《Symphony of loops》


 Chapter 1 : Sylvain

    The alarm clock struck six, and for a brief moment, Sylvain wondered if it had always sounded this hollow.


    Sylvain woke slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light seeping through the heavy curtains. The morning was grey, muted, as though the sun had given up trying to pierce through the layers of dust and grime coating the grand room. The air in his spacious chamber felt cold, lifeless¡ªjust like the rest of the house.


    The Flamesworth estate loomed around him, vast and silent. Even in its grandeur, it held a strange kind of emptiness¡ªa waiting silence, as though the house itself had grown tired of waiting for something that would never arrive. The weight of unfulfilled promises hung heavy in the stillness, unseen but palpable.


    Sylvain swung his legs over the edge of his bed, the cold floor sending a shiver up his spine. The room was expansive, but sterile¡ªa grand space stripped of any warmth. The walls were lined with portraits, faded with time, faces long forgotten but still etched into the fabric of the family''s past. Their eyes seemed to follow him, silent witnesses to the slow decay of their once mighty dynasty.


    He rose and moved through the hallways, the soft creak of the floor beneath his bare feet echoing in the vast emptiness. The house seemed to hold its breath as he passed¡ªservants darting out of sight, heads bowed low, as though pretending he wasn''t there. The air was cool, weighted with silence, broken only by the occasional distant clatter of footsteps or the faint murmur of conversations behind closed doors.


    The grand staircase loomed ahead, its banister polished to perfection but cracked with age. Paintings hung along the walls, once proud symbols of wealth and influence¡ªnow faded and dusty, each brushstroke dulled by neglect. They were reminders of what had once been, but those days felt like distant memories, lost beneath the weight of time.


    Sylvain''s mind was scattered, hollow. He didn''t care if he was seen as a failure. The world¡ªand this family¡ªoffered nothing but more pain, more rejection. Yet, beneath that hollow facade, a mind sharper than most realized simmered beneath the surface¡ªalways calculating, always observing.


    "They don''t see what I see. They never do."


    Every morning brought more tests¡ªanother round of meaningless challenges, of pointless drills meant to gauge something they would never understand. It didn''t matter how well he did¡ªthere was no winning in this house. To them, success only led to more expectations, more pressure. Fail, and he was swallowed by the shadows again. Succeed, and they would simply demand more.


    "Fail, and I disappear into the shadows again. Succeed, and they just push harder."


    As he moved through the estate, something felt... off. Subtle oddities crept into his surroundings¡ªthings that didn''t quite add up. Clocks. They hung on every wall, ticking louder than they should¡ªeach hand frozen, stubborn in place, as though the mechanisms themselves were mocking the slow crawl of time. They seemed to whisper, "Waiting." As though something was about to happen¡ªsomething that always came back around.


    Sylvain wandered past a hallway where two servants spoke in hushed voices, their heads leaning close as if caught in a private discussion. As he walked by, fragments of their conversation reached his ears¡ªa familiar feeling washed over him, like something he had heard before, but faintly different this time.


    "...Feels like it''s happening again. Like we''ve done this already..."                    "Same places, same faces... but it doesn''t quite add up. It''s like... d¨¦j¨¤ vu, but stronger. Like we''ve seen this before¡ªagain and again."


    Sylvain paused slightly, his brow furrowing. The words sounded familiar¡ªtoo familiar¡ªbut the way they spoke left something just out of reach. Could they feel it too?


    "I suppose the mundane cold life of the elites can get the poor servants as well...",he muttered under his breath, brushing the excessive thoughts.


    He sits by the window at night usually, staring into the distant horizon¡ªwhere the land stretches endlessly, but nothing feels truly alive. The sky above is blank, stretched too thin as if holding something back. His thoughts often drift to his mother, remembering how she was left to die without care, her fevered face hollow and alone. The servants whispered that it was pointless, that she wasn''t worth saving¡ªjust like the whispers about him.


    "They didn''t save her because she wasn''t worth it. I''m not worth it either."


    The house, silent in the moonlight, feels heavier at night. Cold walls that seem to breathe in the stillness, a place where warmth is reserved only for those who earn it, those deemed valuable by a family that never saw him as more than a mistake.Later that night, he moves silently through the dim corridors, flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the walls. The house sleeps, but Sylvain can''t. He''s drawn toward the testing hall, where the remnants of the day''s exams still linger. His footsteps echo softly on the cold, polished floor as he weaves through the shadows, careful not to disturb the servants or the few guards that patrol the grounds.


    He reaches the entrance to the testing area¡ªdimly lit, filled with scattered desks and stray papers from the day''s failed attempts. It''s silent except for the occasional shift in movement as the last students, all members of the Flamesworth family, pack up their belongings.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Calculus, again,"he mutters, his voice barely more than a whisper, a bitter familiarity sinking in.


    Sylvain glances around, his sharp eyes catching something odd. A crumpled sheet of paper lays half-hidden beneath one of the desks¡ªsloppy handwriting, numbers carelessly jotted down, mistakes glaringly obvious. He sighs, an air of mild annoyance flickering in his gaze.


    "Look at this... careless. As though no one even cares enough to get it right. It''s not just wrong¡ªit''s... wasted effort."


    His fingers instinctively reach out, straightening the paper. As he begins to scrutinise it, his brows furrow slightly. Something about this feels...wrong. He leans closer, tracing the numbers with his finger, muttering softly under his breath.


    "As if they didn''t even take this seriously. Like it was already destined to fail."


    A faint smile tugs at his lips¡ªsomething cold and calculating. He can''t help it. He knows the answers, knows where the mistakes lie. And in this moment, with nothing else to do, he starts to correct them. His movements are fluid, almost bored, yet precise¡ªhe corrects the errors as if they were second nature. The flaws are so glaringly easy to fix.The next morning, the testing hall buzzes with activity. Students, eager and nervous, hand in their results, their faces tense with expectation. The air hums with tension, but Sylvain moves through it all like a shadow¡ªsilent, unnoticed, slipping into his usual seat at the back of the room.


    Moments pass before the teacher, a stern man with tired eyes, begins collecting the papers. One by one, the submissions are placed on his desk¡ªeach student hopeful that this time, they''ll be the ones praised. The teacher flips through them slowly, his eyes scanning for mistakes.


    Then, he pauses. One paper catches his attention¡ªa marked improvement from the others. The handwriting... it''s neat, too neat. It looks clean, calculated¡ªlike it came from someone who actually understood the material, not just someone filling in the blanks.


    The teacher picks it up, holding it in his hands. His brow furrows.


    "Jack Flamesworth,"he mutters under his breath, reading the name scrawled at the top. But there''s something off about it¡ªtoo confident, too refined.


    He glances over at Jack, the opportunistic student who always tries to claim credit for others'' work, a smirk already forming on his face. But something about this feels different.The teacher''s eyes narrow.


    "Jack, did you...?"


    Jack shrugs, playing it cool.


    "It''s my best yet, sir. Look at the results. Best one in the class."


    The teacher''s gaze sharpens. He recognizes the handwriting. It''s too polished, too deliberate¡ªnot Jack''s usual clumsy scrawling. A faint flicker of suspicion crosses his face.


    "Unlikely," he mutters under his breath. "Very unlikely."


    The students murmur around him, watching as the teacher''s attention lingers longer than usual. But then, his demeanour shifts back to its usual sternness. He clears his throat, shifting gears smoothly.


    "Very well. I''ll need this paper to be verified."He tucks it into a folder without further comment, turning away from the crowd. The moment passes quickly, but something stirs in the air¡ªa shift that Sylvain senses, even from the back of the room.


    Later that evening, Sylvain finds himself alone again in his room. The night is quiet, save for the distant tick of the oversized clock in the hallway. He sits by the window, staring into the cold, desolate landscape¡ªthe house feels like it''s holding its breath, waiting for something.


    His mind drifts to the moment earlier in the testing hall. The strange, unfamiliar feeling that crept into his chest when the teacher had noticed. It wasn''t pride¡ªit was something... different. A spark¡ªsomething that felt foreign to him,he felt complimented from the teacher''s astonishment,but for him that feeling had no place in this lifeless house.


    "Why did I even bother?" he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. "It means nothing. It always means nothing."


    But still, his thoughts circle back to the paper¡ªthe precision, the calm detachment with which he had corrected the mistakes. It hadn''t felt like an accident¡ªmore like instinct, something deeply ingrained. He pushes it aside, annoyed at himself for dwelling on it.The next morning, Sylvain makes his way to the dining hall, where the usual silence fills the room. The grand table stretches before him, rich with food that feels wasted on the hungry eyes that stare at it. His father, seated at the head of the table, is speaking to a group of other high-ranking Flamesworth members¡ªtheir voices blending into an inaudible buzz that dulls in Sylvain''s ears.


    He sits down, eyes flicking over the table. The few members already present have striking orange eyes¡ªeyes that gleam faintly in the dim light. These are the ones who have been through the Ceremony¡ªthe ritual that marks them as true heirs, destined for leadership. The others at the table¡ªservants, low-ranking kin, and those still considered "unworthy"¡ªdon''t have the orange yet. Their eyes are dull, clouded¡ªnothing more than a reflection of the blood they carry, but not yet fully claimed by the Flamesworth legacy.


    Sylvain''s gaze lingers for a moment too long on the high members, his fingers tightening slightly around his fork. There''s a subtle arrogance in the way they carry themselves¡ªeyes sharp and cold, like they expect obedience without question. He''s seen this same look his entire life, but now it feels heavier, more oppressive.


    As he fills his plate, he overhears quiet murmurs between two of the servants passing by.


    "...They''ve been talking about it, you know. Those strange things happening with the clocks lately. Some of them¡ªsaying they''ve had... deja vu. More often than usual."


    Sylvain stiffens slightly, his hand hesitating over the fork. He pretends not to listen, but his mind immediately latches onto the words.


    "Deja vu... what does that even mean?"


    He glances subtly toward the other servants, but they go about their duties, voices low enough that it feels more like idle chatter than anything important. Still, something gnaws at him¡ªan unease, like this is something that has been lingering beneath the surface for some time.Later that evening, as Sylvain retreats to his room, the house feels even quieter than before. He stares at the flickering candlelight, watching shadows dance across the walls. His thoughts swirl¡ªdisconnected pieces, memories of the paper, the strange feeling from the test, and now the murmur of the servants.Suddenly, something cold twists inside him¡ªsomething that doesn''t feel like coincidence."Deja vu," he mutters, repeating the words under his breath. "What does it mean...?"The silence presses down on him, but there''s no escape. He knows deep down that something is off¡ªsomething too subtle, too strange, yet not entirely unfamiliar. He sits by the window once more, gazing into the vast, empty horizon. The wind whispers faintly, brushing against the glass¡ªalmost like it''s waiting too.


    "Time doesn''t move here. It circles, waiting."

 Chapter 2 : Dream

    Sylvain Flamesworth, no more than five years old, sat nestled in his mother''s arms. Her warmth surrounded him like a shield, a comforting haven from the cold marble of the estate. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across their faces, casting a gentle shadow.


    "I want this moment to stay forever," Sylvain murmured, his small voice barely audible. He tilted his head back to look up at her, his wide, innocent eyes filled with longing.


    His mother chuckled softly, a melody of warmth in her voice. She brushed a hand gently over his messy brown hair, her touch light as a whisper. "Every song has a final note, Sylvain," she said softly. "And every book... every book has a final page."


    Before Sylvain could process her words, her skin began to darken¡ªfirst a faint gray, then deeper until it blackened as if touched by fire. Her body trembled, and with a final shudder, she crumbled into ash before his terrified gaze.


    "M-mother!" Sylvain''s scream tore through the silence. His small hands reached out, trembling, as he tried to hold onto something that wasn''t there. The dream was sharp, too vivid, too real.


    Suddenly, he awoke¡ªhis heart pounding violently, sweat clinging to his forehead. The familiar darkness of his bedroom surrounded him, the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. His breath hitched as his gaze darted to the figure lying silently at the foot of his bed¡ªRiver, his black cat, curled up in a ball, her eyes softly closed.


