20, 442 A.R. – Late Night (Past Timeline)
Rei lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that wouldn't come.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it, the moment of contact. The way Marcus's body had simply stopped being. The expression frozen mid-scream before even that disappeared into nothing.
I killed him. Erased him. Made him stop existing.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking. He'd hidden them under the blankets so his mother wouldn't notice when she'd checked on him an hour ago, but alone in the darkness, they trembled like leaves in a storm.
The prototype sat in its hiding place beneath the floorboards, deactivated, harmless. But Rei could still feel its weight in his palm, still hear that focused hum, still see the blue-white edge that had unmade a human being in three seconds.
He was going to kill me. It was self-defense. I didn't have a choice.
The rationalization felt hollow. True, but hollow.
But I built the weapon. I followed him into that alley. I escalated. I,
Thunder rumbled outside, and Rei flinched. The rain had finally stopped, but the sound still made his stomach clench.
Three days ago, I was afraid to talk to people. Now I've killed one.
What am I becoming?
The question spiraled through his mind, unanswerable, relentless.
Hours passed. The clock on his wall ticked steadily toward midnight, then past it. 1 AM. 2 AM. 3 AM.
Sleep felt impossible. His body was exhausted, training, gambling, merchant work, murder, but his mind wouldn't shut down. Kept replaying the moment. Kept analyzing variables. Kept asking what if.
What if I'd walked away? What if I'd tried talking? What if I'd used the blade differently, just scared him instead of,
What if he'd killed me? What if my family had found out I disappeared? What if,
The spirals got worse, not better.
Around 4 AM, exhaustion finally began winning. His thoughts grew fuzzy, disconnected. The ceiling blurred.
Have to wake up early. Training. Mira Castell at 8 AM. Can't be late. Can't,
Darkness pulled him under.
Not gently. Like drowning.
20, 447 A.R. – Night (Past Timeline: June 20, 452 A.R.)
The cold hospital air hit differently this time.
Rei's eyes opened to the familiar flickering light, the mechanical birds outside, the numb legs and trembling hands.
But something felt wrong. Off-balance. Like reality had shifted three degrees and forgotten to shift back.
Darius was already there, sitting in his usual corner, but he looked up sharply when Rei gasped awake.
"You're shaking," Darius observed, standing. "Worse than usual."
Rei tried to control his breathing, but his chest felt tight, constricted. "Bad night. In the past. I... I had a nightmare. About something I did years ago."
It wasn't entirely a lie. The killing had happened in what would become his past. And it did feel like a nightmare he couldn't wake from.
Darius moved closer, his soldier's instincts reading the signs of trauma. "What kind of nightmare?"
"I..." Rei's voice caught. "I hurt someone. Badly. It was self-defense, but... I keep seeing it. Keep feeling it. Like it just happened."
"Combat trauma," Darius said quietly, understanding crossing his face. "You killed someone."
Rei nodded, not trusting his voice.
"Recently? In your time?"
"Last night," Rei whispered. "Hours ago. Man tried to kill me. I defended myself. But the way he died, I can't stop seeing it."
Darius sat on the edge of the bed, his expression serious but not judgmental. "First kill?"
"Yes."
"That's always the hardest." Darius was quiet for a moment. "You want to talk about it, or do you need space?"
"I don't know," Rei admitted. "Part of me wants to forget. Part of me feels like I should remember. Like forgetting would be disrespectful to... to what I did."
"You don't forget," Darius said firmly. "First kill, you never forget. I was nineteen. Bandit raid on a supply convoy. I can still see his face twenty years later. Still remember the moment the light left his eyes."
"How do you..." Rei's voice broke. "How do you live with it?"
"You learn to carry it," Darius replied. "The guilt doesn't go away. But you learn that survival has a price, and sometimes that price is blood. The fact that you're breaking down right now? That means you're still human. Still capable of feeling what it cost."
"It doesn't feel like enough," Rei said. "Feeling guilty doesn't bring him back. Doesn't change what I did."
"No, it doesn't. But it keeps you honest." Darius' scarred hands clasped together. "The people who feel nothing when they kill—those are the ones who've lost themselves. You're still here. Still feeling. Still questioning. That matters."
"Does it get easier?"
"It gets familiar," Darius corrected. "Not easier. You learn to function through it. To do what needs doing and process it later. To compartmentalize when you have to, and let it hit you when it's safe."
Rei stared at his useless hands. "I'm not sure I want to become the kind of person who can do that."
"You might not have a choice," Darius said quietly. "If what you're building toward requires fighting, and I think it does, you'll kill again. The question is whether you let it destroy you or whether you learn to carry it."
The words settled heavy in the cold air.
"I don't want to be dark," Rei whispered.
"Then don't be. Let the weight keep you human. Let it remind you that every life matters, even the ones trying to end yours." Darius stood. "But don't let it paralyze you either. The man attacked you. You survived. That's what matters in the moment. The guilt comes after, when you're safe enough to feel it."
Rei absorbed this, the shock beginning to fade into hollow exhaustion.
"Do you want to continue training tonight?" Darius asked. "Or do you need to just... sit with this?"
Rei considered. The distraction would help. And he needed to understand combat better—needed to know how to end fights without escalating to lethal force every time.
"Teach me," he said. "I need to know how to control situations better. How to not... how to avoid it happening again if possible."
"Alright." Darius pulled his chair closer. "Let's talk about threat assessment and de-escalation. How to read a situation before it reaches the point of no return..."
They worked through the night, techniques for controlling opponents without killing them, methods for ending fights quickly but non-lethally, understanding when retreat was the better option.
And slowly, beneath the technical discussion, Rei felt something settle.
Not peace. Not forgiveness.
But purpose.
He'd killed someone. That weight would never leave.
But he was still alive. Still fighting. Still moving toward saving Mira.
And maybe, just maybe, he could learn to be the kind of person who carried that weight without being crushed by it.
The darkness began pulling him back toward the past, and this time, Rei didn't resist.
He had training to do.
Work to complete.
A family to protect.
And a future to rewrite, one terrible choice at a time.