**FOUR MONTHS INTO LOOP 128 - WINTER APPROACHING**
I woke up to Sarah tracing patterns on my chest, her finger following old scars that shouldn't exist on a sixteen-year-old body but did anyway.
"You're thinking too loud," she murmured, not looking up. "I can feel your brain spinning from here."
"I'm always thinking."
"I know. It's exhausting just watching you." She finally met my eyes, propping herself up on one elbow. Her red hair was a mess, falling across her face in a way that made my chest tight. "What's bothering you this time? Azkaros? The mysterious demon meeting? The fact that Celeste almost set the training complex on fire yesterday?"
"All of it. None of it." I caught her hand, stilling her movements. "This."
"This?"
"This feeling. Like I'm allowed to be happy. Like I deserve mornings where I wake up next to you instead of screaming from nightmares." I pulled her closer. "It's been different since Loop 112. Since Aria died. I stopped... believing in this. In peaceful moments. In the possibility of something good."
Sarah was quiet for a moment, her expression serious. "Tell me about her. About Aria. You've mentioned her before, but never the whole story."
"It's not a happy story."
"None of your stories are. Tell me anyway."
So I did. Told her about Loop 112. About Aria with her silver hair and gold eyes, the mage who'd seen through every wall I'd built and loved me anyway. About two years of fighting side by side, of late-night conversations about magic and mortality, of planning a future we'd never have.
About the demon attack. The way she'd thrown herself in front of a death spell meant for me. The way she'd died in my arms, whispering "live" with her last breath.
"After that," I said quietly, "something broke. Not just sadness. Something fundamental. I stopped trying to save people. Started treating the world like a practice ground." I met Sarah's eyes. "For fifteen loops, I was a monster. Not because I was angry. Because I was empty. And empty things destroy."
"But you stopped."
"Loop 128. You. Luna. Raven. Seraphina. This whole chaotic collection of broken people who somehow makes me remember why I started fighting in the first place." I touched her face gently. "You make me want to be more than just a weapon."
"You were never just a weapon, Marcus. Weapons don't cry at night. Weapons don't protect people they care about. Weapons don't—" She stopped, blushing slightly.
"Don't what?"
"Don't kiss like you do. With so much desperate hope that it breaks my heart."
I kissed her then, proving her point. She was right—there was hope in it. Desperate, fragile hope that maybe this time would be different.
When we pulled apart, she was smiling. "See? Not a weapon. Just a very traumatized boy who's finally learning to accept good things."
"I'm not a boy. I'm over fifteen hundred years old."
"You're sixteen. Your soul is old. There's a difference." She glanced at the clock. "Also, it's 3:45. Training starts in fifteen minutes."
"Fuck."
"Indeed."
We scrambled to get ready—a routine we'd developed over the past few months. Her staying in my room had become normal, accepted. The guards who'd initially protested had given up after Aldric himself authorized it as "necessary for the Regressor's mental stability."
Which was both accurate and mortifying.
---
Training had evolved too.
Celeste could now maintain three different elements simultaneously—not master-level control, but impressive for someone who'd started by accidentally setting things on fire.
Luna had learned to weaponize her temporal nature more effectively. She could now create "time traps"—pockets where opponents would experience the same second repeatedly until they broke through or went insane.
Sarah had progressed from "competent student" to "genuinely dangerous." Her swordwork combined her formal training with the brutal efficiency I'd taught her. She'd never be SS-rank, but she'd definitely survive most threats.
And Seraphina...
Seraphina was teaching me things I'd never learned in 127 loops.
"Your problem," she said, deflecting my strike with casual ease, "is that you fight like you expect to die. Every move is tinged with 'this might be my last.'"
"Because it might be."
"But what if it's not? What if you actually survive?" Her crimson eyes gleamed. "You've beaten Azkaros before. You've defeated three gods. You've killed countless demons and survived impossible odds. Yet you still fight like you're already dead."
"I am already dead. 127 times over."
"No. You're alive 128 times over. There's a difference." She disarmed me—smoothly, efficiently, in a way that showed she was holding back significantly. "Markus, you're possibly the most powerful being in three continents. SS-rank minimum, possibly higher with all three seals released. Demons run from you. Gods negotiate instead of fight. Azkaros himself would pause if he knew you were coming."
"Azkaros doesn't fear anyone."
"He should fear you. Because you're the one person in this reality who's actually killed him. Successfully. You won." She handed back my sword. "So stop fighting like you're going to lose. Start fighting like someone who's already proved they can win."
"That's a dangerous mindset. Confidence gets you killed."
"So does defeatism. Choose your poison."
She was right. Infuriatingly, inevitably right.
I'd spent so long preparing for death that I'd forgotten how to prepare for victory.
---
Classes had become... interesting.
Most professors were still terrified of me. But a few had started asking questions. Seeking advice. Treating me less like a student and more like a colleague.
Professor Vex cornered me after Combat Theory one day.
"I've been thinking about your fight with Solaris," she said without preamble. "The way you controlled four elements simultaneously. That's not academy curriculum."
"No. It's not."
"Where did you learn it?"
I considered lying. Decided against it. "Experience. Lots of it. Multiple lifetimes worth."
She studied me with her one good eye. "The memorial hall. The Marcus Vale who died nineteen years ago. That was you, wasn't it?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Time travel? Reincarnation? Cloning?"
"Complicated." I met her gaze. "Does it matter?"
"Only if you're planning to do something catastrophic." She crossed her arms. "Are you?"