    Sylvain inhaled sharply, trying to shake the memory from his mind. The dream¡ªher¡ªstill haunted him. It was always the same: the warmth, the sound of her voice... and then the terrifying descent into nothingness. He sat up slowly, gripping the edge of his bed, staring out the large window at the night beyond. For a moment, his thoughts drifted to his mother¡ªa soft smile on her face, holding him close, the warmth of her embrace. She had been everything gentle and nurturing, the kind of presence that made the world feel safe, even in its harshest moments. She was purity and warmth¡ªalways humming softly to herself while tending to their small corner of the house, always kind, always patient. Sylvain could still hear her voice in his mind¡ªa lullaby she used to sing to him when he was restless¡ªsoft and melodic, like the strings of a violin. Her presence had been his only sanctuary, the only place he could find peace.


    But that warmth had faded long ago, swallowed by sickness and neglect. The memory of her death was seared into his mind¡ªthe way her skin had turned black, cracking like brittle glass before turning to ashes, leaving him screaming and trembling in the cold, unable to stop the nightmare.


    And then, as if a shadow had fallen across his thoughts, his mind shifted¡ªhis father''s face replacing hers. Faust Flamesworth. Cold, calculating, and utterly impenetrable. A man who seemed to exist on a different plane from everyone else¡ªa figure carved from stone, his gaze sharper than any blade. The weight of his presence hung in the air like an unseen storm, every movement deliberate, every word calculated to cut deep. His orange eyes¡ªpiercing, suffocating¡ªseemed to follow Sylvain wherever he went, watching, judging, always observing with a dispassionate intensity that made his skin crawl.


    There was no warmth in Faust. No affection, no comfort¡ªjust cold expectation, like the relentless tick of a clock that would never stop. He was a force of nature, as unyielding as the laws of the universe. A man who believed he was above morality itself, his mind consumed with the belief that only through sacrifice could humanity be saved. It was a twisted god complex, one that made others shrink in his presence¡ªfearful, trembling, and desperate to meet his impossible standards.


    Sylvain''s breath caught in his throat at the thought of him. A cold chill crept down his spine, making him shiver. He could still hear his father''s voice in his mind, cutting and precise, like steel grinding against bone. A voice devoid of emotion, just cold logic wrapped in promises that were anything but safe.


    But it wasn''t just fear that Faust instilled in him¡ªthere was something else, something far deeper. It was observation. Precision. A way of thinking that was always one step ahead, constantly analyzing and dissecting, even in moments when it seemed like nothing needed to be said. Sylvain had inherited his father''s sharp intellect, the ability to see the smallest details and anticipate the next move, like a predator sizing up its prey. But while Faust''s observations were cold and ruthless, Sylvain''s were tinged with something else¡ªsomething softer, more empathetic, more curious. He couldn''t turn off his emotions the way his father did, and in that, he found himself different.


    From his mother, he had learned to seek out what was gentle, to hold onto kindness¡ªeven when the world seemed to offer him nothing but pain. That purity¡ªthe hope in every moment, the belief that things could still be made right¡ªhad stayed with him long after she was gone. It was why, in the midst of this cold, calculating world, Sylvain still believed in small things: a kind word, a fleeting touch, the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was still something to fight for.


    Sylvain had spent the better part of the morning lost in thought, the remnants of his dream still lingering like a shadow. River, his black cat, trailed behind him as he made his way through the sprawling halls of the Flamesworth estate. The estate was quiet as usual, the kind of silence that seemed to press against his ears.


    Turning a corner, he nearly collided with one of the servants¡ªher hurried movements stopping just short of him. She stumbled back, clutching the tray she carried, and for a moment, their eyes met.


    "I-I''m sorry, sir," the servant stammered, lowering her gaze. Her voice was steady, but there was a flicker of something else in her demeanor.


    Sylvain tilted his head slightly, observing her. She was a new face, not one he recognized. Her auburn hair was tied back neatly, and her uniform was spotless. Yet, her stance wasn''t quite that of a typical servant¡ªher movements were too deliberate, her eyes too sharp, scanning him in a way that felt oddly calculated.


    "It''s fine," he replied, brushing past her.


    Raven stood frozen for a moment, gripping the tray tightly as she watched him walk away. There was something unsettling about him¡ªnot in the usual arrogant or cruel way she expected from an elite, but in his quiet detachment. His gaze had lingered on her just a moment too long, sharp and observant, as if he''d noticed something no one else ever would.


    Her chest tightened, and she quickly looked away, scolding herself. Get it together. He''s just another elite. Yet, there was a fleeting thought she couldn''t quite suppress: he didn''t seem like the others.


    She turned to hurry down the hall, but her foot caught the edge of the carpet, and she stumbled¡ªright into River. The cat hissed and leapt up, claws catching the edge of a painting hanging on the wall. The canvas tore with an audible rip, and Raven froze, horror spreading across her face.


    "I¡ªI didn''t mean to¡ª" she began, stepping back as Sylvain turned sharply.


    He crouched, scooping River into his arms as he inspected the torn painting. The cat meowed indignantly, but Sylvain barely noticed. His focus shifted to the exposed wall behind the painting.


    "Wait!" Raven called, but her voice faltered. She knew she needed to leave before she attracted more attention. Clutching the tray, she bowed her head. "I''m sorry, sir. I''ll send someone to clean this." She rushed away before Sylvain could respond, her face burning¡ªnot with attraction, but with frustration at herself.


    Why am I so off today? she thought bitterly, hurrying down the hall. He''s just another damned elite. But a tiny part of her mind lingered on the encounter, unsettled. He hadn''t seemed cruel. That bothered her more than she cared to admit.


    Sylvain watched her retreating figure, frowning. What was wrong with her? His gaze returned to the torn painting, and his brow furrowed. The wall beneath it wasn''t smooth like it should have been. Instead, the surface was cracked and crumbling, and in the center was a small, jagged hole.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Setting River down, he leaned in closer, brushing away the loose plaster. Beyond the hole, there was something¡ªa faint glimmer of light. He squinted, his breath hitching.A room.


    Sylvain drew back quickly, his pulse quickening. The estate had been meticulously documented for generations, and he had memorized nearly every corner of its layout. But this? This room shouldn''t exist.


    He stepped back, his mind racing. He knew better than to meddle in classified secrets, especially ones hidden within the Flamesworth estate. Whatever was behind that wall, it wasn''t meant for him to find.


    Carefully, he adjusted the painting, masking the damage as best as he could. His fingers lingered on the torn edges of the canvas, and an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. With one last glance at the concealed hole, he turned and walked away, the faint sound of River''s paws trailing behind him.


    Meanwhile, Raven leaned against the wall of an empty hallway, her breaths uneven. She had made it out of sight, but her mind still reeled from the encounter.


    He''s different. The thought came unbidden, and she frowned, scolding herself. No. He''s an elite. They''re all the same¡ªselfish, blind to the suffering around them. But the memory of his quiet, detached expression lingered. He didn''t look like someone who fit that mold.


    Raven shook her head fiercely. Focus on the mission, she reminded herself. But something about him stayed with her, no matter how much she tried to shake it off.


    Sylvain hurried to the training ground right after leaving his pet in the room.


    The training grounds stretched across the northern edge of the Flamesworth estate, a sprawling expanse of carefully maintained sand and stone. Rows of trainees stood at attention, the golden sunlight catching the edges of their polished practice weapons. At the far end of the grounds, a tall, imposing figure watched over the session¡ªAdolf Welter, the head instructor. His sharp, cold eyes scanned the line like a hawk searching for weakness.


    The air was thick with tension, each trainee acutely aware of the unspoken expectation to perform. Sylvain stood among them, his shoulders relaxed but his gaze wary. The whispers from earlier still echoed in his mind, faint murmurs about his reputation as the weak link.


    The first match began with a clash of wooden blades as Jack¡ªa broad-shouldered boy with a barrel chest¡ªlunged at his opponent. Jack''s movements were crude but effective, relying on brute strength to push through his rival''s defences. His strikes were heavy, battering down any attempts at finesse.


    Adolf''s expression remained neutral until the duel ended with Jack''s opponent on his back, groaning from the impact of the final blow. Adolf gave Jack a curt nod, his acknowledgement as close to approval as the trainees would get. Jack puffed out his chest, proud but panting.


    "Strength will carry you far," Adolf said coolly, "but only if it''s tempered by discipline."


    Next came Maria¡ªa wiry girl with sharp, calculating eyes. Her opponent barely had time to raise his weapon before she was on him, her strikes fast and unrelenting. Each movement was a study in precision, but there was no restraint in her approach. Every blow seemed aimed to harm, her face twisted in a fierce snarl.


    The duel ended abruptly when Adolf stepped forward and raised a hand. "Enough," he said sharply, his tone carrying the weight of authority. "You''ve made your point."


    Maria lowered her weapon, a smirk playing on her lips. She relished the murmurs of admiration and fear from the other trainees. Adolf''s gaze narrowed as he added, "Control your aggression, Maria. Efficiency wins wars, not savagery."


    She tilted her head, unconcerned. Everyone already knew she was the best.


    When Sylvain''s name was called, a ripple of whispers moved through the line. He ignored them, stepping into the ring with the same detached calm he always wore. His opponent, a tall and cocky trainee, grinned as if the match were already won.


    Sylvain observed him quietly, noting the overconfidence in his posture and the slight shift in his weight before every movement. The match began, and Sylvain''s opponent lunged. Sylvain sidestepped with ease, his movements deliberate and efficient. He countered with sharp strikes, exploiting openings with precision.


    The other trainees, less experienced, watched with confusion, unsure of what they were seeing. Their earlier smugness quickly faded into surprise, but they couldn''t fully grasp the subtle mastery in Sylvain''s movements.


    Adolf''s eyes, however, narrowed as he observed from the sidelines. His gaze sharpened, taking in every detail with practiced precision. Sylvain''s anticipation seemed almost unnatural¡ªhe predicted every attack before it came, his counters landing just before his opponent fully committed to a strike.


    But even with such skill, Sylvain''s body betrayed him. His muscles faltered during a particularly demanding counter, and his opponent seized the moment, landing a heavy blow that knocked him to the ground.


    The duel was over.


    Sylvain rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes. He kept his expression neutral, refusing to show any frustration.


    Adolf''s voice cut through the silence. "Your mind works faster than your body, boy. If your strength matched your precision, you''d be dangerous. A shame your weakness outweighs your potential."


    The words stung more than Sylvain expected. He nodded stiffly, keeping his gaze steady as he returned to the line.


    From the shadows of a nearby archway, Raven watched the duel. Her eyes lingered on Sylvain, her mind racing. His precision was remarkable, unlike anything she''d expected from the pampered elites she despised. Yet, there was no fire in him, no drive to excel. He moved like someone who didn''t care about winning, only about surviving.


    What''s your angle, Flamesworth? she thought, her fingers tightening around the tray she carried.


    Her mission demanded absolute focus, but she couldn''t shake her intrigue. Sylvain Flamesworth was unlike any elite she''d encountered¡ªan anomaly she couldn''t afford to ignore.


    Later that night ,the arched window in Sylvain''s quarters stretched high, framed by thick velvet curtains that hung heavy and still. Moonlight seeped through the fabric, spilling soft, silvery beams onto the floor, creating a quiet pool of light. The mansion around him seemed to settle into an uneasy silence, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind against the glass.


    Sylvain sat there without a concern for today''s training , he only thought about that secret room, his back against the cool stone, his posture slouched but his eyes sharp. River, his sleek black cat, nestled comfortably in his lap, purring contentedly as Sylvain idly ran his fingers through her sleek fur. The motion was a soothing rhythm, a faint anchor to the restless thoughts spiralling in his mind.


    "You saw it too, didn''t you, River?" Sylvain whispered, half to himself. His voice was low, almost conspiratorial. "That hidden place... What could it be? A treasure? Some cursed artifact ?"


