The moon hung overhead like a silent judge, blood-tinged and luminous.
Callen stood in the courtyard, feet frozen to the cobblestones, staring at the girl with silver hair and violet eyes. The girl who wasn't supposed to exist. The one he had never seen in any loop. Yet here she was, standing beneath the red moon with a smile like ice and words that felt like knives.
> "I am the Sealed. One of the Fixed. And I remember every single time you've failed."
He didn't breathe. Didn't blink. The weight of her presence pressed on his chest like an avalanche.
"How?" he finally whispered.
Her smile widened—more knowing than kind. "That's the question you choose first? Not 'why'? Not 'who'? But 'how'?"
Callen swallowed. "Because the others didn't remember. Not the professors. Not the students. Not even the things that killed me. But you…"
He took a step forward.
"…you're outside the loop, aren't you?"
Her expression shifted slightly. Still calm, but now her eyes sharpened with interest. "Outside? No. I'm within. But I do not reset."
"Then what are you?" he demanded.
She tilted her head. "That depends. What are you, Callen Ward?"
He scowled. "I don't know. Yet."
"Good answer."
She turned and began walking. Slow, deliberate steps along the stone path that wound around the Arcarium's foundation.
Callen hesitated—then followed.
"What do you want?" he asked. "Why reveal yourself now?"
"I didn't reveal myself," she said simply. "You reached far enough to see me."
"That door…" he murmured.
"Yes. The obsidian threshold. That was not meant for you—yet. But you forced it. Bold. Stupid. Impressive."
They stopped at the edge of the fountain where water spilled in a perfect loop, never overflowing.
"How many loops have I lived through?" he asked suddenly.
She looked at him, and—for the first time—there was something else in her gaze.
Sadness.
"Two that you remember," she said. "But you've died… thirty-eight times."
The world tilted.
Callen staggered back. "What?"
"Your memory anchor is weak. Each loop fragments the soul. You lose pieces of yourself. Names. Faces. Dreams. They slip away, unnoticed. You remember what you need to survive—but not all that you were."
He shook his head. "That's not possible. I remember everything."
"Do you?" she asked softly. "What was your sister's name?"
"I… don't…"
He froze.
Sister?
He didn't have a—
No. That wasn't right.
A flash. A laugh. Brown eyes. Someone yelling, "Stop reading and come eat before I burn your books!"
He gasped.
Gone. Like fog in sunlight.
"I forgot her," he whispered.
The girl nodded. "The Hourglass does not only reset time. It steals."
He clenched his fists. "How do I stop it?"
"You don't," she said gently. "You endure it. Long enough to find the Source. Long enough to shatter the Glass from within."
"Then help me," Callen said.
Her eyes flicked toward the moon. "Not yet."
"Why?" he demanded. "You said I failed. But I'm still here."
"Because surviving is not succeeding," she replied. "And because I've helped others before you."
Callen went still.
"…others?"
She didn't answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was so soft he almost missed it.
"Seventeen."
He felt sick. "Seventeen other loopers?"
"Seventeen who remembered. One survived past loop ten. The others… broke."
"Broke how?"
"They forgot who they were. Lost purpose. Or became Fixed themselves—and began hunting the rest."
Callen stepped back. "They hunt each other?"
"They are not like you anymore. Something inside them… twisted. Time changes people, Callen. Especially when it never moves forward."
A long silence passed.
Finally, he asked, "Then what keeps you sane?"
She smiled again—but this one was tired. Small.
"Memory. Pain. And the promise of an end."
Then she reached into her cloak and pulled out a single item.
A black stone, carved with golden runes, pulsing softly.
Callen felt a pull in his gut.
"What is that?"
"A tether anchor," she said. "One of the few things that can survive between loops. Store it in your soul-space. It will grow with you."
She held it out.
He hesitated—then took it.
It was warm. Not hot, but alive. It hummed with a resonance he couldn't name. He let it slip into his core with practiced ease, and it vanished inside him like mist into a flame.
"Be careful where you take it," she warned. "And never let it fall into the hands of a Broken."
"I don't understand half of what you're saying."
"You will."
He looked at her closely. "What's your name?"
She looked surprised.
"No one's asked that in a long time," she said softly. Then, "Lyssa. My name is Lyssa."
"Lyssa," he repeated.
She turned and began walking again, fading toward the shadows of the Arcarium.
"Wait!" he called out. "Will I see you again?"
She looked over her shoulder.
"I'm always watching, Callen Ward. The question is—will you still be you when we meet again?"
And then she was gone.
---
The next morning, Callen wrote until his fingers cramped.
He recorded every word Lyssa had said. Every phrase. Every term. "Fixed." "Broken." "Tether anchor." "Soul decay." "Seventeen others." He repeated the facts until they etched into his brain.
Then he checked the anchor.
It pulsed in his soul-space—gentle, steady. Waiting.
And it brought clarity. His thoughts felt sharper. His casting that afternoon more fluid. Rune connections flowed smoother.
She hadn't lied. The anchor strengthened him.
But he knew it came with a cost.
Everything here did.
---
The final days of the loop crept closer.
And with them, the Cataclysm.
This time, Callen prepared even more aggressively.
He reengineered the Academy's storm barriers—illegally, secretly. Recalibrated five defensive towers using notes stolen from a book he couldn't even pronounce. Planted mana trip-mines near the outer walls. Warned students he could save. Left sealed letters in the hands of professors he trusted.
This time, he would make a difference.
But fate still played its game.
---
On the fourteenth night—the moon blood red, the sky humming with magical tension—the monsters came.
Just as they always did.
But this time, Callen met them first.
He stood in the northern courtyard, wand in hand, cloak billowing with a wind not of this world.
When the first shadow lunged—
He didn't flinch.
"Fractum Silex!" he shouted.
A wall of stone rose from the earth, slamming into the creature mid-leap. It shattered with a howl.
More followed.
He burned the next five with a chain-cast of lightning and flame. Students screamed. Sirens blared. The Academy erupted into chaos.
And Callen—Callen fought like a storm given flesh.
He moved through the burning corridors, shielding children, sealing breaches, shattering enemies.
When he reached the upper halls, he found Rhoan fighting alone.
The boy turned, eyes wide. "Callen?! You—what—how—?"
"Later!" he shouted. "Stay behind me!"
He cast again. And again. Blood ran from his nose. His core strained.
But the magic held.
He carved through the darkness.
Until he came.
The knight.
The shadowed figure of glass and armor, blade dragging sparks across marble.
Callen stood his ground.
This time, he didn't run.
"You remember me, don't you?" Callen whispered.
The knight tilted its head.
Then it raised its sword.
---
The duel was short.
Callen fought harder than he ever had. Burned mana he didn't know he had. Drew power from the tether anchor. Landed blows—real ones.
But he wasn't ready.
The knight was faster.
Smarter.
Stronger.
When the blade struck through his side, he gasped—not from pain, but disappointment.
"I almost had you…"
The knight leaned close.
And whispered—words Callen understood this time.
> "Loop three will be harder, boy."
And the world ended.
---
Callen Ward woke up.
Again.
But this time, he was smiling.
Because the knight talked.
It remembered.
Which meant it could bleed.