Every Sunday, Hao’s morning starts the same way: with cheerful chirps from a bird on his windowsill, and the smell of coffee floating through his room, and a gentle hand shaking his shoulder.
“Good morning, hyung,” a voice whispers, light and musical like the bird’s song, that sweetens into laughter when Hao grumbles and burrows himself deeper into his covers. “It’s time to get up.”
Hao will grumble some more, like he always does, but still lets the gentle hand bring him upright, away from the warmth and comfort of the safe haven that is his bed. Because it lets him wrest the hand forward, down to the mattress, until he’s latched onto and secured himself in the warmth and comfort of another safe haven.
“Hyung,” Hanbin chuckles, admonishing but still nestling Hao closer, exactly like Hao knows he will. “You said you wanted to go to the cafe with me, remember?”
It will take nine minutes for Hanbin to break the embrace and push Hao to the bathroom despite his protests. Theoretically, Hao could separate himself earlier, or even refuse to leave his bed at all, but in the end, he has no reason to. He will always take the nine minutes, because it’s nine more minutes with Hanbin, and more time with Hanbin is something Hao will pay any price for.
Even if it means having to wake up early in the morning…well. He suppose he can only blame himself, for falling in love with someone who wakes up at seven in the morning on a Sunday.
It’s 08:31 when they reach the cafe. He keeps his arm linked with Hanbin’s even after they step inside, so that when the customer rushing to the exit spills their coffee, he’s able to drag Hanbin away from the splash zone easily. They order, and find a booth tucked in the back close to the coffee machines, and Hao looks out the window at 08:52 so he can point out the cute Pomeranian that always walks by in time for Hanbin to snap a photo. The cafe is cozy, an oasis of warmth in winter mornings, and the noises of background chatter and machinery and footsteps blanket Hao’s ears the same as they always do.
“It’s a good thing you got me out of the way,” Hanbin says, as Hao sips from his hot chocolate. “I could’ve stained my new shoes!”
Hao knows. After all this time, he can picture those shoes—white ankle boots, lined with fur—without having to look. They’ve only ever gotten stained once, but never again afterwards. Hao taps his own foot forward, successfully finding Hanbin’s. “Who’s to say I won’t stain them myself?”
“Eh!” Hanbin’s jaw drops. “You wouldn’t!”
“Keep stealing my food, and I will.”
Hanbin swipes a bite from Hao’s muffin anyway, grin brimming with mischief at Hao’s answering glare. Hao goes to swat at his hand half-heartedly, knowing his speed is no match against one of Taekttang Adventuring University’s best Dashers, but—
“Oh—!”
Pain, sharp as a needle, lashes up his right forearm, and Hao draws back with a wince. It’s gone just as quickly as it arrived, leaving nothing but the lingering soreness that is now a permanent part of his body. He rubs at his wrist uncertainly.
That’s…never happened before.
He’s sure everything has been the same so far. He hasn’t done anything differently, not this time, not yet. Why…
“—ppened? Hao-hyung?”
The ringing in his ears fades enough for Hanbin’s voice to pierce through. When Hao looks up, Hanbin is leaning forward, all traces of mischief gone. He looks worried. Hao hates that he looks worried, hates himself for bringing that emotion to Hanbin’s face.
“I’m fine,” he says, shaking his arm out, this time with no incident. “Sorry. I think I…slept on it funny, or something. It’s nothing.”
Hanbin’s worry eases slightly, although there’s still a slight furrow to his brow. “Are you sure?” He reaches across the table, hands gently tracing over Hao’s forearm. His touch is cool, soothing, a balm to Hao’s inexplicable pain. “You looked—”
“I’m sure.” He’s a little disoriented—Sundays are almost always the same, he’s not used to so much change this early—but he gives Hanbin his best smile. “Really.”
“Mm…okay. But let me know if it gets worse, alright?” Hanbin lets go, and drinks from his own coffee. “Oh, by the way,” he adds, checking his phone. “Where are the—”
“Hanbin-hyung! Hao-hyung!”
Two other people slide into their booth, sporting identical wide grins, and Hao checks the time. 09:39. He holds back a sigh of relief. At least the rest of the morning is still on its usual track.
“There you are!” Hanbin ruffles Gyuvin’s hair as the younger squeezes him in a side-hug. “Did you order already?”
“Matthew’s ordering,” Taerae says, bumping Hao’s shoulder in greeting. “Also, Gyuvin got a new toy.”
“It’s not a toy!” Gyuvin whips something out of his pocket—a smooth orange stone dangling from a keychain, radiating a faint aura of magic. “It’s a Remembrance Key! You use it to ask someone a question, and then you both relive the memory—”
“I know what an R-Key is, Gyuvin—”
“Then why did you call it a toy!”
“You should be careful with that,” Matthew says, seamlessly inserting himself into the conversation and the booth, depositing three drinks onto the table. “I know what they are, too. Small ones like those can only be used once.”
“I’ll save it for something good.” Gyuvin pockets the R-Key, then snatches up his drink with so much enthusiasm the plastic crinkles. “The owner of the trinket shop said she only has a few left…I’m not going to risk it!”
“Sounds like a plan, Gyuvinnie,” Hanbin says cheerfully. “Are we waiting for anyone else?”
“Jiwoong-hyung’s meeting us later,” Taerae says after a sip from his coffee. “The other three are still questing, so it’s just us for now.”
“Oh! Then, what do you guys want to do?”
The rest of the day passes as usual. Hao takes comfort in it, in the familiarity, in being able to correctly predict everything that happens. To someone else, this kind of repetitiveness would be boring, insanity-inducing, a sign of failure. Hao used to feel that way, in the beginning.
Now, the repetitiveness is comforting. A comforting, safe haven.
A deity of water is waiting for him when he gets out of class.
It isn’t unheard of for a student of Taekttang Adventuring University to encounter a god—TAU boasts itself as being home to the best heroes in the region, and it only makes sense for high-ranking heroes to meet high-ranking deities—but it is still uncommon. TAU’s School of Magic has students of several backgrounds, including those who draw power from faith in their gods, so it’s usually them who are in regular contact with gods at all.
Hao is not one of them. Hao’s arcane ability comes from nothing but himself and his own studying. But he encounters two gods on a weekly basis. This is one of them.
“Zhang Hao.” Steilkami, goddess of all flowing rivers, regards him with clear blue eyes, standing over him at a towering three-meter height. If she weren’t secluded under a bridge right now, he’s sure the setting sunlight sparkling off her platinum hair and flowing robes would enrapture the entire campus. “We meet once more.”
Hao always finds her at this very spot, where the creek flowing from Dawn Lake runs under the bridge closest to the North Gate, just outside the Sharpshooter training grounds. Their first meeting was here, too, when Hao went under the bridge after hearing pained whimpers from that area, to see a near-comatose young girl. Imagine his surprise when, after healing her with what he learned from the one Healing course he took, a literal goddess swept in with the newly unfrozen river’s current and thanked him for saving her daughter.
Ever since, he’s never seen the girl again, but Steilkami is here, every time without fail.
“You always come back here, even after all this time,” Hao says. His voice echoes slightly, and he can see his breath misting in front of him from the cold. “Why?”
She never seems offended by his bluntness. Just continues regarding him, with an expression as indiscernible as deep waters. “I am the one who put you in hell,” she says. “The least I can do is offer you a space free from its unstoppable flow. Even if it is just for a moment. Even if it is only through speaking to me.”
Hell. Is that what she calls it?
“I appreciate it.” A gust of wind passes, biting at his skin through his thin jacket. He can’t feel it. “You don’t owe me anything. But I appreciate it.”
When he saved her daughter, she had given him a ring of pure ice as thanks, and told him to break it if he ever wanted to call her for a favor. Five days later, he did exactly that. She couldn’t help with his request, but she sent him back up the river of time and locked its cycle to his soul, and here he is still. Just like her, he is here as well, every time.
“Over five hundred iterations have passed,” Steilkami says. “To be precise, five hundred and sixteen iterations have passed. Nearly all of them have ended the same way. I have warned you already, that your soul will not be able to withstand this forever, if the ending remains unchanged.” She examines him with a critical eye. “You feel it, do you not? It is not a weight one can shake.”
…Over five hundred?
Suddenly, it’s like all the strength has left his limbs. He sits, uncaring of the dirty riverbank—he won’t be wearing these pants again this week anyway—and stares unseeingly at the creek’s rippling surface. The ever-present soreness, the ever-growing fatigue, feels worse than ever, like the very sky is threatening to crush him into nothing. If he closes his eyes, he remembers endless swirling darkness, and hears the ghost of a dying wail, as his body breaks and bleeds and crumbles apart, once then twice then—
“Are you tired, Zhang Hao?”
When he blinks, Steilkami has floated closer, hovering above him, one hand caressing under his chin. Her spectral hands are cold, even to his numbed body, and when he lifts his head to meet her eyes, he sees nothing but sadness.
“You know there is a way to end this,” she says, barely audible over the rushing current and howling wind. “You can always choose a different ending. This hell will destroy you, bit by bit, unless you give it up.”
Hao allows himself one moment, two moments, to rest, to close his eyes and soak in her cold touch and let his body slump under the burden not meant to be carried by mortal shoulders. He breathes in once. And when he exhales, he looks at her again, and shakes his head.
“This is the only way.” Hanbin’s face enters his mind, smiling and bright and alive, and Hao keeps it there, folds it away in the depths of his heart. “I have to keep going.”
If this is the price to keep him, it is the price he will pay until the end of time.
Taerae, Gunwook, and Yujin return from their quest late that evening. To celebrate, all nine of them eat dinner together in their dorm the next night, for the first time all week.
In the middle of the ensuing video game tournament, as half of them transfix on their small TV screen to see if Gyuvin will finally beat Yujin in Mario Kart (he won’t) and the other half listen to Taerae recounting the quest (“We would’ve been doomed if we hadn’t found our pack of scrolls again, I really thought we lost them—”), Hao sneaks to the balcony, and brings Gunwook with him.
“I know you just got back, so you can turn this down if you want.” Hao prefaces his request with this every time, even when he knows Gunwook will say yes. “But I have a favor to ask of you.”
“I don’t mind,” Gunwook says, earnest as ever. His hands curl around the warming fire Hao summoned for him, tongues of flame harmlessly tickling his fingers, as he holds it close to his heart. “What do you need, hyung?”
It sometimes occurs to Hao, the amount of power he has. After living the same week for so long, he knows exactly what will happen, he knows exactly what to do to induce a specific outcome, he could write out every single event that will occur over these seven days and be exactly correct. In this life he is trapped in, where time repeats itself endlessly, he is as omnipotent as a god.
