??? POV
Nineteen years ago.
When Celica opened her eyes, the ceiling above her was one she had seen countless times before.
Wooden beams crossed overhead, white plaster filled the gaps, and the faint scent of incense and dust clung to the air.
The Church of Iria.
Again.
Her body was small, her legs weak, and her breaths were shallow, almost silent.
She turned her palm upward, watching it tremble.
"It was a failure again," she whispered.
The words barely reached her own ears.
She curled in on herself, drawing her knees close, trying to make the shaking stop.
Her nails pressed into her skin until they drew thin lines of red, but the pain barely registered; it was distant, dull, like everything else.
She stayed like that for a while, waiting for something, maybe for her heart to start beating properly again, but it never did.
The wooden door at the front of the church creaked.
She didn't look up at first; she already knew who it was.
The heavy footsteps that followed were too loud for any human.
"There she is," a deep voice said.
Celica finally raised her head.
A tall figure filled the doorway, his skin dark purple, his eyes glowing faintly beneath his horns.
Two others followed, their shapes familiar, their presence heavy.
"There she is," Baal repeated, smirking.
Celica didn't answer; she just watched him.
The fear that used to shake her had long since disappeared; now there was only emptiness, an ache too old to hurt.
The demons stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind them.
"Looks like you were correct, Botis. She was born here."
"Of course, my lord," Botis said, puffing up his chest. "My predictions never fail."
"Except for all the times they do," Astaroth muttered under his breath.
Baal ignored them and started walking toward Celica. His boots echoed on the stone floor.
Celica stayed where she was.
She could have tried to crawl away, but her body refused to move.
Her mana felt faint, incomplete.
She was too weak.
She always was.
He crouched down beside her, examining her like a craftsman checking a broken tool.
"Hmm … she's much weaker than that old bastard was," Baal said.
"Is she useless then?" Astaroth asked.
"No," Baal replied. "We can still make this work. Astaroth, the humans already announced their prophecy, didn't they?"
"Yes, my lord. It says the hero will be born the same moment the demon lord descends."
"Then we can't simply get rid of her," Baal said. "They'll expect her existence. Killing her now would cause more trouble than it's worth."
"What shall we do, then?"
Baal's grin widened, sharp and satisfied.
"Let's do to her what we should have done to that old bastard."
"And what's that?"
"Let's put a leash on her."
Celica sighed softly.
The same words again.
The same chains.
The same story.
Baal gestured, and Botis produced a small black ring, rough metal that shimmered faintly with red light.
It looked simple, almost harmless, until the pressure hit her chest.
He pressed it against the back of her neck.
The cold spread quickly, then came the burn, then silence, the kind that smothered everything.
Her mana vanished, cut off at the source.
"Done," Botis said.
Baal nodded.
"Take her below. She'll stay there until the time comes."
The demons carried her down a narrow passage behind the altar. The air grew colder with each step, the sound of chains and stone echoing through the stairwell.
They opened a door beneath the pulpit.
The smell of mould and old blood drifted out.
This was her real home, the place she always returned to.
A single cell, barely large enough for her to lie down. A straw mat, a bucket, a tiny slit near the ceiling that never let in light.
They fastened a short chain to her ankle. She could move a few steps, nothing more.
Baal turned away.
"Do not kill her," he ordered. "Do not let her die of neglect. Keep her quiet. She'll be released when the time calls."
Then they left.
The door shut.
The lock clicked.
Celica lay still.
Her eyes traced the cracks in the ceiling above her.
'It started again.'
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Days blurred into each other.
She couldn't tell if it was morning or night.
Once a day, the slot at the bottom of the door opened, and a tray slid in: bread, water, sometimes soup.
Once a week, a priest or a mage would come in, cast [Clean] on her and the bucket, and leave without a word.
Sometimes demonoids came, sometimes dark elves, sometimes both.
They liked to test how much she could endure.
They liked the sound of bones hitting stone.
She stopped reacting a long time ago.
Bruises came and went, and scars stayed.
Her wrists were marked where the shackles had rubbed skin raw.
Her back bore faint burns that never healed right.
None of it mattered.
Her body healed enough to keep her alive; the leash made sure of that.
It fixed only what it wanted to, leaving behind pain as a reminder.
Time lost meaning.
"Two years already," she said once, her voice hoarse. It echoed weakly in the dark.
Her words didn't sound real to her.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
She thought about Alex sometimes.
The Hero.
The one she believed could end it.