    River meowed softly, as though in response, and Sylvain gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "I know. I shouldn''t care. It''s probably nothing... but what if it''s everything?"


    His gaze lingered on the wall where the painting had once hung. The space now felt hollow, empty¡ªalmost inviting. He knew it was foolish to dwell on it, but the pull was undeniable. What lay beyond that concealed space? A secret no one else had stumbled upon? A hidden world, a world he could claim for himself?


    He let his thoughts drift, his mind painting vivid images¡ªgolden treasures stashed away, enough to buy his freedom. To escape. To live a life far from this place¡ªfar from the constant expectations, the ceaseless training, the suffocating weight of his family''s gaze. Somewhere by the sea, maybe, or deep in a quiet forest where no one would find him. Just him and River. No one to demand anything from him, no one to manipulate his every move.


    The fantasy lured him, tugging at a part of himself he hadn''t dared to dream about before¡ªpeace, solitude, freedom. His tone softened, dreamy and faraway. "Imagine, River... A quiet life, just you and me. No more fighting, no more schemes. Just us."


    The thought caught him off guard, making his chest ache in ways he couldn''t quite explain. Yet as quickly as it bloomed, he pushed it aside.


    As time passed, the pull toward the empty wall became stronger. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "It''s probably nothing," he murmured, as though trying to convince himself. But even as the words left his mouth, his heart wasn''t convinced. He couldn''t shake the feeling that there was more¡ªsomething waiting to be uncovered.


    He looked at River, seeking reassurance, hoping she would purr softly in agreement. But she only blinked at him with those wide, quiet eyes, offering no clarity. "What if it''s not?" he muttered, half to her, half to himself.


    Minutes stretched into an uneasy silence. The weight of his curiosity gnawed at him, growing heavier by the second. His gaze flicked back to the wall, where the painting had once been¡ªwhere something felt off, something waiting to be found.


    Finally, Sylvain exhaled deeply, making a decision. He gently placed River on the windowsill and stood, stretching slightly as his mind began to focus. "Alright, fine. Tonight, we''ll find out. If I can just figure out a way in..."


    His fingers tightened into a fist at his side, his resolve growing. He stepped closer to the wall, staring at the hollow space behind where the painting had been. The shadows seemed to shift, almost mocking him, as if they knew something he didn''t.


    Out in the night, the moon hung high, casting a soft glow across the landscape. Sylvain''s reflection shimmered in the glass, a mixture of determination and apprehension written across his face. He stared out into the darkness, thinking¡ªjust for a moment¡ªof what lay beyond the secrets waiting in the shadows.


    "No turning back now," he whispered to himself, low and steady, as if making a vow to the night.

 Chapter 3 : The spiral diverge

    Sylvain traced his fingers along the hidden seams in the wooden wall. The air in the corridor felt colder now, heavier¡ªlike something ancient lay behind the surface. He glanced down at the small gaps, where time had worn away at the wood. Slowly, carefully, he slid his hands between the cracks, pressing and prying until the planks creaked and groaned. The barrier gave way with a subtle sigh, revealing the room hidden beyond.


    The space was dimly lit, filled with shadows stretching toward old shelves stacked high with countless files. The scent of paper, long untouched, filled the air¡ªthick, musty, and layered with the weight of secrecy. Sylvain took a cautious step inside, his boots muffled against the thick rug beneath him. Dust danced in the soft beams of light slipping through a crack in the ceiling.


    His fingers trembled slightly as he reached out, flipping open the first folder. Each file seemed meticulously labeled, but there was a pattern¡ªsome pages were hastily torn out, corners frayed. These weren''t ordinary records. These were files meant to be erased¡ªdiscarded, forgotten, never meant to see the light of day.


    He sifted through them, one after another, until something caught his eye. A file, marked with a bright orange circle¡ªunlike the others. The symbol stood out, bold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the plain, faded folders. Sylvain''s breath hitched as he traced the circle with a finger. Orange. It couldn''t be a coincidence. That symbol... those eyes. The glowing orange eyes he''d always wondered about¡ªeyes that held secrets no one dared speak of.


    His pulse quickened, the weight in his chest tightening. He carefully opened the folder.


    And there it was. The truth.


    The file held pages upon pages of meticulously detailed notes¡ªscientific formulas, calculations, and diagrams¡ªall centred around one word: Tachyon. Sylvain''s eyes widened as he skimmed through the text. It spoke of particles¡ªtiny, almost imperceptible¡ªcapable of moving faster than light. A theory once dismissed as myth, yet here it was, laid bare in front of him. They had discovered it. They had used it.


    With these tachyon, they had created time loops¡ªloops meant to turn back time, to save humanity from extinction. The meteorite, the disaster that loomed, was only one part of the grand plan. But more horrifying was the truth: these time loops weren''t meant to stop after one iteration. No. This timeline he lived in? It was the seventh.


    The elites¡ªthose few at the top¡ªhad been manipulating time, repeating events over and over, each loop slightly altered, meticulously controlled. Humanity had been fooled. Everyone¡ªhis family, the servants, even those in the lowest districts¡ªbelieved they were progressing, surviving, building something better. But it was all an illusion. A grand deception.


    And what made it worse was how the elites saw this situation as not just a way to save humanity, but as a perfect opportunity. Time loops provided them endless chances¡ªendless control. With each iteration, they could reshape events to benefit themselves, to secure their dominance, to expand their influence. The meteorite might have been the catalyst, the threat they feared, but they used the loop to not only buy time but to solidify their control over every aspect of life¡ªfrom politics to economics to society itself. They had turned it into a tool for manipulation, a way to bend reality to their will, all under the guise of "saving humanity."


    Sylvain''s heart pounded in his chest as tears welled in his eyes. He couldn''t believe it. His mother¡ªher death¡ªhad happened in the original timeline. The first loop. This timeline, the one he was trapped in, was already the seventh attempt. No matter how many times they rewound, no matter how much they tried to "save" humanity, she was always gone. She was always lost.


    A surge of rage, sorrow, and hopelessness welled up inside him. He slammed the folder shut, his hands shaking. His vision blurred, and he bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    They had fooled everyone. They had kept this secret from the world. No one knew the truth¡ªonly the elite few who controlled everything.


    Sylvain''s breath caught. He remembered those eyes again¡ªthe glowing orange that seemed to pierce through walls, through minds. Could it be... did those with the knowledge of this hold something to trigger the loops, something they hadn''t fully lost? Was that why they never forgot?


    And then, his gaze landed on something beside the folder. A small vial¡ªclear glass, half-full, filled with a liquid. A serum, carefully placed there, almost as though it had been waiting for someone to find it.


    Sylvain''s heart skipped a beat. His fingers brushed against it, hesitating¡ªhis mind racing, trying to comprehend what he had just uncovered.


    The answers lay within this syrum. And they were waiting for him to take the next step.


    Sylvain''s breath caught in his chest, heart pounding as the sound echoed through the dim room¡ªthe faint creak of metal, the scrape of something heavy descending into darkness.


    He froze, every nerve on edge, his mind racing to process what he had just heard. Someone was coming. Slowly, cautiously, he glanced around the room¡ªfiles scattered across the floor, the hidden trapdoor now visible in the faint glow filtering through the cracks. This wasn''t just an ordinary storage space¡ªit was the real entrance to whatever dark secrets this place held. Sylvain''s pulse quickened as he realized just how close he had come to being caught, he then went to his room without hesitation.


    He grabbed the file, clutching it tightly in one hand, his fingers trembling. The vial¡ªthe serum¡ªwas still in his other hand. The weight of the discovery bore down on him, yet his mind raced faster than ever. The copper-colored liquid... what was it? He inspected it carefully, the faint shimmer catching in the low light. The texture was strange¡ªslick, metallic, but not just copper. Something more. A faint scent lingered¡ªsomething familiar, yet distorted.


    "Copper..." Sylvain muttered to himself, his mind working overtime.


    "Copper influences dopamine in the cerebellum and that can improve time perception and memory retaining, that explains the orange eyes... so they played with the neurotransmitter"


    It wasn''t long before his sharp intellect pieced it together¡ªhis thoughts shifting like lightning. Copper, mixed with something else... something that triggered memories¡ªsomething that sharpened perception. His eyes narrowed, as if the answer had been hiding in plain sight all along.


    "It''s not just about remembering. It''s about seeing it¡ªmy life, the loops I''ve been through. Not re-living them, but knowing what happened in each one."


    The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. His eyes widened. "It''s copper¡ªit''s what allows them to remember¡ª''''


    He clenched his fists, a surge of rage and frustration flooding through him. All the manipulation, all the lies... they hadn''t just altered time¡ªthey had stolen something from the world. From him.


    He didn''t care anymore. Let it burn. Let the world burn. Let the meteorite come, let it crash down¡ªthis world was better off crumbling than living endlessly under the chains of those damn houses, those damned elites.


    "They think they can control fate? Let them. Let it all fall apart. The meteorite... it''s more merciful than the endless loops, more merciful than their endless suffering. This... this is the only way to break free."


    His vision blurred, the rage building inside him like a storm¡ªan inferno waiting to explode. He gripped the vial tighter, every fiber of his being shaking with defiance. Without hesitation, he drew the glass closer to his hand¡ªhis veins already beginning to thrum beneath his skin, reacting to the liquid within.


    He stabbed the needle into his palm¡ªpain lancing through him as the copper-infused serum seeped into his bloodstream. His body jolted, a sharp rush of heat spreading through his veins, and for a split second, his eyes burned¡ªorange¡ªbright and glowing with an intense light.


    The visions came fast¡ªtoo fast¡ªsnippets of his life flashing before him. The first loop, the constant cycles¡ªmemories from each loop, fragments of events repeating in his mind. It wasn''t seeing the loops themselves, but the remnants of what had happened¡ªenough to piece together how each iteration had unfolded.


    His mind strained under the weight, the memories rushing in all at once, colliding and blending together. He couldn''t hold them all¡ªhis memory couldn''t process everything in one go. His head throbbed¡ªpain sharper than he''d ever felt¡ªhis body convulsing as he collapsed back onto his bed.


    Visions, fragments, and flashes¡ªevery loop, every loss, every event¡ªblurred in his head. It was overwhelming. And just as quickly as the pain hit him, darkness swallowed him whole, dragging him into unconsciousness.

 Chapter 4 : Endlessly

    Sylvain''s body lay heavy, worn from the events of the night, as sleep gradually consumed him. His mind sank deeper into unconsciousness, but instead of restful darkness, he was pulled into visions¡ªfragments of memories long buried.


    He found himself standing on a cracked, desolate ground, gazing at the sky. Clouds, dark and turbulent, churned overhead, shifting with a weight that felt suffocating. Across the horizon, something enormous loomed¡ªshadowed, foreboding, something that stretched beyond the boundaries of the sky itself. The world trembled beneath its unseen presence, and the air buzzed with fear¡ªan all-consuming fear that Sylvain had seen before.


    Around him, a crowd of people¡ªeach figure desperate and disillusioned¡ªgathered, their eyes wide with terror. They screamed, cried out for help, their voices blending into a chorus of hopelessness. But there was nothing to be done. The meteorite, inevitable, hung in the atmosphere like a monstrous force, casting an unyielding shadow over the world.


    Time seemed to pause¡ªa sudden freeze¡ªwhere everything halted mid-motion. The crowd, the earth, even the wind stopped. And then, as abruptly as it began, everything rewound. The faces twisted, their mouths open in silent pleas. The sky shimmered, and once again, the scene played out¡ªa loop of anguish, despair, and helplessness.


    This vision¡ªthe same one, repeated over and over. In each life, the world screamed, crumbled under the weight of its own fate, and then time spun backward.


    But in every one of those lives, Sylvain never rose beyond his quiet, solitary existence. He lived in shadow¡ªquiet, unnoticed. A nobody in the Flamesworth house, consumed by the life of a servant, lost in the corner with his black cat, River. Each life, the same: destined to linger in the fringes of power, never ascending, never leaving behind a mark that could have saved anyone. He never fought. He never resisted. He simply watched¡ªuntil time froze, and everything unraveled once again.