The original flow of events is unacceptable. It’s something he has to work to fix. There are some edits that aren’t necessary to that goal, that he does anyway. He didn’t have to take nine minutes to wake up on Sunday. He didn’t have to stop Hanbin’s shoes from getting stained. He didn’t have to visit Steilkami under the bridge yesterday. None of that will affect how it all ends; this he knows with certainty.
He has broken it down to a science, to the point that for this loop, he knows exactly what he has to do.
Some edits aren’t necessary. This one is.
“I want to give Hanbin something for the gala.” The Winter Solstice Gala, the celebration to end all celebrations, the prestigious event where the most accomplished celebrities and heroes in Taekttang would be present along with hundreds of other partygoers. A handful of TAU students were invited, and their group of nine is amongst them, and all of them were gushing about it throughout dinner. “So we can match.”
Hao takes out the blueprint from his pocket and unfolds it, the blueprint with design specifications for a pair of lockets, one shaped like the sun and the other like the moon. Gunwook is a Bruiser, but he’s the best out of all of them at crafting magical items (he’s just that well-rounded), and Hao knows he can make them perfectly.
“I’m sorry this is so last minute,” Hao says, as Gunwook shifts the warming fire to one hand so he can take the blueprint with the other. Gunwook’s answering smile is blinding in the dark night.
“Don’t be sorry! This is easy, I can make this by Friday.” His eyes scan the blueprint again, and he whistles. “Did you draw this, hyung? It’s so detailed…it’s like something I’d make.”
“I know.” Hao copied it from his memory of the blueprint Gunwook used to make for the lockets, back when Hao had nothing but a poor sketch and a list. “I pay attention.”
He laughs, his ears going pink. “Are you trying to flatter me, hyung?”
“Just telling the truth.” Hao reaches up to ruffle his hair. “Thank you, Gunwook. I’m in your debt.”
“Ah, no, don’t say that! It’s nothing, really!”
Hao will never be able to tell Gunwook how wrong he is, how deeply indebted he is, after all this time. No matter how many meals Hao will treat Gunwook to after to pay him back, it’s never enough. Those lockets are one of the vital keys to being able to modify the timeline at all, and Gunwook will never know.
Gunwook leaves, after pocketing the blueprint and returning the warming fire to Hao, which he sets on the balcony’s railing, and when the balcony door slides shut, Hao is alone with the night sky.
The stars aren’t visible tonight. It starts snowing, only a few minutes after Gunwook goes back inside, which Hao purposefully timed so he’s not forcing the younger to stay out in the snow. Another unnecessary edit.
Hao lays his forearms on the railing, his right overlapping his left, and watches snowflakes gently descend, dusting the city beneath him in white. The sleeve on his right arm is rolled up to his elbow, so as the snow falls it melts directly on his skin. He could smooth it back down, or wear a warmer jacket, but that’s an unnecessary edit he doesn’t make. He just stands there, as more snow falls, until he can’t see the sky.
“Are you tired, Zhang Hao?”
According to Steilkami, he has seen this same view five hundred and sixteen times—five hundred and seventeen, now. He has lived this week five hundred and sixteen times. He has died five hundred and sixteen times. She’d warned him, after their two hundred and ninth meeting under the bridge, about what could happen to his soul, and he wonders how many times it will take for his soul to die along with his body.
He can tell it’s getting worse. It gets harder to open his eyes every morning. The spontaneous flare of pain on Sunday was the first he’d experienced, but he doubts it will be the last. He doesn’t need to wear heavy winter coats anymore, because the cold no longer registers on his pain scale. He is a pebble in the river of time, and each time it passes it erodes him just a little more. Death is not enough to free him. Freedom will cost his complete and total destruction.
It doesn’t have to be this way. He can choose to stop, to escape, at any point, if he gives up. But…
“Gods, hyung, are you insane? Why are you still out here?”
Someone is rolling his right sleeve back down, bundling him in a heavy blanket, brushing snow out of his hair. It takes longer than Hao would like to admit for him to realize what’s happening, to realize he zoned out so much he didn’t notice Hanbin entering.
“Hyung,” Hanbin breathes, cupping Hao’s cheeks, and Hao startles at the sudden warmth. Hanbin’s hands burn against his icy skin. “Aren’t you cold?” He clicks his tongue, examining Hao worriedly. His cheeks are already reddening from the cold. “Come inside. You’re going to get sick.”
Strange. Hanbin usually doesn’t worry like this when they meet here. Hao frowns, confused, until his eyes slide over to the railing, and he realizes why their script has deviated. The warming fire he’d put there is gone. When did it disappear?
Hanbin is tugging at him more insistently now, but Hao plants his feet to the ground, unmoving. They never go back inside this early. “I’m fine.”
“Hao-hyung—”
“It’s okay.” Hao summons another orb of fire to set above the railing, and all the snow on the balcony immediately melts. “It’s warm now, see? Don’t you want to look at the view? It’s really nice.”
Hanbin lets out an incredulous snort, shaking his head, but finally relents. When Hao turns back to the balcony railing, Hanbin joins him, looping an arm around his waist. “Is this what they teach you in your Evocation classes? How to make portable heaters?”
“Maybe.” The warmth from the blanket and the fire didn’t really occur to his senses, but Hanbin’s warmth does, wrapping around him and seeping into his core. He sighs, content, relaxing his head on Hanbin’s shoulder, letting himself melt like the snow. Hanbin’s quiet chuckle vibrates through him, soothing like a cat’s purr.
“Only a few minutes, okay?” Hanbin says. This is good. This is the normal script. “Then we’ll go back.”
Hao hums in agreement. It’ll only be five minutes this time. Not as good as nine, but still something he will gladly take.
“You barely ate anything tonight. Aren’t you hungry?”
Oh. Another unexpected deviation. Hao’s appetite is practically nothing these days (hunger is also something no longer on his pain scale), but he always tries to eat enough to avoid drawing attention. He must’ve messed up this time. “I wasn’t before. I’ll eat when we go back inside.”
“Okay, good.” Hanbin presses a kiss to his hair. When he speaks again, they’re back to the normal script once more. “Are you excited for the gala?”
He’s not. He’s very much not, has never been since the first time. The gala is where the loop ends. The gala is where they find out the mayor of Taekttang himself has been corrupted by a fragment of Nyqrios, the Fallen Dragon God, that will try to rise again by absorbing the lives of everyone at the gala before proceeding to destroy the world. The gala is where Hanbin gave up his life to seal them away once more, and Hao had to watch him die.
“I am,” he lies, because he knows following the script is best here. Stopping the gala just means the god will target TAU and kill more people, and not attending just hastens the world’s end. In the end, the gala has to happen, and they both have to be there for it. “Are you?”
“Of course. It’s nice that we get to go together, isn’t it? Not just you and me, but all of us?” A beat. “I…I hope we can all stay together. For a long time.”
Their group had originally started with only three of them: Hao, Hanbin, and Jiwoong. All three of them had their own reputations since freshman year—Hao as the transfer student from Chengyan that dominated the Evoker department while being completely self-studied, Hanbin as the best Dasher of the past century, Jiwoong as the famous actor that inexplicably enrolled in TAU to study Potioneering—but it wasn’t until sophom*ore year, when Matthew and Taerae accompanied them on a quest to slay a lich terrorizing the city, that they started getting recognition as a group.
They kept questing, kept succeeding, and their numbers grew until they were nine, with Yujin joining them early this fall to defeat the Golden Dragon of the North. The media coined them as Taekttang’s up-and-coming adventuring party, destined for glory, and, well…now they’re being invited to nationwide galas, so they’re definitely doing something right.
Hao would often hear speculations, about what their party would become after the eldest three graduated in the spring. He used to think about it, too.
He doesn’t anymore.
“Do you ever get scared about the future, hyung?”
The first fifty times Hanbin asked him this, Hao had said yes, because fear of the future is inevitable even for someone like him. No matter how hard one works, the future can never be affixed, and uncertainties will always cloud one’s vision. But Hao is nothing if not stubborn, and he will work hard to keep them together, so of course that’s what will happen. Hanbin would laugh when Hao said all this, and tease his overconfidence, but would always relax at Hao’s reassurances, and squeeze him closer to his side.
It’s strange. He worked so hard to get to where he is now, to become a hero that can be admired, to leave behind a long-lasting legacy known to the entire world. He poured everything into the prospect of his future, and now he’s practically throwing it away. His past is nothing, and his future is nothing, and his present is an iron cage of his own making.
All for one person.
“Not anymore.” Hao’s answer, after the fifty-first time, has changed to this. “You don’t have to be scared, Bin-ah. If you know what you want, and you’re willing to fight for it, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Wow…” Hanbin exhales, long and slow. “You make it sound so simple.”
“I’ll make sure you get the future you want.” Hao swears this, every time. One day, it will come true. “So you don’t have to be afraid.”
Hanbin’s laugh, although shaky, is genuine. “That…that’s too much, hyung. I would never ask you for—”
“I love you.”
He turns to face Hanbin, presses their foreheads together, meeting Hanbin’s astonished eyes straight on—out of the two of them, Hao has always been less verbally affectionate, but ever since the loops began he’s made sure to tell Hanbin those three words as much as possible. Because it’s never enough. It can never be enough.
“I love you,” he repeats. “Like the sun and moon. You don’t have to ask me, because I’d do it anyway. So if you’re scared, just depend on me. Okay?”
Hanbin kisses him, stealing the very breath from his lungs, gentle and chaste and yet with so much love, burning Hao from the inside out with every press of his lips. Even though Hao knew it was coming, it still leaves him giddy and light-headed, the sudden rush of warmth and desire, and he kisses Hanbin like it’s their first time, lets himself go pliant in Hanbin’s hold as Hanbin deepens the kiss.
He will never get tired of this. Even if a thousand more cycles pass and his soul is one more away from breaking, he knows he will always long to kiss Hanbin just like this, every single time.
When Hanbin finally breaks away, Hao can see droplets of water glistening on his eyelashes, and can’t tell if they’re tears or lingering melted snowflakes.
“Like the sun and moon,” Hanbin agrees, still slightly breathless. He steals another kiss, a quick one this time, and smiles when Hao does. “I trust you, hyung. You know I do.”
TAU is divided into two schools: the School of Warriors, and the School of Magic. Each school has its own departments. The School of Warriors has three: Bruisers, Dashers, and Sharpshooters. The School of Magic has five: Abjurers, Evokers, Healers, Potioneers, and Summoners.
