**ACADEMY INFIRMARY - EVENING**
The academy's healing ward smelled of antiseptic and desperation.
I sat outside the private room where they'd taken Sarah, watching through the reinforced glass as academy healers worked. Their movements were efficient, professional, completely inadequate for what she'd endured.
"She's stable," one of them—an older woman with silver threading through dark hair—said as she emerged. "But the damage was extensive. Broken ribs, punctured lung, internal bleeding. If that girl—Mira—hadn't stabilized her in the field..." She didn't finish. Didn't need to.
"When can she leave?"
"Three days. Minimum. Possibly longer depending on complications." The healer's eyes were sharp, assessing. "What were they doing out there? The wounds look like demon attacks."
"Training exercise. Went longer than planned."
"Training exercises don't result in near-fatal injuries."
"Mine do."
She studied me for a long moment. "You're Marcus Vale. The one who fought Solaris."
"That's me."
"Are you trying to get these students killed?"
The question hit harder than it should have. Because wasn't I? Pushing them into demon nests, forcing evolution through near-death, gambling their lives on the chance they'd emerge stronger instead of broken.
"I'm trying to prepare them for what's coming," I said finally. "Better they break now, where I can intervene, than later when they're facing something I can't stop."
"That's a cold calculation."
"That's survival mathematics. Welcome to my world—"
"—everything is terrible and nothing is certain. Yes, I've heard." She pulled out a data slate, making notes. "The other four are in observation. Minor injuries, mostly. But I'm concerned about the necromancer."
"Jakob?"
"He's exhibiting signs of mana corruption. Black discoloration spreading from his fingernails up his forearms. If it reaches his heart..." She paused. "Necromancy in corrupted zones is incredibly dangerous. The demonic energy can contaminate the necromantic pathways, turn the practitioner into a conduit for demon consciousness."
My blood went cold. "How long until it becomes permanent?"
"Unknown. Could be days. Could be hours. It depends on how much corrupted mana he channeled." She met my eyes. "You should consider forbidding him from practicing necromancy until the corruption clears."
"That would leave him defenseless against what's coming."
"And continuing might leave him possessed by demons. Choose your poison."
She walked away before I could respond.
---
I found Jakob in one of the observation rooms, sitting on a medical cot, staring at his hands.
The black discoloration had spread. Not just under his nails anymore. Dark veins spider-webbed up his forearms, pulsing faintly with sickly green light.
"It's getting worse," he said without looking up. "I can feel it. The demon energy. It's not just in my mana pathways. It's in my thoughts. Whispering. Promising power if I just let go, if I stop fighting, if I accept—"
"Don't." I pulled up a chair. "Whatever it's promising, it's lying. Demons don't make deals. They make victims."
"But the power was real. When those corpses rose automatically, when I could feel the demon energy responding to my will—that was real. I could do things I've spent years training for. All I had to do was stop fighting the corruption and let it flow."
"And what happened after?"
He was quiet. "It tried to turn my constructs against me. The wolves I raised—for about ten seconds, they weren't mine anymore. They were listening to something else. Something that wanted to use me as a gateway."
"Third Circle demon, minimum. Possibly Fourth." I leaned forward. "You impressed someone, Jakob. Something powerful noticed your talent and tried to claim you. That's both validation and threat."
"What do I do?"
"Purge the corruption. Standard cleansing rituals. It'll hurt like hell and take weeks, but it's safer than—"
"Than what? Becoming what I'm meant to be?" His grey eyes flickered black for a moment. "I felt it, Marcus. When those corpses rose. That's what necromancy is supposed to feel like. Not careful control and ethical boundaries. Raw power. Death responding to my call. That's what I trained for."
"That's what corrupts you. There's a difference between mastering death and being mastered by it."
He laughed—bitter, sharp. "You're one to talk. Three soul fragments. Power accumulated across 127 lifetimes. You've died and come back so many times you've broken causality itself. Don't lecture me about corruption when you're the walking definition of unnatural."
The words stung because they were true.
"You're right," I said quietly. "I am corrupted. Broken. Wrong in ways that shouldn't be possible. But I'm also functional enough to know the difference between power and damnation." I stood. "Keep the corruption or purge it. Your choice. But if you keep it and it claims you, I'll kill you myself. Can't have demons wearing student bodies walking around the academy."