    The loop rewound, and every iteration of his life played out the same, each ending with the same fear¡ªpeople pleading, desperate cries rising as something loomed in the sky. The meteorite.


    But then, the dream shifted¡ªa subtle flicker, as if peeling back the layers of time itself. Sylvain found himself in a different place¡ªwarm, gentle hands around his small fingers. A tender smile before him, soft and loving. His mother. Her voice, soothing and steady, whispered words of comfort. They had been here before¡ªwhen she was alive, when she held him close.


    "I will always be with you," she murmured, brushing the hair from his forehead. Her warmth surrounded him, and for a fleeting moment, the world felt safe, whole.


    Then, a memory¡ªfragmented but vivid¡ªpierced through the dream like a dagger. Sylvain, small and fragile, sitting next to his mother. A sickness had swept through the household¡ªa disease that knew no mercy, one far too brutal for adults to endure. It had claimed countless lives, and his mother was next.


    Faust had come then¡ªcold, detached, his eyes hard as they scanned the frail woman lying in bed. He approached, but his gaze was devoid of sympathy. His lips curled with distaste, looking down at her as though she were beneath him¡ªa burden, someone unworthy of help.


    "She''s not worth the effort," Faust muttered, almost bored. "Too much resource wasted on someone who contributes nothing to the Flamesworth legacy."


    Sylvain, a child, had clutched his father''s leg, his small fists trembling as he begged¡ªpleading, desperate to save his mother.


    "Please, Father... she''s my mother. She''s... she''s important." His voice wavered, tears streaking his face.


    But Faust''s expression twisted into one of disdain. He shoved the child aside.


    "She''s nothing. A peasant¡ªunworthy. If she were noble, perhaps it might be worth saving. But this... this isn''t worth my time."


    Sylvain''s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably as he watched his mother smile faintly¡ªweakly, but still with warmth. Her voice, calm and soothing despite the shadows creeping in, spoke softly.


    "Don''t cry, my little flame... It will be alright. Your father cares... in his own way."


    But Sylvain''s eyes followed as Faust turned away, leaving, walking out of the room with calculated indifference. The last thing he heard was his mother''s voice¡ªgentle, sweet, yet breaking as she spoke those final words:


    "I love you endlessly, my sweet boy..."


    The dream twisted again, plunging him into a flood of recollection. The disease worsened¡ªthe cure so close, yet just out of reach. And soon after, her frail hand slipped away from his.


    Sylvain''s breath hitched. The weight of that memory, so vivid¡ªso raw¡ªrushed through him like a tidal wave. His chest burned, and tears fell again, unbidden, as he felt the sharp pang of loss¡ªthe ache that had never left him.


    And as the dream reached its final moments, it shifted once more¡ªinto flashes, quick, fleeting scenes of his mother''s death, of her hand slipping from his grasp. He saw it again¡ªthe first time Faust visited his concubine¡ªa moment of repulsion, dismissing someone too far beneath him to be of any importance.


    Sylvain, a boy no older than ten, reached out to his father¡ªbegging him¡ªdesperate. "Please... save her. Please..."


    But the answer was the same¡ªthe cold indifference, the sharp rejection.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Sylvain woke with a jolt, his hand stretched toward the ceiling, trembling. His eyes, still heavy from the dream, burned with unshed tears.


    He sat up slowly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The room spun briefly, as if the memory had left him unsteady. He wiped his face, fingers stained with dried tears.


    But deep inside, something had shifted¡ªsomething had awakened.


    A flame. A fire¡ªnot one of hope, but one of resolve. The past weighed heavily on him, but it couldn''t control him anymore.


    He glanced down at his hand¡ªthe syringe still clutched in his palm. The copper liquid inside¡ªit wasn''t just a simple chemical. It was something else entirely¡ªa key, a catalyst. A means to see the loops, yes... but only his life before, not the loops themselves.


    Yet, it had done more. It showed him what had been lost¡ªhis past, his mother, and the countless lives caught in the loop. It burned in his mind¡ªvisions of those faces screaming in fear, their eyes wide with helplessness.


    He tightened his fists, a low growl escaping his throat. Enough. No more. No more waiting. No more suffering.


    This world¡ªthis endless cycle of pain, the manipulations of the elites¡ªhe was done. The meteorite wasn''t the real enemy. It was them¡ªthe Houses, the ones who controlled everything.


    Let it burn.


    He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. If humanity was set to end, then let it. Let it end. Let them suffer the consequences of their own actions.


    With a sudden, fierce conviction, Sylvain''s gaze sharpened. He injected the serum into his hand again¡ªhis skin burning as the copper substance flowed through his veins.


    In an instant, his vision blurred, and the world twisted around him¡ªflashes,scenes of lives long past, lives intertwined with his own, collapsing into one. The weight of it all¡ªa flood of memories, too much, too soon. His head throbbed, pain lancing through him, his mind unable to handle the onslaught.


    And then, it came¡ªthe moment he couldn''t escape. The visions overtook him¡ªmemories of his mother, those brief moments of comfort, now so far away¡ªdead in the original timeline.


    The images burned, seared into his mind¡ªher hand in his, the warmth, the tenderness, the words... I love you endlessly. Those words made his hand stretched upward toward the ceiling, reaching¡ªsearching¡ªlonging.


    And in that moment, he knew. His past, his mother''s death, the lives before¡ªnone of it could be undone.


    But he could carry it forward.


    Sylvain stirred, his body heavy and aching, his mind still foggy from the overwhelming memories that had crashed over him. He sat up slowly, blinking away the dizziness as his gaze fell to the worn note beside his bed¡ªcrumpled and hastily written. The ink smeared slightly from sweat and tears, but it was there¡ªhis only connection to what he had discovered in his dream.


    His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the paper. He unfolded it carefully, scanning the words¡ªjotted down quickly in a frenzied attempt to capture everything the serum had revealed. He began to list what he remembered¡ªevents from his previous lives, pieces of knowledge he could use now.


    The political shifts¡ªthe alliances forged, the betrayals hidden beneath noble smiles. The files¡ªthose secret documents that showed not just the family''s dealings, but the things that were meant to be erased¡ªdiscarded as though they had never existed. Sylvain''s pen scratched rapidly across the page, listing key moments¡ªthe movements of powerful individuals, the shifting power within the noble houses, the mistakes made that led to the downfall.


    Faces blurred in his mind¡ªfigures he couldn''t quite place, but the patterns remained. Memories of whispered conversations, brief glimpses of dealings that were never meant to be seen. He wrote it all down¡ªevery scrap, every detail¡ªthings he hadn''t dared to commit to memory before. Information now meant to be retained, analyzed.


    He noted the names¡ªpeople from those past lives, fleeting figures whose movements had impacted the loops. Their relationships, their alliances, their betrayals¡ªall the pieces that had shifted over time. Sylvain''s gaze narrowed as he recorded each name, each piece of knowledge. With each note, his mind sharpened, more focused. His intellect, long dismissed by his family, became his only weapon. He analyzed every fragment¡ªevery secret, every hidden truth¡ªand wrote them down as they came to him. The political maneuvers, the alliances forged in shadows, the power struggles between noble families. Every event, every maneuver, every failure from past lives¡ªSylvain meticulously documented it all.


    He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching, craving something¡ªanything¡ªto release the anger building inside him. His eyes drifted toward the vial he had taken from the hidden room¡ªthe serum still half-full. His heart thudded in his chest. He couldn''t forget what it had shown him¡ªcouldn''t ignore what it had unlocked. The memories¡ªthe visions¡ªof his past lives. But more than that, it was the knowledge it held¡ªthe key to understanding everything.


    Suddenly he thinks to himself ''''Wait... why is this time different than the others ? why didn''t I find the secret room on the past loops ?''''


    He leaned back for a moment, then started to write diagrams and lines to bring forth a theory he had thought of.


    '''' If I remember correctly, the same situation with that servant Raven happened in the old loops, but it only led to her tripping over.''''


    He pets his cat while addressing her ,''''River wasn''t following me on the past loop...She only followed me in this loop because she was hungry, and that is what triggered her to rip off that painting, so all of the small shifts in the past six timelines accumulated to result in me finding the room¡ªa butterfly effect across timelines.''''


    His mind raced, piecing it all together¡ªthe details he had uncovered, the web of events that had shaped every life he had lived before.


    Sylvain sat up straighter, his hand reaching toward another sheet of paper. He began writing again¡ªevery event, every detail he could remember from his previous lives, every scrap of knowledge he had retained. He needed to keep it all somewhere¡ªsecure, hidden. Not to remember the loops themselves, but to understand what had happened before. What mistakes were made.


    Every piece of information¡ªevery person¡ªevery political movement¡ªevery fleeting event he could recall¡ª His mind burned with the effort, his thoughts racing faster than his pen could keep up.


    His fingers hovered over the ink, then drifted to another thought¡ªsomething more immediate. His eyes. The serum had turned his eyes orange¡ªimpossible to hide. He couldn''t risk being seen like this¡ªnot now, not when he was still vulnerable. He needed something to cover them¡ªsomething that would keep him safe.


    Slowly, he began searching through his belongings¡ªrummaging through old drawers, pulling out spare lenses. He found a pair¡ªplain, brown-colored ones. They would serve to mask his eyes, to keep him hidden from anyone who might come too close. He had to be careful¡ªevery step must be calculated. One mistake, one revealing act, and it could all crumble. The end of the loop might come for him.


    Sylvain adjusted the lenses carefully, the discomfort pressing against his nose. He stared into the mirror, watching his reflection. The orange glow hidden beneath brown lenses¡ªa temporary solution, but it would have to do for now. He couldn''t afford to be seen¡ªcouldn''t afford to slip up.


    Not yet.

 Chapter 5 : An old contact

    Sylvain navigated the narrow streets of Steelgate, the air thick with soot and despair. The slums sprawled like a festering wound across the city''s underbelly, where grime-streaked children played with broken toys, and hollow-eyed workers shuffled past with bent backs and calloused hands. This was the heart of the world the Houses had created¡ªa city drained of hope and purpose, reduced to gears in their grand machine.


    His breath misted in the cold air as he moved through the winding alleys, avoiding the main roads patrolled by the ever-watchful enforcers. He needed a map¡ªa key to the labyrinth beneath Steelgate. He was here for an old contact from his past lives, someone who once traded in more than just books.


    The library¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªwas tucked away in a decrepit building, its facade crumbling and its windows fogged with grime. Lucas, the man who ran it, was a ghost from Sylvain''s memories of previous loops. In those timelines, Lucas had been a quiet revolutionary and a cautious ally, trading in banned books and forbidden knowledge. But in this timeline, Lucas didn''t know him. Sylvain would have to earn his trust from scratch.


    Sylvain knocked four times¡ªa code to distinguish friends from enforcers. The door creaked open a fraction, revealing Lucas''s lined face, his sharp eyes scanning Sylvain from head to toe.


    "You''re too clean," Lucas muttered, his voice edged with suspicion. He kept one hand near a concealed compartment beneath his desk.


    Sylvain stepped into the cramped, book-filled den, the air heavy with the smell of dust and old parchment. Lucas turned sharply, his gaze narrowing beneath bushy brows.


    "Who sent you?" he asked, his tone sharp as steel.


    "I came alone," Sylvain replied, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.


    Lucas scoffed. "Alone?" Lucas scoffs. He leans back in his chair, but his fingers hover close to a very traditionally styled energy handgun hidden beneath the cluttered desk. " You don''t look like someone who wanders the slums for fun. What do you want, boy?"


    "I want knowledge," Sylvain said, his voice calm but weighted with the burden of countless timelines. "And I know you can help me."


    Lucas studied him for a long moment, his sharp gaze probing. "You''re Flamesworth, aren''t you?" He spat the name like venom. "What''s an aristocrat''s brat doing crawling through Steelgate, asking questions he shouldn''t?"


    "I''m not like them," Sylvain replied evenly.