Students usually stick to courses within their own departments, but it’s possible to take courses outside of those as well. Gunwook and Hanbin, two of the best students in the School of Warriors, have taken plenty of magic courses, and Hao himself has attended a Sharpshooter class or two despite being an Evoker. They’re rare cases, though—it’s far more common to see students take external courses within their own schools.
So even if Hao hadn’t lived this week more than five hundred times, it wouldn’t have been too out of the question to see Gyuvin in his Wednesday morning class.
“Hao-hyung!” Gyuvin all but tackles him in a hug, and Hao nearly topples over from the force. “Surprise! I’m in your class today!” His bright grin fades a little, when he retreats enough to see his face. “Are you okay?”
Hao does his best to smile, even when the classroom lights send a new flash of pain through his head. He’d woken up with a headache in the morning, and he should probably be worried considering that’s never happened in any previous cycle, but thinking too hard just makes his head hurt more, and there are things he needs to do today, headache be damned.
“I’m fine,” he says. Follow the script. “What are you doing here, Gyuvinnie?”
“Secret! Well, actually, the class starts in five minutes, so it won’t be secret for longer, but still! Now go sit down!”
Gyuvin shoos him away, and Hao sneaks in a hair ruffle before acquiescing. Their professor explains Gyuvin’s presence quickly enough; they’ll be having practice fights with monsters today, and Gyuvin, as a Summoner, is here to conjure said monsters.
The fights are a piece of cake, notwithstanding the headache. After the numerous times Hao has had to fight a literal god, even the hulking giant Gyuvin Summons doesn’t faze him. Because Hao defeats it so quickly, he has to fight several more monsters before the class ends, but he doesn’t mind. It doesn’t take much effort at all.
It’s a shame his magic strength can’t accumulate across loops. He’s sure that he’d be strong enough to defeat Nyqrios in seconds, if all his experience carried over. Of course, though, if that were able to carry over, his wounds and scars would as well. He already feels pain from the mental toll of the cycles alone (at least, that’s what he assumes is what’s happening)—adding actual wounds would have destroyed him by now. It’s probably for the best his body physically resets completely each cycle.
“Wow, hyung, you’re so cool!” Gyuvin gushes once class ends, as everyone else leaves the room. He’s bouncing on the tips of his toes from how excited he is, and Hao can’t help his amusem*nt at the sight. Gyuvin dispels the last of the monsters with a wave of his hand, which briefly glows purple before fading. “I could barely keep up!”
“You did great, too,” Hao says. “It’s not easy to Summon and control so many creatures at once. You’re so impressive.”
“Wh—I—” Gyuvin’s blushing now. When Hao laughs, he seems even more embarrassed, refusing to look at Hao as he grabs his backpack and reaches to steer Hao out the room. “Come on, let’s just go, I promised Gunwook I’d—”
Gyuvin’s hand has just brushed against Hao’s sleeve, when he recoils with a yelp as if burned. Hao frowns. This hasn’t happened before either. Why is this day so…
“What’s wrong?” Hao asks, shaking that last thought away and immediately regretting it from the way his head throbs in protest. “Gyuvin—”
“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’?!” Gyuvin stares, horrified. “Why didn’t you say you were injured?”
Injured? “I’m not.”
“You’re literally bleeding!”
Hao looks down, and for the first time notices blood, dripping to the ground in a crimson puddle. His left sleeve, he realizes, is almost soaking wet. Part of it is shredded to pieces, revealing a deep gash going down almost the entire length of his arm.
“Oh.” Hao watches, unfeeling, as blood continues to trickle down. When did that happen? Was he too careless? Did the headache really worsen his performance? He’s always been worse at protecting his left side, but he didn’t think… “I guess something nicked me.”
“Hyung, what—” Gyuvin grabs his uninjured arm, growing more and more frantic. “We have to find a Healer! We have to—”
“It’s okay. I took a Healer class before, remember?” He touches the base of the wound, and with a shimmer of white light it begins to close. After a moment of consideration, he also summons a jet of water to wash the blood off. “See? No need to worry.”
“Hao-hyung…”
Gyuvin’s horrified look hasn’t changed. He changes his grip to Hao’s newly healed arm, and gingerly presses where the wound once was. When Hao doesn’t react, he asks, “Didn’t it hurt? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t notice it. Really.”
His headache must be worse than he thought, if he didn’t notice getting a cut like that. Note to self, he thinks, take a painkiller, if this happens again. Or just use a shield.
Gyuvin studies him, silent for a long moment. Then he links their arms and sets off in a brisk pace, leaving Hao stumbling to keep up.
“Wh—Gyuvin! Where—”
“This isn’t right. I don’t care what you think, something’s not right. I’m going to find Taerae.”
“Huh?” Taerae? “Wait, I was going to get lunch with Ricky—”
“I’ll text him! He’ll understand! Infirmary first!”
“Gyuvin—!”
His protests fall on deaf ears, as Gyuvin proceeds to drag him along, and in the end he just huffs and resigns himself to this new deviation. Hopefully it will all end quickly.
---
Hao can feel Ricky’s attention on him as soon as he enters the dining hall. Ricky does nothing to veil his concern, and grabs for Hao’s left arm as soon as he sits down.
“Ricky,” Hao sighs, as the other inspects the scar marking where the wound was with extreme focus. “I’m fine. Taerae also said I’m fine. I know you know that, he literally called you.”
Taerae, their Healer, didn’t find anything amiss even after running who knows how many detection spells. He said nothing about Hao’s headache, only confirming Hao’s suspicions that whatever pain and soreness he feels isn’t something that can be treated normally, and sent Hao along after making him promise to get a lot of rest and sleep early.
“I don’t like this,” Ricky mutters in their native tongue. He pinches Hao’s still-damp sleeve between his thumb and index finger. Two food platters lie to the side, untouched and forgotten. “If Taerae couldn’t find anything wrong, that means it’s something serious…”
“If Taerae couldn’t find anything wrong, that means nothing’s wrong,” Hao corrects in the same language, patting Ricky’s hand as he extracts his arm. “Seriously. You don’t have to worry—”
“But I am worried about you.”
Hao reels. Inwardly, he can’t help but curse. He knows one deviation usually leads to another and will keep going like a domino chain, but he was really, really hoping that wouldn’t be the case for this. “Like I said, my arm is—”
“I don’t just mean that.” Ricky leans forward, and Hao almost shrinks backwards from how intense his gaze is. “You…you’ve been acting weird all week. You’re always tired, and you look so empty whenever you think no one’s looking, and—why are you never cold now? It’s below zero today, and you’re only wearing a sweater!”
Note to self, Hao thinks. Wear thicker jackets. Even if you don’t need them.
“I don’t know what it means, but something’s not right.” An echo of Gyuvin’s words. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Hao purses his lips. Right. In earlier cycles, when Hao was less adept at navigating them, Ricky was always the first to notice something amiss. They’ve been friends for over a decade, ever since they were just children in Chengyan, long enough that Hao knows Ricky down to his every secret. Unfortunately, the reverse also holds true.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he tries, wincing as Ricky scowls. “Really—”
“I’m not afraid to hire a doctor to look at you, y’know. I know Hanbin knows a good one—”
“No! Don’t tell him—”
Hao freezes, clamping his mouth shut, but it’s too late. Ricky’s eyes gleam with something akin to triumph. His response was too panicked to be natural, and Ricky knows it.
“So there is something wrong.” Ricky pauses then. “Are you and Hanbin fighting? You’re not breaking up, are you?”
“What? No—”
“Then why did you react like that?”
“I—” Hao buries his face in his hands, elbows hitting the table with a thud. His head throbs, a hammering to the surface of his skull, dull but persistent. “It’s nothing. Please believe me. If you tell Hanbin, he’s going to worry himself sick over nothing because he always worries himself sick. It’s nothing, Ricky.”
There was a point, in the very early cycles, where Hao did tell the others about the time loop. He tried telling different combinations of people, and tried only telling one per cycle, and even tried telling all eight of them at once. They always believe him. He can’t believe how unwavering their trust is in him, to believe him so immediately every time. He’s sure that if he spilled everything to Ricky right now, Ricky would listen without doubting for a single second.
But no matter who he tells, and no matter what they try to save everyone at the gala as quickly as possible, and no matter how many of them face Nyqrios…it’s useless. If Hanbin isn’t there, they don’t make it to the Dragon God in time, and if Hanbin is there, Nyqrios always targets him first because he was the one to deal the final blow to the Golden Dragon of the North, and whenever that happens Hao always has to—
…
It’s useless to say anything. The burden he carries is not meant to be carried by one person, but it is a burden meant for him and him alone. He has long since accepted it.
Cold hands, ringed with metal, brush against his own. Hao lets Ricky lower his hands away from his face, squeezes back when Ricky interlocks their fingers. Ricky says nothing for a long while, just looks down at the table, at their hands. His forehead is wrinkled from how hard he’s frowning, the way it does when he has a million thoughts and is trying to organize them into actual sentences. Hao waits patiently.
“The sun and moon.”
“…What?”
“That’s what you and Hanbin always say to each other.” Ricky meets his eyes. “But you’re the one who said it to him first two summers ago. ‘My love for you is like the sun and moon.’”
“Why are you—”
“I always thought you meant it as, your love for him is as grand as the sun and moon combined. But…that’s not it, is it? You say that because you see yourself as the sun, right?”
Hao’s heart stops beating.
No.
“You’re like that with everything,” Ricky says, forging on. “You think you have to do everything, and that you can’t ask anyone else to help, but you can, Hao, you can rely on us—”
“Ricky—” Hao implores, cold panic creeping up his body and choking his throat, “Ricky, don’t—”
“You can’t think that way,” Ricky insists, tightening his grip when Hao tries to pull away. “If you keep—if…There’s an old story about the sun and moon. You’ve heard it, haven’t you?”
No, no, please stop—
“About how the sun loves the moon so much, that he—”
Hao can’t take it anymore.
He breaks free and runs.
By the time Hao makes it back to the dorm on Thursday, he can barely stand.
Today was much more normal, thankfully. No new injuries, no new conversations, no new changes from the usual timeline. He gets through class unscathed, and completes everything he needs to, and even manages to avoid Ricky after their disastrous conversation yesterday. All in all, a successful day.
The only thing is…well…
“Yeah, I don’t know why they shut down the dining hall today, it’s—oh, yikes.” Matthew cuts himself off, as Hao slings off his backpack and all but collapses onto the couch. “Are you okay?”
“Yah, Hao-hyung!” Taerae scolds. “I told you to get more rest, didn’t I? Why do you look like death warmed over?”
