to face me, backlit by gas lamps, looking more beautiful than anyone had a right to be. "Yes, Marcus. Love. I love you. Have for a while now. Thought it was obvious."
"I'm bad at obvious."
"I've noticed." She stepped closer. "So I'm being explicit. I love you. Despite the loops, the deaths, the secrets, the apocalypses, all of it. I love you."
127 loops. Thousands of years of subjective time. Hundreds of people I'd loved and lost.
And hearing her say it still hit like a punch to the chest.
"I love you too," I managed. "Even though I shouldn't. Even though it's dangerous. Even though—"
She kissed me, cutting off my spiraling. When we pulled apart, she was smiling.
"Less catastrophizing. More accepting that good things can happen."
"Good things in my life usually end in fire."
"Then we'll make sure this one doesn't."
We continued to my room, and for once, I let myself believe her.
Let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, Loop 128 would be different.
Even though 127 loops of experience said it wouldn't be.
Hope, it turned out, was harder to kill than I thought