    Lucas''s laugh was humorless. "You look like hot money. Smell like it, too. Maybe you''re here to report me. Turn me in for trading banned knowledge."


    "If I wanted you dead, you''d already be gone." The words slip out before Sylvain can stop them, colder than he intended, and Lucas stiffens. Sylvain exhales softly, lowering his voice. "You can let go of your gun Lucas... I''m not your enemy. I promise you that."


    Lucas''s eyes narrow further, but something in Sylvain''s tone¡ªa quiet desperation, a thread of truth¡ªmakes him pause. "Gave me the chills there , boy. But you sound honest. that''s what makes it worse. You don''t sound like them. You..." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    He trails off, leaning forward. His gaze sharpens, scrutinizing the boy before him.Lucas finally says, his voice softer now. "Your eyes... they''ve seen things. They''re too old for your face. And they look deeply determined, boy. Like someone ready to set something right or maybe the other way around..."


    "I need a map of Steelgate''s underground passages," Sylvain said, his tone steady. "And those leading to the Houses castles,you have them."


    Lucas froze mid-motion, his expression darkening. "You''re either mad or looking to get someone killed," he said sharply. "Do you have any idea what you''re asking for, boy? If this falls into the wrong hands, it could burn me¡ªand everyone connected to me¡ªto ash."


    "I know the risks," Sylvain replied. "I wouldn''t ask if I didn''t need it."


    Lucas scrutinized him, his suspicion palpable. "Need it for what? No one walks into Steelgate''s belly unless they''re desperate¡ªor suicidal. And if you think I''d trust a clean-scrubbed boy who reeks of the upper districts, you''ve got another thing coming."


    "I know what you risked to save what they tried to erase¡ªthe books, the knowledge," Sylvain said, his voice soft but firm. "I know you see the rot beneath their polished surface. That''s why I came to you."


    Lucas hesitated, his sharp eyes scanning Sylvain''s face. Finally, he sighed and leaned back. "Alright, boy. You''ll get your map. But if this comes back to bite me..." He leveled Sylvain with a sharp look. "Don''t expect me to go quietly."


    Sylvain nodded. "If it comes to that, I''ll make sure you don''t have to worry about the noise."


    Lucas reached for a drawer and pulled out an old, rolled-up parchment. He paused, his expression darkening. "You know... only one other person''s ever asked me for this."


    Sylvain''s interest piqued. "Who?"


    "A man from the deep slums," Lucas said, his voice lowering. "Didn''t give me his name, but he wore a crimson mask with an hourglass scratched into it. Him and his team stormed in here like they owned the place. Took a copy of the maps without hesitation. Left gold coins like it was a transaction."


    Sylvain''s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "Did he say what he wanted the maps for?"


    Lucas shook his head. "Men like that don''t leave explanations. Just fear in their wake. You remind me of him in a way, though you''re less... threatening."


    Sylvain took the map, his voice steady. "Thank you. For trusting me, even a little."


    "Don''t thank me yet," Lucas grumbled. "Just remember: you''re not the first, and you won''t be the last. But you might be the one who brings the storm to my door."


    Later that evening, Sylvain returned to his room, exhaustion tugging at his every step. The events of the day replayed in his mind as he shut the door behind him. River, his black cat, greeted him with a soft meow, leaping onto the desk as Sylvain slumped into his chair.


    "It''s done," Sylvain said, stroking River''s head. "I have the map."


    River tilted her head, her green eyes gleaming in the dim light.


    "But there''s something else," Sylvain murmured. "Someone else. The crimson mask. Lucas said he took a copy of the same map. A man with a team, moving with purpose."


    River chirped softly, as if urging him to continue.


    "Who is he, River?" Sylvain whispered, scratching behind her ears. "What''s he planning?"


    The cat purred, her presence a small comfort in the swirling uncertainty. Sylvain''s gaze drifted to the map on his desk, his determination hardening.


    "The crimson mask..." he murmured. "I''ll find him. And when I do, I''ll decide if he''s an ally¡ªor just another piece of the game I''ll have to break."


    The room fell quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of River''s purring. Sylvain sat alone, the faint stirrings of momentum building within him¡ªthe gears of change beginning to turn.

 Chapter 6 : Strike from within

    Sylvain stood at the edge of the training hall, watching the other elite trainees stumble through their drills. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and old wood. His gaze flicked from one instructor to the next, observing every movement, every imperfection. This was his world now¡ªone where he would need to rise above it all if he ever wanted to tear it down from within.


    the Houses , his family, the elites. They all saw him as just another failure, just another useless heir who couldn''t keep up with their high standards. He had to change their perspective if he wanted to use his house''s power against them . They didn''t know who he had become over the countless loops, how his mind had sharpened like a blade, how his body had been honed through every failure, every death, and every fight.


    The sound of the instructor''s voice broke his thoughts.


    "Flamesworth! Get in line!"


    Sylvain nodded, stepping forward, his gaze cold, his steps deliberate. He was no longer the disinterested boy who barely managed to scrape through the tests. Now, he was a machine¡ªa weapon.


    The instructor Adolf Welter, a veteran member of house Welter and Maria Welter''s uncle, eyed Sylvain as he stepped into the sparring ring. The other trainees chuckled nervously, clearly not expecting much from him. Sylvain''s slight frame made him an easy target in their eyes.


    "You will have to fight Jack for this one, young man" the instructor said


    "This will be fast , cousin" Jack Flamesworth growled, cracking his knuckles.


    Sylvain''s gaze wandered, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes,"Jack... in every timeline, why is it you the childish douche...?"


    "I will put you in your place, you are truly a shame for our house"Jack added


    "Can your fists move as fast as your mouth,Jack" Sylvain lips faintly curled into a smirk


    The bell rang, and Jack charged at him with the speed of a freight train. Sylvain''s body moved with a precision he hadn''t known in his earlier life. His footwork was fluid, his movements calculated. The massive Jack swung a punch, and Sylvain ducked, letting the blow pass by him with inches to spare. His own fist lashed out, striking Jack''s rib cage in the exact spot where his defenses were weakest. The sound of cracking bones echoed in the room.


    The instructor stumbling back in surprise. "How surprising, little flame."


    "Who''s next," Sylvain murmured, his voice cold and detached, but his eyes burning with a purpose the others couldn''t grasp.


    He wasn''t just fighting for survival. He was fighting for control.


    Later, in the grand hall, the academic test began. The walls were lined with the House''s scholars, their eyes trained on the group of trainees gathered at their desks. Sylvain could feel their gazes on him, testing him, searching for any weakness.


    "Begin," one of the professors barked.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Sylvain''s pen hovered over the paper for a moment. This was familiar territory¡ªhe''d been through these tests a thousand times in a thousand lives. But now, he wasn''t just answering questions; he was using this test to show them all that he wasn''t the failure they thought him to be. He was smarter, sharper, and more dangerous than any of them could imagine.


    He began writing at a steady pace, solving the problems with ease. His mind raced through complex equations, historical events, political strategies, and the intricacies of the House''s history. Every piece of knowledge he had accumulated through his previous loops flowed into him like an unstoppable torrent. He was untouchable in this realm.


    One of the professors leaned over to whisper to another, clearly impressed. "He''s surpassing even some of the older trainees..."


    Sylvain didn''t look up. He already knew what they were saying. He didn''t need their approval. But he would take it. And then he would use it.


    Afterwards ,the gun range was a sterile, quiet place, the only sound the metallic click of ammunition being loaded.


    Sylvain gripped the sleek, precision-made gun with practiced hands,the guns are so much different than how they were in the first loop,they work on energy cells and the time of their reload is far more better,he knew how much things changed because of the accumulated knowledge and science the higher ups used, the whole world feels out of place with all the technological discoveries that they would throw unnaturally in the world,therefore this period of time is named the acceleration age due to how fast science was developing but the public didn''t know that it was all just relics from the loops .


    In anyways, Sylvain had always been good with a firearm, but now¡ªnow it was different. He could see every detail, every shift in the environment. His hands steadied as he took his place, the target a mere blur to him as his eyes focused on the minute shifts in the air, the way the light bent around the target.


    "Ready?" the instructor asked, his voice tight with anticipation.


    Sylvain nodded ,he exhaled slowly, aligning the target in his sights, taking in the wind, the weight of the gun, the angle of his shot. His finger squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the room. Bullseye.


    The instructor blinked in disbelief, then turned to his colleagues. "He''s getting better at everything."


    Sylvain''s eyes remained focused on the target, his expression unchanged. "I still have to keep in mind that the other higher-ups have loop memories too. I can''t afford to show too much improvement too quickly or I''ll raise suspicion,"after the bullseye shot, Sylvain deliberately miss a few shots in front of the instructor , he had to show normal improvement.


    "Maybe there is still room for some precise aiming though..."The instructor sighed


    He had to play it smart. The House''s game was delicate, and any sign of ambition too early could send everything crashing down. But the weight of his growing hatred for Faust¡ªand the determination to see it all burn¡ªgnawed at him


    As he returned to his quarters that evening,he fed River and scratched her favourite part.


    "It is really tiring to interact with those people, I appreciate your existence,River..."River meows back at him, showing her affection for Sylvain.


    The weight of the day''s tests hung over him like a stormcloud, but he felt the spark of something inside him¡ªa fire growing stronger.


    The map he''d taken from Lucas rested on his desk, its secrets unfolding in his mind. His place within the House was shifting. He had to play the game, rise to power from within. But that was just the beginning. He needed to start the rebellion¡ªboth inside and out.


    Sylvain stared out the window at the city sprawled beneath him, the buildings towering like giants over the broken streets of Steelgate.


    "They''ve built their oligarchy empire on the suffering of others. They think they''re invincible, untouchable. But I''m about to change all of that. I hate Faust... I hate the look in his eyes, his presence,his voice-I HATE HIM...and soon I will make it rain on him , a giant shower of the very thing he wishes to escape,death."


    The words were spoken in pure rage  to himself, they carried the weight of a thousand years of pain and determination. The world would burn, but Sylvain Flamesworth would be the one to light the match.

 Chapter 7 : Master of strings

    A year has already pass,Sylvain used that time well. It was the time he had spent honing his mind, body, and soul for the sole purpose of tearing down the system from within. With his body now a well-trained vessel of strength, he moved through the halls of House Flamesworth like a predator stalking prey¡ªhis every step calculated, his every word carefully chosen. The once fragile boy who had stumbled through training was gone. In his place stood a man of focus, determination, and, above all, strategy.


    Sylvain had made it a point to speak less and observe more. He''d mastered the art of reading the room, manipulating his words to create just the right amount of tension and alliance, always pushing his ambitions further without ever revealing them fully. In the shadows, he began weaving his web of influence, using everyone as pieces in a larger game.


    But today, there was something different in the air. House Welter had begun showing interest in him¡ªa dangerous game for both sides.Pierre Welter, one of the more ambitious members of the House, one of those bastards with orange burning eyes,he had reached out to Sylvain under the guise of an alliance, an offer he knew Sylvain wouldn''t turn down.


    Sylvain entered the private meeting room of House Welter, the heavy wooden door creaking as it shut behind him. Pierre sat at the head of the table, his dark eyes scanning Sylvain with a mixture of curiosity and calculated wariness.


    "You''ve grown stronger,remarkable" Pierre remarked, his glowing eyes narrowing as he remembers the weak Sylvain from the past timelines . The faintest trace of a smile tugged at his lips. "I must say, I''m surprised."


    Sylvain shrugged, exuding an air of casual confidence that contrasted sharply with his cold, calculating thoughts. "One learns to adapt. The Flamesworths never valued me for anything other than my name. But I''m more than just an heir."


    Pierre didn''t respond immediately. He studied Sylvain thinking to himself "Maybe it''s the shift of the instructors with their approach to Sylvain Flamesworth,they knew him through the other timelines so they probably decided to use other approaches to make him stronger this time,remarkable outcomes..."