Hao manages something like an apology, sinking into the cushions. He feels dizzy just from lying still, so he closes his eyes, and his blood pulses at his temples, in his eardrums, behind his eyelids, as if someone were tightening a rope around his head. He can’t feel his limbs anymore, doesn’t think he’d be able to move even if he wanted to. It’s too tiring to even try to breathe more steadily, to get his lungs to expand to fill with enough oxygen, so he just sinks further, heavy and boneless and aching.
“Hao-hyung?” He dimly recognizes Matthew’s voice, but it sounds faint, like he’s speaking through multiple layers of cotton. A hand runs through his hair, and the sensation is nice, so nice, that if he had any strength left he would lean towards it. “Are you sick? Taerae, can you…?”
Something tingles against Hao’s magic senses. Taerae hums. “I don’t sense anything…I think he’s just tired.”
“Let him sleep, then.” Jiwoong’s voice, this time, followed by multiple phone chimes. “Oh, Hanbin just texted…”
Hanbin…
Ah, that’s right…Hanbin will message their group chat and ask if anyone wants to join him for dinner. Hao always goes, along with Matthew and Jiwoong. It’s not something he has to go to. The only thing that changes is that Hanbin will go on a bit of a spending spree at the magical trinket shop they pass by, without Hao there to rein him in…but it’s never caused a major ripple effect before…
He should go. He’s the one who wanted to spend more time with Hanbin. He’s doing all of this to save Hanbin. Does it make him a bad boyfriend, to not go? He’s not tired. He can’t be tired. He still has so much to do…
Are you going to let him die again?
The memory flashes behind his eyelids, unbidden, unwanted, permanently ingrained.
Hanbin is the fastest among them. He is always the first one to find Nyqrios, and the only one to get there in time to stop them from ending the world. Hao has tried waiting where Nyqrios normally shows up, has tried closing off secluded areas, but Nyqrios is crafty—they only manifest in areas with no one, and if there’s no suitable area they can just create one. The halls are always crowded with the mayor’s forces and panicked guests, and are impossible to teleport through freely. Hao can never navigate them fast enough, but Hanbin can.
The first time was the worst. The first time, Hao didn’t make it to them until the fight had ended. The first time, he’d burst through the door, only to see Hanbin already dying, writhing on the ground and choking on his own blood. The sight of the life fading from his eyes, and the feeling of his hand going slack…it haunts Hao even now.
For a god like Nyqrios, formidable even when fragmented and not fully awakened…it is impossible to defeat them without sacrifice. Every student of TAU’s School of Magic learns about Sealing Spells, and Sealing Daggers do the same thing, but this kind of magic is very rarely used. It requires the caster or wielder to pay an equivalent cost.
For things like high-level beasts and minor gods, one usually sustains a debilitating exhaustion. Hao’s Evocation professor once fell into a year-long coma after defeating Hell’s Duke of Demons. But to seal a powerful being away, it will cost them their life.
And Hanbin will choose to pay that price, every time.
It’s why healing him after the battle doesn’t work; it will only unleash Nyqrios once more. And it’s why having someone else fight doesn’t work either; no one else is strong enough to survive against Nyqrios long enough to seal them away. No one is, except…
“It is impossible,” Steilkami said to Hao, when he first called her using her ring, “for you both to move past this together.”
After five hundred and sixteen cycles…Hao is still here.
After five hundred and sixteen cycles…he’s…he’s just…
“Hyung?”
Someone is shaking him by the shoulders. He blinks blearily, taking in the darker room through half-lidded eyes. Did he…fall asleep?
“Hao-hyung?” He’s being shaken again, and this time he meets the eyes of their youngest member, kneeling in front of the couch, expression pinched with anxiety.
“Yujin?” He pushes himself upright, the impromptu nap having thankfully restored some of his energy. He wipes at his eyes, half to rub the sleep out of them and half to cool his face—it’s oddly hot in here. “Is something wrong?”
“No…” Yujin bites his lip. Here, in the dimly lit living room, shoulders hunched in on themselves and eyes full of fear…he looks so young. Hao pats the spot on the couch next to him, and Yujin climbs up, curling into Hao’s side. “I was worried about you. Why did you fall asleep here?”
Worried. It seems like all Hao’s doing now is worrying his friends. He needs to do better next time. “You don’t have to worry,” he says, resting an arm around his shoulders. “I was just tired.”
Yujin pokes Hao’s thigh. “You’re always telling me to rest more, but you’re not resting enough. That’s not fair.”
“Haha, sorry, sorry…”
Hao runs a hand through his hair, the same way someone else had been doing for him earlier, and chuckles at how Yujin immediately melts. He briefly notices the time on the wall clock, and almost does a double take. It’s a good thing Yujin woke him up—otherwise he would’ve missed something important. Gods…is he really that out of it? Note to self, set an alarm clock…or something.
“Yujin-ah,” he says, keeping his tone perfectly level. “There’s something else on your mind, isn’t there?”
“Um…” Yujin begins wringing his hands, picking at his cuticles. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” Hao says immediately. “Is it about the gala?’
“Whoa—” His head jerks up, eyes going round. “How did you know?”
This is another necessary edit. In the original script, Yujin changes his mind last-minute about attending the gala, too anxious about being the only first-year in a space packed with public figures. He will only attend if someone encourages him. And since he will never tell anyone about his stress until it implodes right before the gala, Hao is the only one who can.
“Listen.” He turns to face Yujin directly. “If you really don’t want to go, you don’t have to. None of us would force you to come with us if it would make you unhappy.”
“R…really?” It never fails to break his heart, how uncertain Yujin looks in response. “But…everyone’s so excited to go together…if I don’t come, won’t everyone be disappointed?”
“You don’t ever have to put someone else’s disappointment above your own happiness,” he says firmly. “If you don’t like galas, we can always find something else for the nine of us to do. There’s no pressure, okay? So you can speak honestly with me.” He bumps their knees together. “Do you really not want to go?”
Yujin’s biting his lip again. The wall clock continues to tick. Muffled laughter sounds from deeper within the dorm, from what Hao knows is Gyuvin gaming with Ricky. Eventually, Yujin takes a deep breath, and speaks again.
“I do want to go.” He nervously flicks his eyes up at Hao. “I want all of us to go together. I want everyone to see us as nine. But…what if I embarrass myself? What if I make us all look bad? I…I’ve never been to a gala, and there’s gonna be so many people…”
“Oh, Yujin…” Hao moves, holding Yujin’s hands so he stops picking at his skin. “It’s okay to be anxious. It’s natural. I don’t like big events like this either, you know? But if what you really want is to have fun with all of us…don’t let anyone else get in the way of that.”
Yujin wilts, wiping not so discreetly at his eyes. “Hyung…”
“We’ll protect you. You’re making an effort to be there for us, so of course your hyungdeul will make an effort to be there for you, too. We always will.”
He opens his arms, just in time for Yujin to surge forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. He pretends not to hear Yujin’s quiet whimpers; he just rubs the younger’s back, whispering soothing words all the while.
Yujin never hugs him for long. Thirty seconds, at most. Hao cherishes all of them, and does not think about how one of them will be the last.
“Thank you, hyung,” Yujin says quietly, once they separate, still red-eyed but much more relieved than before. “You always know what to say.”
Hao already knows what he has to do for this loop. After hundreds of loops of trial and error, he has a plan on how to succeed, and how to succeed efficiently with as few consequences as possible. Some edits aren’t necessary. There are six that are.
- After speaking to Steilkami, locate the pack of scrolls and return it to Taerae, Gunwook, and Yujin before their quest ends. Without it, Taerae ends up injured in their next bout of combat.
- Ask Gunwook to make lockets when he returns. Retrieve them on Friday morning.
- Subdue three of the mayor’s strongest bodyguards. They’re easiest to catch Wednesday evening, when they’re drunk out of their minds and trying to harass a girl at the bar Hao passes by on the way home. The mayor will hire triple the amount of bodyguards to replace them, but none of them will be as strong, and the extra numbers will actually work to Hao’s favor.
- Cause the dining hall to shut down on Thursday. A wave of food poisoning always originates from there, and before the staff catch it in the evening, several students will have gotten caught in it, Matthew being one of them. If he is, he becomes too sick to fight at the gala.
- Convince Yujin to come to the gala. Their odds of success are always greatest when all nine of them are present.
- Sabotage the anti-magic field devices in the gala main hall. Destroying them just means they will get immediately replaced, but if Hao rewires them to self-destruct when they activate upon Nyqrios’s arrival, they won’t notice anything amiss until it’s too late.
Hao did all of the first five, and has just completed the sixth. He goes in the afternoon, uncaught even in broad daylight, and now he’s adept enough at it to return just in time for his last class of the day.
There’s more he will have to do tomorrow evening, at the gala. Some of the edits won’t even matter unless he does everything right tomorrow. But he will. He will, because he has no other choice.
When Hao returns to their dorm, as the last of the sun dips below the horizon and the snow begins to peter out, he resists the urge to crash onto the couch again like yesterday. He can’t. Not today.
Instead, he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, past the living room, past the kitchen, past the door to his own room. The dorm is quiet tonight, practically abandoned. Most of them are still in class, or hanging out with friends, or getting an early dinner. Right now, there’s only one other person here.
His knuckles rap lightly on the white door.
“Come in!”
He twists the handle, and steps inside. The door clicks shut behind him.
Hanbin’s room is clean and tidy, yet still exudes life. The bed is neatly made, and the rug is fluffy and nicely laid on top of the polished wooden floor, but there is clutter, boxes and decorations and more that add a hint of chaos to the otherwise picture-perfect space. Toys and snacks and bottles are strewn without order on top of his dresser, and photos and posters and strings of lights splash his walls with color. There are containers stacked in the corner, and books spread out over the desk, and a row of plants centering around a big vase of flowers on the windowsill. Hao breathes in the scent of citrus and roses, and his nerves settle naturally, as he takes in what has become his second home within a home.
“Hao-hyung?”
Hanbin has already stood up from his desk. There’s something that glints orange as he closes a drawer, something Hao doesn’t immediately recognize, but he’s quickly distracted by Hanbin pecking him on the cheek.
“What’s up?” Hanbin graciously accepts a kiss in return. Just the sight of him, with his pale grey hoodie and rumpled dark hair and chocolate-colored irises, makes Hao feel infinitely better. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“I just got back. Now turn around and close your eyes.”
“Wh—” He sputters in protest, but is also already turning around. “Why?”
“Close your eyes!”
“They’re closed!”