The one who carried Aryn's power, the same power that had cursed her in the first place.
In one loop, he had reached her.
In another, he had freed her.
Sometimes he tried to save her.
Sometimes he couldn't even find her.
But no matter what he did, it always ended the same way.
He couldn't kill her.
She couldn't die unless the leash allowed it.
She had tried everything: starvation, suffocation, magic, divine power, but the world always rewound.
Every ending led back to this church.
Every beginning started with her birth here.
Her existence was a punishment without purpose.
'Even the gods forget me,' she thought. 'Even they don't remember what they've done.'
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Years passed.
Celica's body grew, but her eyes stayed the same, empty, grey, tired.
Her black hair had lost its shine, and her voice was thin from disuse.
She spent most of her time sleeping because sleep was the only escape.
When she slept, she didn't think, she didn't remember.
On the day she turned fifteen, a small sound echoed in the air.
Ting♪
A familiar chime.
A silver window appeared before her eyes.
[Hello?]
Her lips twitched slightly.
It always came on this day.
'It's always the same,' she thought.
[Is this thing on?]
[Helloooo?]
"Hi," she answered, her tone flat.
[Oh, good, you're awake.]
[Uhm… what's going on?]
[Why are you down here?]
"I was captured."
[Captured? By who?]
"The demons."
[Oh my… this isn't how it was supposed to go at all…]
[How long have you been down here?]
"Today makes fifteen years."
[But fifteen years ago is when I created—]
[Wait, what?]
[???]
[Huh?]
Celica exhaled slowly and stared at the damp ceiling.
Iria's confusion was genuine; it always was.
The goddess forgot everything each time, the loops reset even her memory.
Celica didn't hate her, not exactly, but there was bitterness buried under the exhaustion.
If not for Iria, maybe she wouldn't exist, maybe she would have been born as someone else, or not at all.
[I'm so sorry.]
[I used all my power to create you, so I had to rest for a while.]
[What happened?]
Celica didn't bother answering.
Instead, she pulled off the rag that covered her body and showed the truth.
Her skin was pale and thin, covered in faded marks: scars crossing over scars, burns healed wrong, bruises that never fully disappeared.
The messages stopped.
Silence filled the room.
For a moment, Celica thought the connection had died, but she could still feel the faint warmth of divine presence behind the screen, watching, hesitating.
She turned away and lay down again.
Sleep came quickly.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
The next day, the chime returned.
Ting♪
[Celica?]
[Are you awake?]
She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds, letting the dull ache behind them fade.
Sleep was the only time she felt nothing, so waking up always felt like a mistake she hadn't agreed to.
She turned her head against the straw and opened her eyes with a small sigh.
"…What?"
[I'm sorry.]
[I truly didn't mean for this to happen.]
[Is there anything I can do to make up for it?]
Her throat tightened without warning.
It was stupid.
She had spent years without tears, and now, over letters on a silver window, they came anyway.
One slipped past before she could stop it, then another.
She wiped them away with the back of her hand, annoyed at herself.
"There's nothing," she said. "There will never be anything."
She stared at the wall until the blur steadied.
Her voice came out thin and calm again.
"I've already tried everything. Look at my memory."
Silence followed.
The window didn't disappear, but it went quiet, like someone holding their breath on the other side.
[…]
[…Okay.]
The light on the screen seemed to sharpen, and though Celica had no proof, she could feel the system digging through the pieces she had marked.
She didn't move while the system worked; she let her eyes drift to the ceiling, following the hairline cracks that spidered out from the beam.
A fly buzzed somewhere beyond the door, and her ankle chain made a faint metallic sound whenever she shifted her foot.
Time dragged, but she had nowhere to go.
Ting♪
[…]
The window stayed without words for a long while.
That was new.
Usually, Iria rushed to speak.
This time, it felt like the goddess was forcing herself to think first.
"See?" Celica whispered. "I've tried everything. There's nothing more I can do."
She didn't sound angry, just tired.
The reply finally came, slower than before.
[I will help you.]
Celica let out a small laugh that wasn't really a laugh.
"You're late."
No excuses returned, no pleading.
[I will make sure things end differently this time.]
She watched the words without reacting.
It sounded like every other promise in a different shape.
"Do what you want," she said.
The window pulsed once.
[It will take time.]
Celica lay back down and pulled the rag over her shoulders.
"Fine."
'It's already too late anyway…'
Her eyes closed.
This time, sleep didn't fight her.
————「❤︎」————