    Leaning back in his chair, before he finally breaking the silence. "Tell me, Sylvain, why would you, of all people, consider joining our cause? You''re Flamesworth blood¡ªyour family''s power could eclipse anything House Welter has. Why help us?"


    Sylvain''s lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes never leaving Pierre''s. "Power is a game, Pierre. And in this game, I have no place among my family. They are too fractured, too consumed with their internal squabbles. I''d rather make my own path¡ªone where I am the one calling the shots."


    Pierre raised an eyebrow, he knows about the complications Sylvain had with his father but he didn''t know it would lead him to this much resent ,intrigued but still uncertain. "And what would you want in return?"


    Sylvain leaned in, his voice soft but firm, each word calculated. "What I want is something your House has been striving for: Influence. If you want to break through the wall the elites have set up, you''ll need more than just muscle¡ªyou''ll need someone who understands the inner workings of the Flamesworths. Someone who knows how to get things done in the shadows."


    A flicker of recognition flashed in Pierre''s eyes, but he quickly masked it. "And you''re offering that... in exchange for what?"The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Sylvain didn''t flinch. "I offer you my knowledge, my insight, and the ability to sway others into aligning with us. I''ll be your bridge into House Flamesworth, Pierre. I can help you position yourself as a leader... if you know how to use me."


    Pierre stared at him, considering the offer carefully. There was something undeniably persuasive in Sylvain''s tone, the promise of power laced beneath his words. Sylvain was careful not to show his full hand, keeping his motives ambiguous, just enough to plant the seed of doubt in Pierre''s mind.


    "I''ll consider your offer, but understand this, Sylvain," Pierre said, his voice low, his eyes shined with a glow in the dark, "we don''t trust easily."


    "Nor should you," Sylvain replied smoothly. "Trust must be earned, not given freely. But remember¡ªsometimes the best way to win the game is to have the right pieces in place. I''m offering you the right pieces."


    Pierre didn''t respond immediately, but the flicker of calculation in his eyes told Sylvain everything he needed to know. The seed had been planted. It would only take time before Lucas would come to see him as an indispensable ally.


    The next few days were spent playing the game¡ªSylvain spent his time making subtle moves, manipulating the opinions of both House Welter and House Flamesworth''s inner circles. He knew how to pull the strings from the shadows, letting the right people think he was on their side while secretly pushing his own agenda.


    He had grown skilled at reading the room, observing the subtleties in people''s expressions and body language. Every conversation was a negotiation, every casual glance a potential victory. He had learned to manipulate and control the narrative, always leaving just enough doubt in people''s minds to make them second-guess themselves.


    "Use their desires and clash it with others, O'' great glorious houses of Pilturia , the time will come when I will show you hell," Sylvain thought to himself with a burning determination.


    Later that evening, Sylvain stood in front of a large mirror in his quarters, running his hand through his cat River,still by his side throughout all the pain he endures.


    The day had been long, and the pressure of his growing manipulations weighed heavily on him.


    In the recent months , word have been going out about a group of highly skilled crimson masked individuals that shake Steelgate''s security, stealing from government warehouses and high guarded bases for military grade items .


    The map he''d taken from the old man Lucas¡ªthe detailed routes and passages helped him made sense of things, , and Sylvain had been tracking the crimson movements for weeks. Now, it was time to take action, he located them based on rule of elimination , there was only one passage that would lead the slums to such places and he pinpointed it in the maps.


    After positioning key members of both House Flamesworth and House Welter into his web. He had made sure that people were starting to question the legitimacy of House leadership, subtly planting ideas that would erode their trust in the elites while also preparing for an external rebellion.


    In the shadows of the training hall he was strolling by, Sylvain watched as a few of the House Welter members debated strategy. It was the perfect opportunity to manipulate things from behind the scenes. He subtly nudged one of them in the right direction, using his knowledge of the House''s weaknesses and ambitions.


    "You''re right, Roland Welter," Sylvain''s voice echoed from behind the door. "If we strike at the heart of House Flamesworth, it would cripple their ability to respond. It''s a calculated risk, but the reward will be worth it. The Welters have the numbers¡ªyou have the power, I can keep you informed about their every move."


    The conversation halted, the members now weighing the new suggestion, not knowing the hand that had guided them to this moment. Sylvain stood back, a faint smile on his lips as the wheels of his plans continued to turn.


    The game was in motion. And this time, he wouldn''t just be a pawn¡ªhe''d be the one to move the pieces.


    As the night drew on, Sylvain opened a forgotten passage through the castle''s basement, equipping himself with both a blade and an energy handgun, he wore a dark cloak and carried on to find the crimson.

 Chapter 8 : The pit and pendulum

    Sylvain''s boots scraped against the stone steps as he ascended the ladder that led him out of The quiet underground passages , to this forgotten place, a relic of a past that refused to stay buried.A clock tower, its ancient gears creaked as if waking from a long slumber. He felt it before he saw it¡ªan oppressive presence, something lurking in the shadows, following his every move.


    The clock tower''s bells rang out, their deep tones vibrating through Sylvain''s bones. It felt like a signal, a prelude to something darker, something much more dangerous. He could feel the eyes on him now¡ªBlood thirsty, glowing red, cold with intent. His every instinct screamed at him to turn and fight, but he didn''t. Not yet.


    He stepped into a church linked to that tower, its massive, crumbling pillars casting long shadows across the cold stone floor. The air was heavy with incense and dust, a place that had long been abandoned to time. But not tonight.


    The soft shuffle of footsteps behind him echoed in the stillness, then two figures emerged from the shadows, their blades glinting under the faint light. In an instant, the cold steel of their swords pressed against his neck and chest. Sylvain didn''t flinch.


    "I could have deflected your attacks before you even moved," he said, his voice calm, as steady as ever. "But I''m not here to fight. I came to speak to you."


    The two masked figure didn''t lower their weapons, but they didn''t attack either. There was a long pause before the sound of chuckling and silliness filled the place.


    Perched casually atop the minute hand of the giant clock, a guy wearing a crimson mask reads a book with an air of utter nonchalance, as though he hadn''t a care in the world. His eyes¡ªthose same glowing red eyes¡ªlifted over the edge of the page to meet Sylvain''s gaze. A smile tugged at his lips, warm, inviting, almost comforting.


    "I was expecting you," the guy said,"we particularly made it obvious to be located for someone who acquires a labyrinth map " his voice smooth like velvet, though there was something unsettling in the way he said it. The words, the tone, the smile¡ªall of it put together was like an invitation to trust him. But Sylvain wasn''t fooled.


    Arthur dropped from the clock hand with graceful precision. He landed before Sylvain with a soft thud, his presence dominating the room in an almost predatory way. He seemed to radiate warmth, but there was something dangerous beneath that friendly smile.


    "Where are my manners,It is rude to speak with a mask on your face huh?" The guy took of his mask and extended a hand, his voice light. "You''ve grown up quite a bit, haven''t you? A year''s a long time... but I''ve been keeping an eye on you." He chuckled softly, though the sound held no humor. "Our Raven always watched you, after all. It''s nice to see how much you''ve changed."


    From the far corner of the church, Raven , the servant that caused the butterfly effect to happen waved at Sylvain, her face briefly visible before she quickly blushed, hiding her face behind her hand. "Why is he more handsome than before? No Raven, I should not show any feelings to anybody and certainly not Flamesworth !"


    The leader watched her with an amused smile before his gaze returned to Sylvain.


    "I''m Arthur Welter," he said, offering a warm handshake that Sylvain didn''t immediately return. "A forgotten son of the Welters¡ªborn in the slums of Steelgate, raised in the gutters of this world. Not exactly the heir they were hoping for, huh?" Arthur chuckled darkly, the warmth in his voice unchanged.


    "Ah, Prostitution is a frequent hobby for the houses, only i was lucky enough to be its result..." Arthur said as if its joke to throw around,"You were never supposed to know about the loops, Sylvain," Arthur continued, his expression softening, as if this were all just a casual conversation between old friends. "But Raven¡ªshe''s quite the observer, you know? She knew something fishy about you the moment you started to show your worth in the castle,until she eavesdropped on your interaction with the old librarian Lucas."The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Sylvain''s gaze hardened. This wasn''t just small talk. Arthur was playing a game, and he was very good at it.


    "What do you want?" Sylvain asked, voice steady, yet with an edge of suspicion.


    Arthur''s eyes gleamed with a knowing look. "We want the same thing. To set the world free. no more control, we want to take this oligarchy empire down, and let the people know about the time loops, let them take on the copper classified serum" He motioned around them, as if the very walls of the church were filled with the secrets he spoke of.


    Sylvain raised an eyebrow. "And you think I''m going to help you with that?" He did indeed mean that question. Sylvain''s goal wasn''t the same thing as Arthur''s noble oblige , it was a darker goal , to end it all and take it down , collective humanity to dust.


    Arthur smiled, not the friendly smile of a kindhearted friend, but the smile of someone who knew exactly what you were thinking¡ªwho had anticipated your every response. "You''ve always been good at seeing things beneath the surface, haven''t you? We need evidence. The truth about the serum, we need more chrono drug too. That''s the key to waking them up."


    Sylvain''s eyes narrowed. "Chrono?"


    Arthur''s smile widened, a touch of pride in his voice. "A prototype drug. It gives you... glimpses. Visions of past lives. Not the full experience, like what the elites have, but enough to see the truth. The risk, though? There''s a dangerous side effect¡ªtime psycho. The mind becomes trapped in an endless time zone and it will cease to live in the present¡ªmeaning dead."


    "Some of our members have gone through it. Their eyes glow red now¡ªour mark, a reminder of the price we pay for the truth."


    Arthur stepped back slightly, gesturing toward Raven like a jester. She pulled her lenses down just enough for Sylvain to catch a glimpse of the glowing red of her eyes, then stuck her tongue out playfully before hiding behind the pillar again, clearly enjoying herself.


    "She''s one of us ," Arthur said softly. "And you could be, too."


    Sylvain''s mind raced as he processed everything. This was more than just some rebellious group looking to topple the system. They were aware of the loops, they knew the secrets. And they were willing to risk everything to expose it.


    Arthur''s tone shifted, becoming more serious, though the warmth never left his voice. "I know about your childhood past and I know you''ve been playing the game, Sylvain. You''re good at it. But you can''t do it alone. Not if you want to take down the system . You''ll need allies. You''ll need us."


    He paused, looking Sylvain straight in the eye. "Come with us. Join the Pit and Pendulum. We''ve got the power to change everything, to break the system for good. we will do it with or without you,but know that the moment you step out of this place, you will be considered an enemy of the pit."


    "Why do they trust me so easily?" Sylvain''s thoughts echoed in his mind. His eyes flickered to the floor, but his mind was far from the cold stone beneath his boots. " Is it because they see me as a useful piece, a tool in their board?"


    Sylvain didn''t answer right away. The weight of everything Arthur had said hung heavily in the air. It was an invitation¡ªno, an ultimatum. The choice was his.


    Sylvain stood silently for a moment, his gaze drifting over the church''s dimly lit interior. Arthur''s warm invitation still hung in the air, too smooth, too perfect. Something about it didn''t sit right with him.


    He felt the weight of Arthur''s words pressing on him. The man had extended a hand, offered him a seat at the table, and all with that impossibly friendly smile. No hesitation. No suspicion. Arthur''s eyes, glowing red like the others, had looked at him like they already knew everything there was to know about him¡ªhis past, his every move, his plans.


    Sylvain''s fingers flexed, the cold weight of his hidden blade pressing against his wrist. "I''ve been playing this game long enough to know¡ªpeople who invite you in that easily, they have something else in mind. Something they''re not telling you. Arthur Welter¡ªhe''s too friendly, too open. His smile doesn''t reach his eyes. "


    He took a deep breath. "It''s a gamble. The fight''s in motion, I will use their power to bring an end to the suffering and end the timeloop, i should hide my real goal from them."