Hao creates a smoke screen covering Hanbin’s eyes anyway, because he knows Hanbin will try to peek, snickering as Hanbin predictably begins to whine. From his pocket, he takes out one of the necklaces Gunwook made. The crescent moon pendant dangles from a simple thin chain. Hanbin goes still, voice dying mid-sentence, as Hao clasps it around his neck with careful fingers.
“There.” Hao dispels the smoke, and spins Hanbin back around. “Do you like it? I have one too, see?” He tugs at his own locket, which had been hidden under his shirt. “Wear it tomorrow, okay? So we can match.”
Hanbin touches the moon locket, reverently, almost disbelievingly, like he’s in a dream. His gaze flits between his locket, then Hao’s, then his own again.
Then, to Hao’s horror, he falls to his knees and bursts into tears.
“Hanbin—!” Hao drops next to him, completely at a loss. Hanbin’s supposed to smile, and hug him while peppering his face with kisses as Hao laughs, and gush over how pretty both of the necklaces are. He’s never reacted like this, and Hao has no idea what to do, why is he crying, what did Hao do wrong— “Hanbin, I—I’m so sorry, please don’t cry, did I do something?”
“N-no—” Hanbin hiccups, wiping his tears away with his sleeve even as more continue to fall. “I—I really love it…it’s so pretty…I just…”
A fresh wave of tears begins, and Hao frets, reaching out to him. “C-Come here, Bin, let’s get off the floor, okay? It’s okay, just try to breathe…”
Hao helps him onto the bed and plants himself beside him, letting Hanbin cry into his shoulder, all the while trying and failing not to panic. The lockets are the same as always, he made absolutely sure of it, and Hao didn’t say anything differently this time, so what happened? This particular cycle has been a little off, but none of the changes directly affected Hanbin…right?
Has something been wrong this entire time, and Hao just never noticed until now? Has he been so self-absorbed, so completely incapable, that he never noticed his own boyfriend suffering like this? Guilt, heavy and cold, sinks to the pit of his stomach, and he can only squeeze Hanbin tighter in a silent apology.
“I—I’m sorry…” Hanbin inches backwards, out of Hao’s embrace, and Hao’s arms drop uselessly to his sides. Hanbin pads the hem of his sleeve underneath his eyes, still sniffling. “I really am grateful, hyung…”
“You don’t have to say that, it’s okay—”
“No, I mean it! I—I love it, but—” Hanbin’s voice cracks, and when he looks up his eyes are teary and brimming with sorrow. “I’m so worried about you.”
Worried.
Something else sinks to the pit of his stomach. Something that feels more like dread. Something that only grows worse, as Hanbin continues talking.
“I’m worried,” Hanbin repeats, and it’s the final nail in Hao’s coffin. “You return home so late, and you’re so withdrawn all the time, and your smiles never look real anymore. Gyuvin and Ricky told me about your arm injury, and it made me think about that night on the balcony, and…what happened, that desensitized you like this? What’s wrong, Hao-hyung?”
Hao opens his mouth, to defend himself, to protest, to do anything except let this continue, but Hanbin just keeps going, words rushing out through a broken dam.
“I wanted to wait, because I thought you’d—I thought you’d talk to me. I thought you’d come to me if something was wrong, and I didn’t want to push you before you were ready. But you said nothing, and you looked worse every day, and you didn’t even tell me about your arm, and I didn’t know why. You weren’t talking to anyone about anything. And—and now you’ve gotten me such a nice gift, and—you’re doing so much, you’re so sweet to me even when I know you must be suffering inside, and I wish you would just talk to me. Please let me help you, hyung. Please.”
“Hanbin—”
“Don’t try to tell me nothing’s wrong,” Hanbin interrupts sharply. “I won’t believe you.”
Hao swallows. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry I didn’t realize how you’ve been feeling this whole time. I never wanted you to worry.”
“If you’re really sorry, you’ll tell me the truth.” Then, softer, pleading, “It doesn’t have to be everything. Even a little bit is fine. Just…please don’t lie to me.”
Hanbin’s eyes are so earnest, so desperate, so unwavering. His mouth is hardened to a set line, but still quivers slightly at the edges. Hanbin, his soul’s other half, his first friend in Taekttang, his most trusted questing partner, his first and last love. The one he’s been so desperately trying to save, all this time. The one he fell for only a few months after their first meeting, and pined for throughout the entirety of freshman and sophom*ore year, and kissed for the first time on his birthday right before junior year.
The one he loves like the sun and moon.
A part of him tells him to refuse. To keep it all locked up, to not let a single thing slip. You know how it ends if you tell someone, it hisses into his eardrums warningly. You know there is no point. This burden is not his to bear. It’s yours.
But…if he can’t trust Hanbin…then who in the world can he trust? If he can’t confide in him, what else is left?
Hao sighs, and the ache and soreness that bleeds into his every cell freezes over, sharp claws that dig into his very being. Exhaustion clouds his mind, sets deep into his bones like a sickness. He remembers every cycle, remembers every time he failed, remembers every wound and every death. It stays with him, a second shadow, rears its head whenever Hao lets his guard down.
The five hundred and seventeenth cycle. Over three thousand days. Almost ten years. Of the same exact week.
Hao is…Hao is…
“I’m tired.”
For a brief, brief moment, he allows himself to admit it. To say it out loud. That he would never give up, but he’s also so…just so tired.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Bin.” He does his best to smile, hoping it’s reassuring enough. “Really…I’m just a little tired. There’s been…a lot to do. But it’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay. So…you don’t have to keep worrying.”
…
Hanbin doesn’t look reassured by his words at all. If anything, he looks…
“Hao-hyung,” he whispers, stricken. “You’re crying.”
…What?
Hao touches his own cheek. His fingertips come away wet. And it’s only then that he registers something rolling down his face and dripping off his chin, and…when did he start crying? Why is he…
He goes to wipe them away, but is stopped by two hands holding his in place.
“It’s okay.” Hanbin’s eyes are still slightly red, and he looks close to tears himself, but his hands are strong and steady like always, and his smile, albeit small and watery, is still the most beautiful Hao’s ever seen. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. You can be tired. It’s okay.”
Hanbin draws him close, closer, so close Hao can smell his hoodie’s fabric softener. Hanbin hugs him like he’s protecting him from the rest of the world, like he’s holding him aloft from drowning in his own exhaustion, like he’s trying to entangle them until they’re permanently inseparable.
“I’ll be your strength,” he murmurs, gentle as a beam of moonlight. “For as long as you need me to be. You can rest now.”
Hao feels his lips, brushing against his neck in a featherlight kiss.
And he breaks.
This is what he’d been afraid of. There’s so much—too much—bottled up inside of him, weeks and weeks and weeks of torment and hopelessness and death that continue to live within him as scars, so much that he bears every day to the point that pain becomes an old friend, as inevitable as breathing. The weight of time rests on him like the sky, but he is no Atlas, he is only human, and if he lets himself falter even a little bit the rest of him will shatter into a million unsalvageable pieces.
But the tears only fell harder once he grew aware of them, and it’s so hard to breathe right now, and Hanbin is so warm…and Hao is not strong enough. Once the first part of him crumbled, everything else followed, and he is forced to give in, forced to feel every fracture and every old wound and every ounce of pain. He breaks, crumbles, falls apart, and it hurts, and he clings to Hanbin tightly, futilely, his last and only chance to glue himself back together.
True to his word, Hanbin stays strong, unyielding, a pillar of absolute support in the storm of his destruction. Hanbin holds him together, even as his eyes flood with tears and his body trembles and heaves with every guttural sob. He’s so tired, and he hates himself for being so tired, but Hanbin’s arms are solid and grounding, and his every touch, his every word, is so comforting and loving, healing broken shards Hao never thought could be fixed again. He cries, and Hanbin holds him together, and he cries until there are no more tears left.
Hao has no idea how long it’s been this time. He has no way of telling, no prior experience to go on. All he knows is that his throat is sore, and Hanbin’s hoodie is wet, and he feels…he feels…
“Hyung?” Hanbin speaks carefully, arms still loosely encircling him. “How are you feeling?”
…He feels lighter. Emptier. And unbelievably guilty.
“I’m sorry.”
“Apology not accepted. I don’t need one.” Hanbin kisses him on the forehead. “I want to be here for you. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me.”
You don’t get it, he doesn’t say. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you the first time. I’m sorry for keeping so much from you. I’m sorry for loving you even when fate doesn’t want us together. I’m sorry for making you worried about me even when there’s nothing you can do to fix it.
“I love you,” he says. The moon locket gleams on Hanbin’s chest, bright as the eyes of its wearer. “Thank you for loving me, too.”
I’ll save you, he doesn’t say. I won’t let you die tomorrow. I won’t let you die ever again. I swear on my life.
The Winter Solstice Gala.
The celebration to end all celebrations.
The city certainly spared no expense on it. The venue itself is pristine and glittering, decked out in golden decor, and lined in pearly tablecloths and wine velvet. The first performance is already ongoing when Hao enters, a jazz band so big they take up the entire stage, and pleasant music and light chatter floats across the space.
“Wow,” Hanbin gasps, eyes sparkling like the venue lights as he takes the sight in. The rest of their group reflect the same awe. “This is amazing.”
Hao used to find it beautiful. The first time, Hao was so incredibly excited. He snapped pictures, and preened at compliments over his and Hanbin’s coordinated black and navy suits, and enjoyed the stunning performances from a perfectly secluded spot he found on the second floor’s overlook. Hanbin, being an extrovert, spent a good portion of the night socializing, and Hao spent a good portion of his time watching him bounce around, glowing with elation and energy, laughing and smiling joyfully.
Then, the mayor halted the night, and an evil god took over his body and commanded troops to attack all of them, and Hao’s life began its rapid and drastic descent.
Just like how trying to stop the gala is useless, trying to stop the mayor is also useless. The corruption set in long before the week started, and the mayor himself was impossible to reach during the week (and as much as Hao was known as a prodigious hero and student of TAU, he was also still just a student), and trying to kill the mayor unleashed Nyqrios early, and…well. Hao has tried a lot of things. None of them had been worth the effort.
No matter what, Nyqrios is destined to rise again. Hao can’t stop that. But he can do his best to work around it.
He closes one hand over his locket, the points of the sun’s rays prickling his palm. It hums, faintly, with magic.
The music stops. The mayor comes on stage, microphone in hand, eyes glinting a dark violet. Hao takes a deep, steadying breath.
It’s about to begin.
---
The gala usually goes something like this:
- Nyqrios reveals themself, and announces their true intention of absorbing their lives to rise again and destroy the world.
- Nyqrios, still in the mayor’s body, teleports deeper into the building in a swirl of purple smoke.