"That's cold."
"That's pragmatic. I've killed corrupted necromancers in four different loops. You'd be number five." I walked to the door. "Make your choice soon. The corruption spreads faster than you think."
---
**OBSERVATION DECK - MIDNIGHT**
I found Seraphina where I'd expected: on the rooftop, watching stars that might not exist in seven years.
"You're brooding," she said without turning.
"I'm thinking."
"Same thing with you." She gestured to the space beside her. "Sit. Brood together. It's more efficient."
I sat. We were quiet for a while, just existing in the cold night air.
"Jakob's corrupted," she said finally. "I can see the timeline branches. In three of five futures, he purges it and survives weaker but sane. In two, he keeps it and becomes something else."
"Something useful?"
"Something powerful. Also something that will probably try to kill you within two years." She tilted her head, considering. "Though there's one branch where he manages to control it. Walks the line between necromancer and demon-host. That version becomes terrifyingly effective."
"What are the odds?"
"Twenty percent. But it's the version with the highest survival rate in the Azkaros timeline."
"Of course it is." I closed my eyes. "The most dangerous path is always the most effective."
"Are you going to guide him toward it?"
"I don't know. Should I damn a nineteen-year-old to demon corruption because it might make him more useful in seven years?"
"You've made harder choices."
"Doesn't make this one easier."
We sat in silence again. Seraphina pulled out something from her coat—a flask, dark liquid inside.
"Want some? It's from my family cellars. Three hundred years old. Demonic wine. Won't get you drunk, but it helps with existential dread."
"Demonic wine."
"My great-great-grandfather was Valdris the Corruptor. We don't do things by halves." She took a sip, offered it to me.
I took it. The liquid burned going down, but not unpleasantly. Tasted like smoke and distant screaming and something that might have been cherries, once.
"This is horrible," I said.
"It's an acquired taste. Like genocide and temporal paradoxes." She took the flask back. "How are you really? Not the mask you show students. The real you, underneath all the death and planning."
I thought about it. How was I?
"Scared," I admitted. "Five days until the demon meeting. Seven years until Azkaros. Sarah nearly died today. Jakob's corrupted. Celeste's suppression crystal shattered—now she's a walking wildfire waiting to happen. Kieran's earth sense is bleeding over into his normal perception—he can feel every vibration, every movement, can't turn it off. Mira killed something with healing magic and now she's terrified of her own power."
"And you feel responsible."
"I am responsible. I pushed them into that nest. Knew it was dangerous. Gambled their lives on evolution through trauma."
"Did it work?"
"Yes. They're stronger. Significantly so. But at what cost?" I took the flask again, drank deeper. "In Loop 113, I stopped caring about costs. Just pushed people until they broke or became useful. Fifteen loops of that. Fifteen loops of treating humans like weapons to be forged. I don't—" My voice cracked. "I don't want to be that person again."
Seraphina was quiet. Then: "You're not. That version of you didn't sit on rooftops questioning his choices. Didn't lose sleep over corrupted students. Didn't care if they survived as people, only that they survived as tools."
"How do you know I'm not doing that now?"
"Because you're talking to me instead of planning the next training exercise. Because you're scared instead of empty. Because you're asking if you should damn Jakob instead of just doing it." She bumped my shoulder lightly. "The fact that you're questioning yourself is proof you're different."
"Or proof I'm just better at lying to myself."
"Also possible. But I choose to believe you're actually trying to be better." She stood, stretching. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing well. The students are stronger. Sarah's awakening her bloodline. Celeste is approaching A-rank fire output. Kieran's earth sense is continental-grade potential. Jakob—if he survives the corruption—could raise armies. Mira's developing abilities that shouldn't exist."
"And if they die?"
"Then you'll break, destroy several cities, die, and Loop 129 starts with you knowing exactly what not to do." She smiled without humor. "That's the beauty of regression. Every failure is just expensive data collection."
"That's a horrifying way to look at it."
"I'm descended from demons. Horrifying is my default." She walked toward the stairs. "Get some sleep, Marcus. You look like death."
"I've died 127 times. I've earned the look."
"Fair point."