    Sylvain took another step forward to shake Arthur''s hand, his resolve hardening like steel. "I''ll play along. I''ll see how deep this rabbit hole goes. And when the time comes... I''ll be the one pulling the strings." Sylvain thoughts finally hit him


    "Fine,Arthur Welter...I am willing to be part of your little terrorist project,for exposing the timeloop and saving the world" Sylvain says as he stares Arthur in the eye


    But somewhere, deep down, Arthur felt off about his new partner , and that this game¡ªthis twisted, dangerous game¡ªwas only just beginning, and for Arthur to succeed he has to be the most hopeful among all.


    "One more thing ,Sylvain...No one calls me by my real name,for my name here in the pit is Prometheus" Prometheus declared.

 Chapter 9 : Hope

    In the deepest corners of Steelgate''s pleasure district, where the filth of the streets clung to every surface, a newborn cried in his mother''s arms. Just minutes old, the infant''s cries cut through the night, echoing in the alleys, unnoticed by most¡ªexcept for her.


    She held him close, the warmth of her body offering a fleeting comfort, but more than that, it was the hope in her eyes that defined the moment. She whispered to the child in her arms, as if he could understand every word, "My baby...we are saved from the trenches. You are the son of the Welters. You will lead us out of these streets."


    Her words were filled with longing. The woman, a comfort woman for The young Pierre Welter¡ªA yet rising in power nobleman. But the truth, however, was far from her wish. The child was a mistake, a consequence of a fleeting affair, not the heir to any house.


    Years passed. Arthur, the boy, grew quickly, showing signs of a brilliance beyond his age. At four, he could solve problems that adults struggled with. His understanding of mathematics was uncanny, and his gift with words made him a wonder in the slums. Despite his mother''s constant assurances that his father would come for them someday, Arthur''s fate was sealed in the cracks of Steelgate''s broken streets.


    The other neighbouring people in the district wouldn''t dare call him "Welter," a name they despised, but they did call him Prometheus¡ªafter the god who defied the heavens to give humanity fire. To them, Arthur embodied hope. He wasn''t bound by the lowborn lives they led. And his mother, always trying to shield him from the cruelty of their world, would hug him tightly, whispering, "My wish is for you to become a good man, Arthur. You are all I have, my baby."


    Arthur saw that look in her eyes¡ªthe look of a mother whose every hope was pinned on her son, the belief that he could break free from the chains of their past. He carried that hope with him every day.


    But one day, everything changed. His mother, desperate, ventured into the noble district to confront Pierre Welter. She returned to the crumbling apartment that night, her face streaked with tears. Without a word, she slapped Arthur across the face, her voice trembling with fury.


    "After all I did, you amounted to nothing!" she shouted, her words burning into his soul. Arthur didn''t understand, but he felt it¡ªthe weight of everything that had been taken from her, from them.


    The next morning, Arthur woke to find his mother gone. She had taken her life, hanging herself from the rafters, her last act a silent scream of despair. The slums held no compassion for those who fell, but Arthur could not allow anyone to see his grief. He cried in silence, locked behind walls of stoic restraint, because the world had no room for weakness.


    But Arthur couldn''t remain silent for long. His father¡ªPierre Welter, the man who had never acknowledged him¡ªwas the key to understanding his place in this world. So Arthur did what he had to do. Alone, he made his way across Steelgate, riding on the back of large steam-powered carriages, taking the long zip line cable car all the way up to the noble district.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    He found the grand gates of the Welter estate, guarded and imposing, and snuck through a hole in the garden wall. His heart raced as he approached the castle''s towering spires, his voice breaking through the stillness of the estate.


    "Father! Father!" he called out, his words ringing in the night air.


    A servant caught sight of him, noting the child''s dirty clothes and striking resemblance to the welters, his really dark hair and hazel eyes along with his facial features. They alerted the nearest Welter¡ªa man Arthur had hoped to call father.


    Pierre appeared, his gaze cold and unbothered. When he saw Arthur, he knew the truth. The boy was his son. But the recognition was met not with love, but with fear. Before Arthur could reach him, Pierre threw him to the ground, the force of the impact leaving a scar on his cheek.


    "You''re a lunatic!" Pierre shouted, his voice filled with disgust. "Get him out of here. He''s not my son."


    Arthur''s world shattered in that moment. His father¡ªhis blood¡ªrejected him, cast him aside with nothing but contempt. But Arthur didn''t cry out. He didn''t plead for anything more than what he had already lost. He simply turned away, dragging himself back through the gates of the estate, wiping away the tears that no one would ever see.


    Back in the slums, Arthur tried to hide his pain. The people of the district had looked up to him, had called him Prometheus¡ªhope embodied. But now, he was alone in the cold streets, broken by his father''s rejection.


    That was when he met her. A younger girl, perhaps a year or two younger than him, was sitting on the sidewalk crying. She was homeless, lost, abandoned just like he had been. Without thinking, Arthur reached down, offering her a piece of bread and a pat on the head.


    "What''s your name?" he asked.


    "Raven," the girl replied, her eyes filled with the same hope he had seen in his mother before she lost it.


    Arthur forced a smile, something he had never done before, but perhaps a start for a series of forced smiles in his life. "I''m Prometheus. I can take care of you."


    In Raven''s eyes, he saw that glimmer of hope again, the same one his mother had given him before the world took it away. And for the first time in his life, Arthur understood what it meant to carry someone else''s hope.


    Despite all the suffering he''s endured¡ªhis mother''s suicide, his father''s rejection¡ªArthur''s resolve remains unbroken. He refuses to let the world break him,to turn to a path of destruction. He wants to ignite the same hope he saw in Raven in others, to restore the spark of hope that he lost when his mother died.


    Years passed, and Arthur¡ªnow known as Prometheus¡ªrose to power within the low districts. He gathered others who shared his vision, forming The Pit and Pendulum. His goal was simple but profound: to see the world that had crushed him brought to its knees, to give hope to the people of Steelgate and Pilturia, to rise against the system and free them all.


    Standing at the helm of his rebellion, Arthur looked back to the mother who had dreamed of a better life for him, and to the little girl who had reminded him what that hope looked like.


    "O mother," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "If you were here, you would have known that I''m on my way to becoming the good man you always wished for."

 Chapter 10 : Guillotine

    Sylvain returned to the organisation after his previous successful deal to join the pit and pendulum. The dimly lit clock tower church stood as a beacon of rebellion in the heart of a crumbling district. Beneath its looming shadow, Sylvain Flamesworth took his first step into a world that promised to break him free from the chains of his bloodline¡ªor bind him tighter than ever.


    Inside the hollowed structure, the air hung heavy with the scent of candle wax and dust, the faint ticking of the ancient clock above blending with murmured conversations. He felt their gazes before he saw them. Two figures emerged from the darkness, their crimson masks catching the faint glow of the candlelight. One resembled a snarling wolf, the other an imposing owl. Their eyes glowing with such bright red as if its thirsty for blood.


    "You''d better be worth the trouble," the woman in the wolf mask said, her voice sharp and unyielding.


    The man with the owl mask chuckled darkly. "An elite Flamesworth kid joining the Pit and Pendulum. What''s the world coming to?"


    "Enough," came a calm yet commanding voice. Prometheus emerged from the shadows, his phoenix mask radiating authority. Beside him, Raven¡ªher crimson plague mask tilted playfully¡ªwatched the scene with amused eyes.


    "Sylvain ," Prometheus began, his voice laced with warmth and intrigue. "Welcome again, to the Pit and Pendulum. You''ve met Annie and Marcus before, two of our finest fighters who held their blades toward you last time." He gestured toward the two masked figures who begrudgingly lowered their gaze. "And soon, you''ll meet Lucien, the brilliant mind behind our tools and masks."


    Sylvain nodded stiffly, scanning the group. Each member radiated an intensity born of struggle, their crimson masks unifying them under a shared purpose. Yet, there was something different about the leading figures. Their masks, though crimson like the others, were uniquely shaped¡ªsymbols of their roles within the organization.


    The organisation masks were highly mechanical ,these masks possessed telescopic functions allowing them to see far off , as well as communication systems built with nano radio-wave technology , truly a work of a genius.


    Prometheus leaned closer, his voice lowering. "You should visit Lucien and ask him to craft a mask for you. He''ll probably be busy, but once you get past his... eccentricities, you''ll find he''s a genius."


    Sylvain''s gaze flickered with uncertainty, but he nodded. "Where can I find him?"


    Prometheus gestured toward a hidden staircase leading underground. "The lab. Just follow the sound of tinkering."


    The lab beneath the church was a chaotic masterpiece. Tables cluttered with half-finished contraptions and scraps of metal lined the room, while the air reeked of oil and molten steel. In the center, a slender man hunched over a rifle, muttering to himself as sparks flew from his tools.


    "I hope I''m not interrupting," Sylvain said cautiously.


    Without looking up, Lucien waved dismissively. "Not now, Raven. I''m recalibrating the barrel..." He trailed off, finally turning to face Sylvain. The inventor''s sharp features softened with curiosity. "Ah, you''re the one Prometheus mentioned. Sylvain, right?"


    Sylvain nodded, taking in the man''s wiry frame and oil-streaked goggles. "I''m told you''re the one to see about a mask."


    Lucien grinned. "So, what''s the plan? What mask are we thinking?"


    Sylvain hesitated. "Isn''t it... excessive? I just joined. Shouldn''t I blend in with the others?"


    Lucien waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. You''ve earned it just by being here. Turning against your house takes guts, and everyone knows you''re no ordinary recruit. Consider it a mark of respect."


    Sylvain mulled it over, his thoughts drifting to River. Her absence made him miss her.


    "A feline," he said finally. "Can you make a feline mask?"


    Lucien blinked, then laughed. "A feline? That''s... different. But sure, why not? I''ll make you the finest feline mask this group has ever seen."


    Sylvain nodded, grateful and full of respect toward the wonder inventor.


    In Prometheus''s quarters, Sylvain laid out the intel he had carefully curated¡ªenough to prove his worth without revealing everything. He spoke of his manipulations, the rift he had sown between the Flamesworth and Welter houses, and the leverage he held over the latter. Prometheus listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips.


    "I''m so glad to have such a monster on our side," he said with a chuckle. "It would have been a pain if you were one of them."


    Sylvain''s jaw tightened. "I''m not a monster. It was necessary."


    Prometheus placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Do you know why I chose to invite you? It''s because I see hope in you, Sylvain. Hope can move mountains, ignite revolutions. It''s the spark that defines us."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Sylvain''s expression faltered. Hope. The word felt hollow, yet something in Prometheus''s voice stirred a long-buried yearning within him.


    The ceremony came that evening, one where every member had undergone... The chrono drug¡ªthe crimson liquid swirling in a glass syringe¡ªwas placed in Sylvain''s hands. He hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "Anything to reach what I envision," he muttered, plunging the needle into his vein.


    The world blurred. Time unravelled. He was falling, spiraling through lifetimes he had lived and forgotten. Scenes of rejection, despair, and isolation flashed before him. And then, a memory struck like lightning.


    A repressed memory that he couldn''t remember willingly , he erased it to protect himself from it , from reliving that traumatic experience. He was four years old, standing before a guillotine. Sylvain''s small body trembled in his father''s iron grip, his legs kicking helplessly as Faust held him up, forcing him to watch the horrific scene unfold. Below them, his mother crumpled to the ground, her hands outstretched as she screamed for Isabelle, crying out for her daughter to be spared.


    "Help her! Please, someone!" his mother''s voice cracked, drowned out by the thunderous noise of the crowd.


    Sylvain fought to look away, but his father''s grip tightened, making it impossible to escape the horror. Tears streamed down his face as he watched his sister, bound and helpless, standing before the guillotine. The weight of the moment crushed him, and though his heart screamed for mercy, he could do nothing.


    Then, with a sickening finality, the blade fell. Sylvain''s throat burned as he screamed her name with all the strength he could muster. "Isabelle!!"


    For a fleeting moment, Isabelle''s eyes found his, her lips curving upward in a faint, almost serene smile. In the chaos of the crowd, Sylvain couldn''t hear her voice, but the words reverberated through him like a whisper from the depths of his soul: "Don''t lose hope."