- An alarm blares, signaling the activation of the anti-magic field devices and the locking down of the entire building.
- Armed guards flood the hall and try to incapacitate all the guests.
There’s nothing Hao can do about the first two steps, but the third step is taken care of, as sparks fly from the metallic implements drilled to the walls, which soon fizzle out until they’re nothing but useless ornaments. This lends very nicely into dealing with the fourth.
Hao quickly sheds off his jacket and tie, for the sake of more freedom of movement, and blasts a ray of pure ice at the group of guards that just barged into the second floor, freezing them all into place. Immediately after, he takes off running, tapping a finger to his temple.
Everyone, he transmits, focusing on connecting eight other people into one mental network, while simultaneously fending off as many attacks as possible. We have to get the guests out and find Nyqrios. Where are you all?
The network clicks into place, and other voices begin popping into his mind.
KGV: Whoa! Hao-hyung!
HYJ: Gyuvin-hyung and I are together. I saw Ricky climb into the rafters, I think.
SR: I stole one of their guns. I can take them down from here.
SM: You Sharpshooters are all the same. I’m with Gunwook. We’ll find a way to break the building locks.
SHB: We’ll have to find Nyqrios quickly. Yujin, Gyuvin, Taerae, split up and search the building. I’ll search, too. Jiwoong-hyung, find the Bruisers and help them break the locks.
KTR: Got it.
KJW: Will do. Matthew, Gunwook, where are you?
PGW: By the east staircase. Oh, I think I see you—
Good. No deviations.
Hao keeps running. He’s guided by pure muscle memory at this point. He knows this venue like the back of his hand now. He ducks and strikes at exactly the right moments, weaves through the crowd expertly, breaks past the soldiers and through the emergency staircase door. The venue space takes up two floors, but the building itself is five stories total. Hao makes it to the fourth floor, just in time to save Taerae from getting overcome by guards.
“Hao-hyung!”
“Taerae—” He shoots a bolt of electricity at one last guard before reaching the younger. “Listen. Find Gyuvin. He’s on the third floor. Stick with him.”
“Huh?” Taerae’s eyes widen. “Is he hurt?”
“He will be. You’ll need to heal him as fast as you can.” He bats away an attack without looking. “Please don’t ask how I know that. Just go!”
Taerae does. Hao knows he’ll be fine, so he keeps moving, down the hall and up another flight of stairs.
SM: Gods, how many of these f*ckers are there?
SHB: Hey! Language!
KGV: Hyung, we’re literally all university students—
KJW: The east exit is almost broken. Any sign of the mayor?
Yujin is on the fifth floor, cutting down guards like a whirlwind of steel. “Hao-hyung!” he shouts, glancing nervously at the incoming wave of more guards down the hall. “I haven’t found—”
“I’ll take care of this floor.” Hao swipes something from one of the unconscious guards on the ground, and holds it up to Yujin’s eye-level. “Do you recognize this?”
He regards it warily. A sensible reaction to a curse grenade. “Yes.”
“Good. Go back to the gala hall, and make sure you can see the rafters. If you spot someone trying to throw one of these up there, take them down before they can. Understand?”
“Yes.” Yujin, although young, is well-trained in battle, and it’s evident here, in how he snaps to attention and takes off with ruthless efficiency. Hao chucks the grenade in the opposite direction, a twisted satisfaction rushing through him as the guards scramble to get away from it. After they had the gall to wield curse grenades against innocent people, it’s only fair they get to be on the wrong end of one.
PGW: Exit’s clear! Bring all the guests to the first floor east exit!
SR: They’re coming your way. Where is—
SHB: I found them.
Hao doesn’t flinch. Just ducks out of sight, back into the stairwell, and exhales.
This is it.
KTR: Huh?! Hyung, where are you? We’ll—
SHB: They’re starting something. I have to stop them now.
KJW: Hanbin, don’t be stupid! You can’t stop Nyqrios on your own! You’ll die!
SHB: If I don’t do something right now, everyone dies! I have to!
Before Hao started disabling the anti-magic fields ahead of time, it would take too long to destroy them mid-battle, and even longer to set up a communication channel between them all. By the time they did, Hanbin would already be near the mayor, ready to fight a Dragon God. Ready to die.
Before, Hao didn’t have a foolproof plan. Now, he does. All his efforts and preparations have led to this very moment.
HYJ: Hyung! Hyung, please, wait—
ZH: It’s okay.
Hanbin is the fastest among them. He is always the first one to find Nyqrios, and the only one to get there in time to stop them from ending the world. Hao is never able to beat him there.
But Hao is not above playing dirty.
He grasps his locket, and concentrates. The locket’s magic reacts, seeking out its counterpart, growing hot in his hand. It finds its target, and he feels a second heartbeat, a distant presence, and pulls at it. Pulls until the fabric of space ripples and tears around him, enveloping around two souls and wrenching them across, switching them around like cogs in a machine.
When Hao opens his eyes, he is face to face with a pair of dark violet eyes.
The Fallen Dragon God. The first ender of worlds. The creator of all dragons, the god of absolute misery, the symbol of merciless destruction and rampage.
Nyqrios is here, in the form of a five-meter-tall dragonborn of scales and shadow. The mayor is here, unconscious and discarded to the side, because Nyqrios has no use for his body anymore. Hao is here.
Hanbin is not.
SHB: What the—hyung?! Hao-hyung, what did you do? What did you do?!
“Who are you?” Nyqrios hisses in a deep growl. “What kind of trickery is this? You are not the same challenger.”
“There’s been a change of plans,” Hao says smoothly.
SHB: Hyung, where are you?! Answer me, please say something—
ZH: I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me.
He severs the network, and attacks.
---
The original fight goes like this:
Hanbin finds Nyqrios, after using his borderline-superhuman dexterity to zip through enemies and break into the second basem*nt level. From what Hao surmises, their fight is long and bloody and brutal, and at some point Hanbin is sent flying and lands next to the mayor. He realizes the mayor is hiding a Sealing Dagger, and stabs Nyqrios in the heart with it.
Nyqrios falls. Hanbin, after using the Sealing Dagger, falls soon after. When Hao arrives, all traces of the Dragon God are gone, and Hanbin is on the brink of death, and it is all already over.
The fight of the five hundred and seventeenth cycle goes like this:
Hao uses the lockets to forcibly swap his and Hanbin’s positions. It was an idea from a previous cycle. He wanted to double it as a gift, so he asked for Gunwook’s help in making the lockets, before embedding a single usage of a spell in them himself. Hao activated the spell, and now Hanbin is far, far away before the action even begins.
Hao’s fight with Nyqrios is bloody and brutal, but not quite as long. He has the barest of an edge, from being familiar with Nyqrios’s fighting style, and Nyqrios is strong and too crafty to fight the same way every time but Hao knows how they tend to react, how they switch between combat approaches to keep him guessing, how they taunt and wheedle at him to try to faze him. It is always a difficult fight, but Hao gets a little bit better at navigating it every time.
Fire scorches the walls, and craters are blown into the ground, and blood and black ichor form into ghastly paintings. Hao holds out, withstanding and returning every attack, until Nyqrios lowers their guard. Because they always do. They always get too co*cky and laugh when they think Hao is down for good, when Hao lets himself take a little too long to recover to his feet. It is always their last mistake.
And then he knocks them down, and channels every ounce of his remaining strength and magic into a Sealing Spell powerful enough to seal away a Dragon God, and blasts Nyqrios in the heart with it.
It’s painful. Casting it is like ripping his own body apart cell by cell, atom by atom. Nyqrios howls, and wails, and slashes into Hao with their claws and poisons Hao with curse after curse, but Hao keeps his hands firmly over their heart, until the light explodes out in a blinding wave, and Nyqrios finally begins to dissolve, right under his fingertips.
It’s impossible for you both to move past this together, Steilkami had said, long ago.
He has accepted that. He has accepted that before this cycle began. He has done everything this time with only one intention: not to save both of them, but to save Hanbin.
So it’s Hao that fights Nyqrios. It’s Hao that breaks and bleeds, blow after relentless blow. It’s Hao that makes the final choice.
Nyqrios falls. Hao falls soon after. When Hanbin arrives, it is all already over.
---
“HAO-HYUNG!”
Everything is dark. It’s cold—after not feeling anything throughout the wintery week, Hao finally remembers that this, this is what the cold feels like—but he has no strength left to shiver. The ground is freezing and wet, leeching away what little warmth is left in his body. He inhales, and almost chokes, as his broken ribs crush his chest, and his limbs seize from the sudden pain, and his mouth fills with the taste of rusted metal.
It’s so cold, but the agony consuming him from within burns, and it feels so terrible, it feels like he’s dying—
“No, no, hyung, wake up, wake up—”
Something—someone—rolls him over, until he’s no longer face-down, and suddenly there is warmth again, under his back and against his side. A familiar touch shakes him, and a familiar voice beseeches him to open his eyes, and Hao obeys, because there is almost nothing he would deny that familiar speaker.
Is this what you felt? Hao wonders, looking up into tear-filled eyes, and remembers what those same eyes looked like as the life within them faded, glazed over from pain and fatigue. Is this what you went through, all those times I failed to save you?
“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, and it feels more like a sob, “I’m so sorry—”
“Stop. Don’t say that.” Hanbin is crying now, but his eyes blaze, so full of life, nothing like those past cycles. “Hyung…you knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? Is—is that why you’ve been acting so strangely?”
So he figured it out this time. Dimly, Hao feels a twinge of regret, that he slipped up to the point that Hanbin noticed enough to figure it out. But it’s alright. It doesn’t matter.
“Bin…” He can feel his own blood, hot and sticky on his skin. There’s so much, pooling from his torso, his forehead, his neck, from so many wounds that he can’t even place them all. One of his hands twitch when he tries to move it, and that feels slick with blood, too. “Love you…like the—the sun and moon…”
“Hao-hyung, stop—” One of Hanbin’s hands catches Hao’s, and the blood stains his skin, too, a dark and gruesome red. “You’re not going to die. I’m—I won’t lose you. I can’t, I can’t, I—”
Tears fall onto Hao’s clothes like drops of rain. Hanbin keens, a heartbroken, utterly anguished sound, and presses his forehead to Hao’s knuckles.
“Why,” he screams, voice spilling over with raw grief. “Why did this have to happen?!”
Something glows. Something deep in Hanbin’s pocket, its orange hue masked by the dark fabric of his pants. Something small and circular and—
…Wait. Orange?
Then, through his daze, he remembers.