"Not this loop."
"'This loop?'"
"Long story. Involves temporal mechanics and existential horror. The summary is: I'm trying to stop Azkaros from destroying everything in seven years. You can either help or stay out of my way."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I'll help. On one condition."
"Which is?"
"You teach me that four-element technique. I've been A-rank for twenty years. Stuck. Unable to break through to S-rank. But that technique..." Her expression was hungry. "That could be the breakthrough I need."
"It took me ninety loops to master."
"Then I'll settle for the basics."
I thought about it. More allies. More powerful fighters when Azkaros came. It made tactical sense.
"Fine. Private lessons. After regular training. But you'll need to keep up. I don't slow down for anyone."
She grinned—sharp and dangerous. "I wouldn't expect you to."
---
The academy itself was changing too.
Word had spread about my alliance with Solaris. About Seraphina's demon heritage. About the fact that I was building something.
Students started approaching me. Asking to train. Wanting to be part of whatever I was preparing for.
Most I turned away. They weren't ready. Wouldn't be ready in seven years.
But a few...
There was Kieran, a third-year student with earth magic so precise he could feel vibrations through stone from a mile away. Perfect for scouting.
Mira—different Mira than Earth-Mira, but the name still hurt—a second-year with healing magic that could stabilize even mortal wounds. We'd need healers.
Jakob, a first-year who'd somehow taught himself necromancy and wasn't insane about it. Rare skill, terrifying implications, useful in combat.
Slowly, carefully, I was gathering people.
Not an army. I refused to call it that.
But definitely something.
---
Evenings had become my favorite time.
After training, after classes, after all the preparation and paranoia—there were quiet hours with Sarah.
Sometimes we studied together in the library. Her working on political theory, me on demon combat patterns, occasionally helping each other when questions arose.
Sometimes we walked the campus at night, talking about nothing important. Her childhood in the palace, my fractured memories of Earth, hypothetical futures we might not survive to see.
Sometimes we just existed in the same space. Her reading, me reviewing combat forms mentally, both of us finding comfort in proximity.
"This is nice," she said one evening, her head on my shoulder as we sat in my room. "Domestic. Normal."
"I've never been normal."
"You're normal-adjacent. Close enough." She turned to look at me. "Marcus? When Azkaros comes. In seven years. What happens to... this?" She gestured between us.
"Best case? We survive. We win. We get to keep being disgustingly domestic."
"And worst case?"
"I die. You live. Loop 129 starts and you forget I ever existed."
"That's horrifying."
"That's reality. Welcome to my world—everything is horrifying and nothing is guaranteed."
She was quiet for a moment. "What if we both die?"
"Then the world ends and someone else gets to deal with the apocalypse. Probably badly."
"You're very fatalistic."
"I've earned it." I pulled her closer. "But I'm trying. Trying to believe we might actually survive. Trying to hope this time is different."
"That's growth. I'm proud of you."
"My bar for personal growth is concerningly low."
"It's realistic. Realistic is good."
We sat like that until she fell asleep against my shoulder. I stayed awake longer—old habit, watching for threats that might not come.
But for once, the paranoia felt distant. The nightmares felt manageable. The crushing weight of 127 loops felt... bearable.
Because she was here. Alive. Warm against my side. Breathing steadily. Trusting me to keep her safe.
And for the first time since Aria died in Loop 112, I actually believed I might.
---
**THE NEXT MORNING**
Training. Classes. Lunch with the increasingly chaotic group that had formed around me.
Celeste complaining about her workload. Raven presenting her latest terrifying curse research. Luna offering cryptic warnings about timeline instabilities. Seraphina making inappropriate jokes about demon culture.
Sarah beside me, her hand occasionally finding mine under the table. Small touches that grounded me. Reminded me this was real.
"You're smiling," Seraphina observed. "It's disturbing. I'm not used to you looking happy."
"I'm not happy. I'm content. There's a difference."
"Both are disturbing."
"You're just jealous."
"I'm descended from genocidal demons. I'm above petty emotions like jealousy." She paused. "Though I'll admit, your domestic bliss is making me reconsider my life choices."
"You could find someone."
"I'm half-demon and can see across timelines. My dating pool is concerningly small."
"There's probably someone—"
"If you suggest online dating, I'm going to stab you."
"I wasn't going to—"
"You were thinking it. I could see it in your face."
Raven looked up from her notes. "Can we not discuss Seraphina's love life? Some of us are trying to eat."
"My love life isn't disgusting."
"It's hypothetical. That's worse."
"How is hypothetical worse than—"
"Ladies," I interrupted. "Can we not?"
"You started it," Seraphina pointed out.
"I'm ending it. New topic. Winter Solstice is in two weeks. We need to discuss the demon meeting."
That sobered the table quickly.
"Right," Sarah said. "The mysterious demon who wants to meet you and definitely isn't planning something terrible."
"Definitely is planning something terrible. We're just hoping it's terrible in a useful way."
"Your optimism is inspiring."
"I try."
The conversation shifted to strategy, preparation, contingencies. The normal paranoia of people preparing for potential disaster.
But underneath it all, something had changed.
For the first time since Loop 112, I wasn't just surviving.
I was living.
Planning for a future beyond the next death. Building relationships that meant something. Allowing myself to hope that maybe, somehow, this time would be different.
It was terrifying.
It was exhilarating.
It was exactly what Aria had asked me to do with her dying breath: *live.*
And for the first time in sixteen loops, I actually was.