She left me alone with stars and existential dread and demonic wine that tasted like bad decisions.
---
**SARAH'S ROOM - THREE HOURS LATER**
I shouldn't have gone to her room.
Should have stayed away, let the healers work, maintained appropriate distance between instructor and student.
But Loop 96 haunted me. The timeline where she'd been pregnant, where I'd died before our daughter was born, where I'd left her alone with promises I couldn't keep.
I needed to see her alive. Needed confirmation that today's near-death wasn't prophetic.
The door was unlocked. I slipped in quietly.
She was awake.
"Can't sleep?" I asked.
"Pain medication makes everything fuzzy. Hate it." She gestured to the chair beside her bed. "Figured you'd show up eventually. You have that look when you're worried."
"What look?"
"Like you're calculating how many loops until I die and you have to watch it happen again."
Direct. Accurate. Painful.
"You nearly died today."
"But I didn't. Mira saved me. You trained her well enough that she could." Sarah shifted, wincing despite the medication. "We won, Marcus. Against impossible odds, we won."
"You won. I watched."
"Which is what you said you'd do. Observe, intervene only if necessary." Her green eyes were clear despite the pain. "You kept your word. Let us fight our own battle."
"And you almost died."
"But I didn't," she repeated, firmer this time. "Stop catastrophizing. I'm alive. I'm healing. I'll be back to training in a week."
"Three days minimum, the healer said."
"I'll make it two. Royal constitution, remember?" She reached for my hand, fingers intertwining with mine. "I know you're scared. I know every time I'm in danger, you're calculating the loops where this ended badly. But Marcus—this loop is different. You said so yourself."
"Different doesn't mean safe."
"Nothing is safe. That's reality. But I'd rather face danger with you than hide in safety without you."
"That's irrational."
"Love usually is." She squeezed my hand. "Stay? Just until I fall asleep? The medication helps with pain but the nightmares..."
"Nightmares?"
"The bear. Its claws going through my ribs. The moment I knew I was going to die." She was trying to sound casual, failing. "Keep seeing it every time I close my eyes."
I moved from the chair to the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her injuries. "I'm here."
"Good." Her eyes were already closing, medication finally pulling her under. "Don't leave."
"I won't."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
She fell asleep holding my hand, and I stayed there, watching her breathe, counting each rise and fall of her chest like it was precious.
Because it was.
In 42 timelines, she'd died. In 12, we'd been together. In 1, we'd created life.
And in this one—Loop 128—she was alive. Injured but healing. Strong but still learning. Mine in ways that terrified me more than any demon.
"I can't lose you," I whispered to her sleeping form. "Not again. Not this time. If you die, I break. And if I break, the world burns. So please, please survive this."
She didn't answer. Just kept breathing, alive, present.
For now, that was enough.
---
**OUTSIDE THE INFIRMARY**
Luna materialized as I left hours later, dawn approaching.
"You love her."
"I do."
"And if she dies?"
"I become the person Seraphina watched in Loops 113-127. Cities burn. People die. I stop caring about anything except the next death." I looked at the anomaly who'd given up her own death to watch over her sister. "You understand. You gave up peace to stay with Celeste. I'd burn reality itself to keep Sarah alive."
"That's terrifying."
"That's honest. Welcome to my world—everything is terrifying and nothing is sacred except the people I choose to protect."
"And the demon meeting in five days?"
"I go alone. Can't risk them. Can't risk her."
"She won't accept that."
"I know. That's why I'm not telling her until the last moment."
Luna was quiet, then: "You're going to break her trust."
"Better her trust than her neck." I started walking toward my room. "Four days until I meet a demon powerful enough to know my name. Four days to prepare for whatever trap they're setting. Four days to figure out if Jakob's corruption kills him or makes him useful."
"And Sarah?"
"Sarah gets better. Gets stronger. Survives." I didn't look back. "Because the alternative isn't acceptable."
I left Luna in the hallway, alone with her thoughts and the weight of being an anomaly who understood exactly what I meant.
Because we'd both chosen impossible paths.
Both sacrificed normal for necessary.
Both loved people we couldn't afford to lose.
And both knew that when you loved something in a world this broken, you didn't get happy endings.
You just got different flavors of tragedy.