Gyuvin, showing them his new R-Key every Sunday morning. Hanbin, shoving something away in his desk drawer yesterday. The trinket shop, that Hao always stopped Hanbin from spending too much money in, after their dinner on Thursdays with Jiwoong and Matthew. The dinner that Hao didn’t go to for the first time.
“It’s a Remembrance Key! You use it to ask someone a question, and then you both relive the memory—”
Hanbin has already pulled out the keychain, his evident shock pausing his tears for a moment as he gapes at it. The orange stone dangles in the air, glowing brighter and brighter.
He’s going to see the truth.
The entire truth.
“Hanbin,” he gasps, panic slicing through him like ice, “wait, don’t—”
But it’s too late, and Hao can only watch helplessly, as the orange stone cracks in half and memories engulf the both of them.
---
“Hyung—”
“Shut up.”
“Hao-hyung—”
“I said shut up.”
It’s the original timeline—cycle zero, one could say—before the cycles even began, and Hanbin is dying. Hao is kneeling besides him, pressing hard on the laceration on Hanbin’s chest, pouring every single Healing spell he knows forward, but it’s not enough, and Hanbin is still dying—
“You’re going to be fine,” Hao hisses. His hands are drenched with blood—Hanbin’s blood—and he is shaking from the strain of continuing to cast magic even with his drained magic reserves, but he keeps going, keeps pushing— “You’re so stupid. Do you think I’m going to let you die? You’re going to be fine, Taerae will be here soon, and we’ll—we’ll—”
“Hyung…” Against all odds, Hanbin somehow finds it in him to smile, revealing bloodstained teeth. “It’s okay…I…I love you…”
“Hanbin—” A sob bursts from his chest. Around Hanbin’s body, sprouts begin to rise, through the stone floor, only continuing to grow as Hao keeps desperately trying to save him. “I—I love you, too. Like the sun and moon. Which is why you can’t leave me.”
“Cold…” Hanbin whimpers, fingers feebly scrabbling towards Hao. Hao’s already-fracturing heart completely breaks at the sound. “Hyung…”
Hao gathers him in his arms, hugging him close, because there is almost nothing he would deny him. Hanbin sighs, head lolling into his shoulder, and his whole body is shuddering in pain but he sounds so content, so at peace—
“You’re not going to die,” Hao says, steeling himself. Steilkami’s ring is freezing, more freezing than it’s been all week. “I won’t let you.”
He yanks the ring off, prays harder than he’s ever prayed in his life, and shatters it on the ground.
A gale of cold wind ripples through the room, so cold Hanbin whimpers again, and Hao just pulls him closer. The remains of the ice ring shimmer like broken glass, and from its remains, white light materializes, solidifies into the form of a woman that regards Hao with clear blue eyes.
Hao doesn’t even wait for her to speak first. It might be disrespectful. He doesn’t care. “Save him,” he begs, fingers curling tightly around Hanbin. “Please. You—you said anything. I saved your loved one. Please save mine.”
The first and only encounter they’d had, she was near expressionless the entire time. It was impossible to glean any emotion from her face. Now, though, Hao swears she almost looks…sad.
“Not this,” she says. “I can save anyone but him.”
What’s left of his heart completely shatters. “Wh–why? Why not him?!”
“He used this.” Steilkami waves one hand, and something on the ground rises, floating before her. The Sealing Dagger, still dripping with black ichor, glowing with a sinister aura. “His life now acts as the seal against Nyqrios. Undoing that would just unleash them once more. Your world will undoubtedly end. He would die regardless.”
Hao wants to scream. At her. At Hanbin. At the world. It’s not fair. Why did it have to cost Hanbin’s life? Why him? Out of everyone in the world, why him?!
“I…” He lowers his head, resting his forehead on Hanbin’s. Hanbin’s breathing is only continuing to fade. “I don’t care.” When he looks up again, Steilkami is still watching him with the same sad eyes. “There has to be something. Anything. Please, just—just give me the chance, and I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything.”
Her lips thin. “He has given his life in a noble sacrifice for the world. You should honor him for that.”
“He is my world,” Hao snaps. “I—I barely got any time with him, and you expect me to just accept a goodbye this early?!” Rage flares, igniting from his gut and shooting upwards. “There has to be another way. Please help me.”
Steilkami hesitates. Hanbin’s pulse slows under his fingertips, and Hao grabs his hand and pours more Healing magic into him, even though he knows it’s useless, even though the effort nearly causes his vision to black out. The sprouts around them have blossomed into flowers.
“If more time is what you want,” she says finally, “then I can give you that.”
Hao nearly jumps. “R-really?!”
“Time is a flowing, unstoppable river. It falls under my domain, but only just. I can shape a cycle, and lock it to your soul, so only you will be aware of it. It will reset if you die within its span, and will end once you let time progress to the day after.”
Her eyes bore into him. The temperature in the room falls even more.
“Do not take this lightly,” she warns. “It is impossible for you both to move past this together. You would be dooming yourself to a fate where you watch him or yourself die, until you are too broken to do anything but accept his death, and live the rest of your life as a mere shell of what you once were. You have many fates, Zhang Hao. This is the worst possible one.”
Her words should scare him. He shouldn’t even be considering it. Accepting her deal would be throwing away his future. Throwing away everything he’s spent his entire life working towards. He gave up so much, to learn magic, to move out of Chengyan, to become a hero in Taekttang…and it would all be for nothing.
“Hyung?” Hanbin’s voice is barely audible, nothing but a rattling wet sound. His body is completely limp now—Hao is the only thing keeping him supported. His breaths are harsh, painful wheezes, that sound like sandpaper scraping against his throat. “What…are you doing…?”
Hao takes a deep breath. He leans down to leave a kiss on the crown of Hanbin’s head, letting his lips linger for a second. Then he straightens, and looks Steilkami right in the eye.
“I’ll do it,” he declares. “I won’t stop until I’ve saved both of us.”
Steilkami says nothing. She just nods, and clasps her hands together. Something deep in Hao’s core pangs, sharp and painful, and the world fades into complete whiteness. He loses all his senses, until everything stitches back together and he finds himself in bed with Hanbin waking him up like nothing is wrong.
The cycles begin.
It’s cycle seven, and Hao watches Hanbin die for the eighth time, and nearly loses his mind. He stabs himself with Hanbin’s knife to end the cycle, and wakes up crying in the beginning of cycle eight, breaking down in the arms of an extremely alarmed Hanbin.
“Don’t leave me,” he pleads through tears, even though he knows Hanbin won’t understand. “Promise you won’t leave me. No matter what.”
“Of course I’d never leave you,” Hanbin says, and if he’s confused he doesn’t show it—just dries his tears and kisses his nose with a reassuring smile. “I promise, hyung-ah. I love you.”
“I’m sorry,” Hanbin says, six days later, forcing the words through bloody coughs and unsteady exhales, “I broke…my promise…”
Hao refuses to listen to any more, and ends the cycle then and there.
It’s cycle fourteen, and Hao faces Nyqrios for the first time, after successfully leading an effort to shut down the gala. When they launch their killing spree on TAU, it’s Hao they find first, attacking him from behind and giving him no time to recover as they slit his throat. The last thing he remembers is Hanbin screaming his name, a Sealing Dagger already in hand.
It’s cycle twenty-three, and for the first time, everyone in the group is aware of the time loop. Hao is foolish enough to be optimistic about it. That with all of them working together, like the perfect group they are, they’ll finally find success.
Gunwook creates pins for all of them to keep, and Hao and Jiwoong craft a spell that can teleport someone near a position anchored by an object, so at the gala, all nine of them face off against Nyqrios.
“This won’t do,” Nyqrios tuts, acidic smoke curling from their nostrils. “I won’t stand such lopsided numbers.”
Their form rumbles, until it expands into nine in a flash, and each clone sets after one of them.
Note to self, Hao thinks, barely managing to block a green fireball from one of their mouths. Don’t bring everyone into the same fight!
This cycle is the worst by far. Ricky spots the Sealing Dagger first, with his Sharpshooter eyes, but when he stabs it into the real Nyqrios, he’s unable to withstand their retaliating attacks, and Hao watches in horror as he dies before the sealing completes. Jiwoong fails as well, and both of their faces burn into Hao’s nightmares, more guilt over lives he wasn’t able to save.
Hanbin grabs the Dagger, and succeeds. Hao ends the cycle, and time resets.
It’s cycle forty-four, and Hao is pacing back and forth under the bridge, pulling at his hair in frustration.
“I don’t understand,” he says to Steilkami, who observes him as passively as ever. “There are so many accomplished adventurers and heroes at that gala. I’ve tried pairing Hanbin with all of them at least once using Gunwook’s pins. Why do they all fail? They’re older, and more experienced, and Hanbin is a student. Why do they fail when he doesn’t?”
“Facing death head on can be paralyzing, and Nyqrios is powerful,” Steilkami says. “They are accomplished, and older, and experienced, but they are still mortal. All mortals have a natural self-preservation instinct. It makes them hesitate. Only for a second. But a second is all Nyqrios needs.”
She runs a hand through the unfrozen river behind her. The water seems to go clearer under her touch.
“Hanbin is unlike any of them.” The water rises, forms a small silhouette of a shapeless figure, before dropping once more. “He will not hesitate. Out of everyone in that building, he is the only one out of t—the only one who will never hesitate.”
Hao narrows his eyes. “One out of what? One out of two?”
She stiffens, before composing herself once more. “Forgive me. It was a slip of the tongue.”
It’s cycle forty-seven, and Hao tries something different.
He asks Gunwook for two lockets this time, instead of pins. Instead of sneaking it on Hanbin’s clothes like before, Hao gives the locket to him openly, and keeps the other one. Hanbin, overjoyed by the gift, wears it to the gala without question. And when the fight begins, instead of having another hero teleport to Hanbin’s side, Hao brings himself.
They are a perfect pair. They have long since fine-tuned their fighting styles together, and this fight is them just falling into their usual rhythm, their usual song and dance, so in sync they barely even need to communicate. One acts, and the other follows, and together they whittle down the Fallen Dragon God, bit by bit.
It’s not enough.
Nyqrios catches Hanbin, disarms him just as he grabs the Sealing Dagger, and it goes clattering across the floor. Hanbin struggles to fend them off, and that’s when it clicks for Hao.
Hanbin needs the Sealing Dagger. Hao does not.
So just as Hanbin escapes Nyqrios’s hold, Hao lunges forward, and casts a Sealing Spell for the first time in his life.
There’s horrified screaming, and the smell of burning, and so much pain, but Hao doesn’t relent. He remembers Steilkami’s words, about the inevitable hesitation, but Hao feels nothing like that. All that drives him is fierce determination, to defeat this monster of a god no matter what, to succeed so Hanbin doesn’t have to try after him. His magic, his life, burns up at the cost of the spell, and Hao lets it, Hao lets it take everything from him until he is empty and hollow.
The spell completes. Nyqrios finally succumbs. All the strength leaves Hao’s body at once, and he collapses, but never hits the ground.
“Hyung,” Hanbin chokes out, and belatedly he realizes the horrified screaming was Hanbin’s. “Please…please hold on…”
It’s the first time Hao has ever felt this much physical suffering in his life. He can barely breathe, and his eyes are tearing up from the sheer pain shredding his nerves, but as he looks at Hanbin through blurry spotted vision, he also feels…staggering relief.
He failed. He failed, because he’s going to die, so the cycle will reset, but Hanbin is alive. For the first time, a cycle will end with him guaranteeing Hanbin’s survival, and it brings such solace and bliss that he can’t help but laugh, even if it hurts.
“You’re okay…” Hao drinks in the sight of him, alive, alive, alive, before his eyelids flutter closed, unable to stay open anymore. “I’m…so happy…”
“Hao-hyung?!” Hanbin’s voice grows more and more distant, and he thinks there’s something shaking him, although he’s not sure…the pain is beginning to go away… “Hao-hyung, why—no, wake up, please! Wake—”
He wakes up, in his bed again, on the first morning of the forty-eighth cycle, with an echo of the pain throbbing under his skin, and when Hanbin asks why he’s in such a good mood today he just grins and kisses him. The Sunday that follows is the best one he’s experienced in a long time.
It’s the fifty-first cycle, and Steilkami looks mildly upset. Which means she must be seething.
“You have pulled the same strategy three times now.” Her brow is slightly furrowed. “You know you will gain nothing from dying in his place, but you do it anyway. I cannot fathom why.”
Hao sits on the riverbank today, cross-legged on the edge so his legs don’t touch the water. She sits across from him, floating above the center of the river, her flowing robes cascading seamlessly into the water. It’s strange. He’s never seen her sit so casually like this.
“I understand now,” he says eventually, leaning his weight on his hands planted on the ground. “What you meant.”
It is impossible for you both to move past this together. Those words haunted him, every single cycle. He was too stubborn to see it as anything other than a challenge he had to defy. But now…
She arches an eyebrow. “Do you? So you are giving up?”
“No. If I give up, he dies.” His gaze lingers on the river. The water keeps flowing, never stopping. An endless current. “I know how to make sure he doesn’t die now. After taking so long…I found a way. So that’s what I’ll do.”
“You…” She trails off. For the first time, she sounds thoroughly confused. “This is your solution? You choose…to not move past this at all?”
He knows that what he’s implying is outlandish. Downright insane. Dying in Hanbin’s place does nothing but keep him locked in this same living hell, keep them both trapped in the same loop of time’s flow. He understands why Steilkami said they couldn’t both move on—if the two of them are the only ones who can seal Nyqrios away in time, and if the only way to continue time is for Hao to not die, then Hanbin’s death should be the only option. But it won’t be his.
“You are a fool.” Steilkami’s voice is cold, but Hao doesn’t flinch. “You only delay the inevitable. No mortal can withstand that kind of torture for long, not even you. You will learn, and you will give up this ridiculous notion.”
It’s the eighty-eighth cycle, and Hao has nearly perfected the cycle.
He changes the spell on the lockets, so that he switches positions with Hanbin completely, rather than just getting transported to his side. He hates seeing Hanbin get hurt during the fight, and he hates hearing Hanbin’s screams even more. The least he can do is grant Hanbin the mercy of not watching Hao get killed. It makes the battle with Nyqrios more difficult, and it makes him more vulnerable to their attacks while he’s casting the Sealing Spell, but it’s fine. Hao can endure it.
He learns what he can do before then to cheer his friends up, and to minimize casualties during the gala, and to ensure the fastest possible time for everyone else to escape the gala safely. He doesn’t have to, not when they won’t even remember it anyway, not when everything is technically meaningless since time is frozen in this singular week, but he does it anyway. It’s the least he can do.
It’s the two hundred and ninth cycle, and the river today is frozen.
Steilkami has her back to him when he arrives, this time. He approaches, apprehensive, but even though she must hear his footsteps on the solid dirt, she does not turn to face him.
“You have died more than triple the times he has, at this point.”
Hao blinks, almost not registering her sentence. Has he?
“You cannot withstand this forever.” Her voice is as cold as every other time he’s visited, ever since the fifty-first cycle. “Mortal souls are not built to endure the feeling of multiple deaths. If you keep going, your soul will perish, and you will die your last death.”
…His soul.
He understands the difference. His life, his self that traverses the living world, versus his soul, his core essence that moves on to the afterlife once his life is gone. Losing one’s soul is permanent. It means never finding peace even after death, it means never being reborn into a new life, it means never existing ever again.
You have many fates, Zhang Hao. This is the worst possible one.
“You said this cycle is locked to my soul,” Hao says, after a long hush. “What will happen if my soul is gone?”
“The cycles end,” she answers simply. “One day, when you give your life as a seal, it will also take your soul. Then, and only then, will time be able to move on with what you’ve overwritten, with your life replacing his.”
“…I see.”
“Is this truly what you want?”
She turns around, finally, and Hao’s eyes widen.
Steilkami is weeping.
“You will never find him again, even in another life.” Her tears are crystalline, glittering droplets that create miniature streams down her porcelain cheeks. “You will give up every chance of finding a better life for yourself. You will live in a hell that kills you and wears down your fortitude until it will feel like you are dying just from breathing, And when time moves on, no one will know the truth of your sacrifice. You will be gone.”
Hao stands there, stunned. A god is crying. For him.
He steps forward, still hesitant, waiting for her to stop his advances, but she never does. When he’s close enough, he reaches up, clasping both of her hands in his smaller ones. They are cold, ghostly, but he can still hold them as if they were solid.
“Thank you for everything.” He bows his head, reverently, gratitude overflowing from deep within his heart. “I understand. I know you call this fate my worst one…but it’s not. Nothing is worse than having to watch him die. So thank you…for letting me save him.”
She sighs, and the sound alone carries eons’ worth of grief and melancholy. Her tears continue to fall, raining on the earth. Behind her, the river begins to flood, water spilling over its shores.
“I will remember you, Zhang Hao,” the goddess of all flowing rivers vows to him, and the weight of her oath settles over him like a shroud. “The world will not know the truth, but I will. I will remember you for eternity.”
---
The memories feel like a lifetime, but in reality, once they end, only a few seconds have passed.
“…Hao-hyung…”
Hao shuts his eyes. Gods. It’s overwhelming, reliving all of that again, especially after all this time. He tries not to think about past cycles, if only because he knows it will do more harm than good to try to hang on to all those memories, so to have them all get flung into the forefront of his mind feels like a slap in the face. And, worst of all…
“Hao-hyung?” Hanbin’s voice is meek, fragile, splitting at the seams. “Was that…you really…?”
…
He wills himself to look at Hanbin again, and almost immediately wishes he hadn’t. If he thought he’d seen Hanbin look devastated before…it is nothing, compared to this.
“I’m sorry…” It seems all he’s been doing this cycle is apologizing. It does little to alleviate the self-loathing he feels, from being the cause behind that look on Hanbin’s face. “I’m…sorry you…saw that.”
“You—” Hanbin’s expression crumples. “That’s not what you should be apologizing for! Hyung—” He seizes Hao by the shoulder, only relenting his grip when Hao winces. “You can’t keep doing this! I don’t—I can’t—” He’s almost hyperventilating now, his pupils rapidly dilating and shrinking. “Nothing is worth putting yourself through this!”
“You are,” Hao says softly. Hanbin, the one his heart beats for, his love, his world. He’s worth everything. It’s the only truth Hao knows. “The…the sun and moon, Hanbin-ah…remember?”
“No,” he sobs, “not—not this. It’s not fair. Do you think I can live without you?! What about me, hyung? I don’t want you to die for me!”
Hao tries to speak, but coughs instead, and feels something wet splatter on his lips. His sight blurs, colors greying out into meaningless noise, and the pain dulls as his awareness begins to slip. He’s running out of time.
“Hyung. Listen.” Hanbin’s voice cuts through, strong hands shaking him. If Hao focuses, he can see his eyes, alight with a new fire. “This won’t be the last time. Do you hear me? Wake up again, and tell me. Tell me everything. We survive together.”
Hao frowns. It takes a while for him to process it all, his mind moving like molasses, as his senses liquify into something slow and syrupy. “Not…possible…”
“If it’s not possible, we make it possible. Don’t give up on us, hyung.” Something warm alights on his skin. “Promise me. I…I can’t let you go through this again. If you don’t tell me, I’ll remember, and I’ll—I’ll be really upset, okay? Promise me.”
There is almost nothing Hao would deny him.
Almost.
“I promise,” he mumbles, the lie bitter on his tongue. He knows it is impossible, regardless of if Hanbin knows the truth, he’s already tried, but even in the last few seconds of this cycle, even though it doesn’t matter, he wants to shield Hanbin from that despair. “Bin…”
“I know.” Lips press against his, and Hao tastes copper and salt. “The sun and moon, right?”
Hao hums, and the last thing he sees, before his eyes close for good, is the glint of silver from Hanbin’s locket of the moon.
The world fades. His promise dies with him.
Every Sunday, Hao’s morning starts the same way: with cheerful chirps from a bird on his windowsill, and the smell of coffee floating through his room, and a gentle hand shaking his shoulder.
“Good morning, hyung,” a voice whispers, light and musical like the bird’s song, that sweetens into laughter when Hao grumbles and buries himself deeper into his covers. “It’s time to get up.”
Hao will grumble some more, like he always does, but still lets the gentle hand tug him upright, away from the warmth and comfort of the safe haven that is his bed, because it lets him pull the hand forward, down to the bed, until he’s latched onto and secured himself in the warmth and comfort of another safe haven.
“Hyung,” Hanbin chuckles, admonishing but still nestling Hao closer, exactly like Hao knows he will. “You said you wanted to go to the cafe with me, remember?”
It will take nine minutes for Hanbin to break the embrace and push Hao to the bathroom despite his protests. Theoretically, Hao could separate himself earlier, or even refuse to leave his bed at all, but in the end, he has no reason to. He will always take the nine minutes, because it’s nine more minutes with Hanbin, and more time with Hanbin is something Hao will pay any price for.
And it is a price he will choose to pay, over and over and over again.