    Those words, simple yet powerful, pierced through the agony and despair, lingering in his heart even as the echoes of his scream faded.


    Faust walked briskly, his wife trailing behind him, her tears streaming down her face as she sobbed, her voice shaking with anguish. "Why would you show our son such a gruesome scene?" she cried, her words coming out in desperate gasps. "And his own elder sister..."


    Faust''s cold expression didn''t waver as he continued forward. "It had to be done," he replied flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Isabelle was caught with a terrorist group, and she paid the price for treason."


    His wife''s eyes widened in shock, but Faust''s gaze remained fixed ahead. "Besides," he continued, his voice growing colder still, "I needed to show Sylvain the consequences of one''s actions. Make him more tolerable to death. The Flamesworth house has no need for a wimp."


    She faltered, choking on her words. "You''re... you''re breaking him."


    Faust turned to her, his eyes hard as steel. "It''s all part of a grand plan. To create the greatest leader our bloodline has ever seen." His voice was icy, unwavering, as though he spoke of something far removed from the pain they were both enduring.


    Sylvain screamed, his soul splintering under the weight of the memory.


    While he was drowning in his trip, Prometheus stood over Sylvain, watching intently as the young man''s body remained unnervingly still. Minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last, but Sylvain didn''t stir. Prometheus''s brow furrowed in increasing concern.


    "That''s unnatural," he muttered, his voice tight with growing anxiety. "He should be awake by now." He turned to Raven, his tone sharp. "Raven, check him out."


    Raven knelt beside Sylvain and gently opened his eyes. What she found made her freeze. The soft, orange glow that had once been a mere flicker in his pupils was now a steady, pulsating light, far too intense for someone who hadn''t been exposed to the side effects of the chrono drug.


    She removed his lenses , now fully realising the depth of what they hadn''t accounted for. "This... this shouldn''t be happening,his eyes are actually bright orange? he was hiding them with these brown lenses this whole time..." she whispered, her eyes flicking nervously toward Prometheus.


    Prometheus''s face went pale as he took in the sight. "Get a doctor now!" he commanded, his voice taut with fear.


    Annie, who had been observing from the doorway, stepped forward with a sharp edge to her tone. "That explains why he acted strange in this time loop. He stumbled over the serum... he knows."


    Prometheus snapped, frustration and panic mixing in his voice. "That''s not what''s important now. The serum and chrono drug aren''t made to mix with each other. It''s either a constant time psychosis or death. We need to save him before it''s too late!"


    Marcus, leaning casually against the wall, scoffed. "Why do you care so much, Prometheus? He''s an elite. You know..."


    Prometheus turned on him, fury flaring in his eyes. "I don''t care! HE IS ONE OF US," he yelled, his voice shaking with emotion. "And I won''t give up on him. He decided to stand up against his family and house, do you know how hard it is for an elite kid to oppose his own bloodline?"


    Marcus didn''t answer, but the tension in the room was thick. Prometheus''s breath came in shallow gasps as he stared at Sylvain, his mind racing. He couldn''t let him slip away¡ªnot like this.


    Finally, Sylvain awoke to Prometheus''s frantic voice. "Thank God, you''re still with us. Are you okay?"


    Sylvain nodded weakly, his vision clearing. Raven leaned closer, inspecting his eyes. "One orange, one like ours," she murmured. "Looks like the drug made an exception for him..."


    "Special, aren''t we?" Annie quipped sardonically.


    Prometheus''s voice cut through the haze. "What did you see, Sylvain?"


    Sylvain''s gaze darkened. "The truth. My rage... it''s not just about them. It''s personal. It always has been...a revelation, it all makes sense now , my determination so far, was meant for this..."


    Prometheus confused and frowned  , searching Sylvain''s eyes.He notices something deep in his eyes , not the hope he desired , but something much worse , an explicable surge of rage within him...


    Later as Sylvain stepped out of the church, Marcus lingered in the doorway, the owl mask dangling loosely from his fingers. "You think Prometheus is a fool, don''t you? But he''s not. He''s just... idealistic. That''s why we follow him. But you?" Marcus'' voice dropped, a cold edge creeping in. "You reek of despair. I''ve seen it before, in the slums. And I''m not fond of it. Don''t even think about crossing that line."


    Sylvain didn''t respond. His gaze was fixed downward, his footsteps heavy and slow, each one carrying the weight of a past that refused to let go and a future he couldn''t bear to face. The night swallowed him whole, leaving Marcus with nothing but the fading echo of a broken soul.

 Chapter 11 : The pits phantom

    After several missions with the Pit and Pendulum, Sylvain had begun to earn the crew¡¯s trust. His precision, resourcefulness, and reliability had proven his worth time and time again. Though most of the group had started to recognize his contributions, Marcus remained skeptical. The man¡¯s sharp tongue and disdainful glances made it clear he wasn¡¯t ready to accept Sylvain as one of them.


    Prometheus, however, had different plans. He saw potential in both of them¡ªSylvain¡¯s calculated brilliance and Marcus¡¯s battlefield experience. For the rebellion to succeed, Prometheus knew he needed them to work together. So, when news arrived of children being forced into labor at an energy cell factory, he saw an opportunity.


    ¡°Marcus, Sylvain,¡± Prometheus began, leaning against the worn-out map table, ¡°you¡¯ll both handle this mission. The reports say the factory is using children to work on hazardous reactors. We¡¯re getting them out.¡±


    Marcus immediately scoffed, crossing his arms. ¡°I can do it alone, Prometheus. I don¡¯t need him slowing me down.¡±


    Prometheus¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°This isn¡¯t a request. There¡¯s no negotiating this, Marcus. You¡¯re going together.¡±


    Marcus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He glanced at Sylvain, who stood silently, his expression calm and unreadable. ¡°Fine,¡± Marcus said through gritted teeth. ¡°C¡¯mon, rich kid. We don¡¯t have all day.¡±


    Sylvain met his glare with a faint smirk. His mismatched eyes¡ªone glowing orange, the other a fiery red¡ªseemed to catch the dim light of the room, an unsettling contrast to his composed demeanor. Without a word, he reached for his feline mask, securing it over his face.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he said, his voice steady, the sharp edges of his determination cutting through the tension in the air


    The factory loomed in the distance, its smokestacks vomiting thick black clouds into the night sky. The hum of machinery and occasional sparks of light painted a grim picture of its inner workings. This was where the energy cells were made, a place dangerous enough for skilled laborers¡ªlet alone the children forced to toil here. The nobles behind its operations didn¡¯t care about the casualties; they only cared about profit.


    Marcus and Sylvain approached under the cover of darkness, slipping past the guards stationed at the gates.


    ¡°Stay quiet, rich kid,¡± Marcus muttered, his voice a low growl. ¡°This isn¡¯t your ballroom.¡±


    Sylvain didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he moved with precision, his feline mask blending into the shadows as they infiltrated the factory. The air inside was thick with heat and the metallic stench of burning energy cores. In the dim light, they could see the children working¡ªsmall figures hunched over dangerous machinery, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear.


    The two rebels moved quickly. Marcus gestured for Sylvain to plant the charges on the reactors while he guarded their approach. The mission demanded silence, but their actions were anything but subtle. The first explosion ripped through the factory floor, sending a shock wave of chaos. Marcus grinned.


    ¡°Let¡¯s give these bastards a real show,¡± he said, tossing another explosive toward a nearby reactor.


    The second detonation followed, louder than the first. The factory descended into chaos. Workers screamed, alarms blared, and the children scattered as Marcus and Sylvain guided them toward the exits.


    ¡°Go!¡± Sylvain shouted, his voice cutting through the pandemonium. ¡°Get out of here!¡±


    The children ran, disappearing into the night. But their escape didn¡¯t go unnoticed. The enforcers arrived, their heavy boots echoing against the steel floors as they surrounded Marcus and Sylvain.


    ¡°Well, looks like we¡¯re not getting out quietly,¡± Marcus said, drawing his blade.


    Sylvain¡¯s mismatched eyes gleamed through his mask. ¡°We never were.¡±


    The two rebels moved in perfect sync, cutting through the enforcers with brutal efficiency. The factory floor became a battlefield, blood pooling on the ground as the enforcers fell one by one. The air was thick with the smell of oil and iron, the clang of steel against steel echoing like a grim symphony.


    When the last enforcer fell, Marcus sheathed his blade and surveyed the carnage. ¡°I guess our job here is done,¡± he said, stepping over the bodies. ¡°I¡¯ll grab the intel files from the bureaus. Lucien might need them for his crazy toys.¡±


    Sylvain nodded, remaining behind to guard the scene. The blood-soaked factory was eerily silent now, save for the crackling flames of the destroyed reactors. He stood motionless, his feline mask glinting in the faint light as he waited.


    A familiar voice echoed through the entrance, breaking the stillness. ¡°What do we have here? A moment for me to show my worth, I see. Hey, rebel! C¡¯mon and let me kill you so I can get graded!¡±


    Jack Flamesworth stepped into view, his arrogant grin plastered across his face. Sylvain immediately recognized him¡ªhis pathetic cousin, desperate for recognition.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°He probably thought he¡¯d take the glory for himself if he came alone. What a dork,¡± Sylvain thought, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind.


    Jack closed the distance, his boots splashing in the blood pooling around Sylvain. But as he stepped forward, a sudden shift in the air stopped him in his tracks. An intense, suffocating bloodlust radiated from Sylvain¡ªan energy imitating death itself. Jack¡¯s bravado faltered as his instincts screamed at him to run.


    ¡°JACK!¡± a voice shouted from afar. Maria Welter emerged from the shadows, her expression a mix of urgency . ¡°DO NOT ENGAGE WITH HIM! HE IS THE ONE THE HOUSES WARNED US ABOUT!¡±


    Jack¡¯s face twisted in confusion and fear. ¡°Huh? Now that I remember... A crimson feline mask, mismatched orange and red eyes... It can¡¯t be¡ª¡± His voice trailed off as realization dawned. ¡°The Pit¡¯s Phantom...¡±


    Maria reached him and whispered urgently, ¡°Right now, the strongest killing intent in this area is his. I can tell by his stance that he could kill us in an instant. An elite warrior like him is far beyond us. Let¡¯s retreat, Jack.¡±


    Jack froze, trembling. Out of sheer panic, he raised his handgun and aimed it at Sylvain. ¡°I-I will kill you, Phantom!¡± he stammered, pulling the trigger.


    Sylvain didn¡¯t flinch. With a single swing of his blade, he deflected the bullet, the sound of steel against steel ringing through the air. His voice was calm, but chilling. ¡°That pride you have, Jack... Will it cease once I cripple you and let you bleed?¡±


    He stepped forward slowly, each footstep echoing in the blood-soaked silence. His mismatched eyes glowed brighter, the intensity of his killing intent rising with every step. Jack¡¯s breath hitched, his legs shaking as fear overtook him.


    Before Sylvain could reach him, Maria acted. With a swift motion, she struck Jack on the neck, knocking him unconscious. ¡°This won¡¯t be over, Phantom,¡± she said, her voice cold and steady. She hoisted Jack over her shoulder and retreated, disappearing into the shadows.


    Moments later, Marcus returned. ¡°Everything¡¯s clear?¡± he asked, his eyes scanning the bloodied factory floor.


    Sylvain nodded. ¡°Yeah. Everything¡¯s fine.¡±


    Marcus raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. ¡°Maybe working with you isn¡¯t that bad after all.¡±


    Sylvain smirked beneath his mask. ¡°So, are we teaming up more from now on?¡±


    Marcus scoffed, his usual sarcasm returning. ¡°Absolutely not, rich kid.¡±


    Later on ,Maria Welter stood at the center of the grand hall, her voice composed as she addressed the gathered lords and representatives of the noble houses. "The rebellion group known as ''The Pit and Pendulum'' has escalated into a significant threat," she began. "Their actions have become more calculated, more devastating. And at the heart of their operations is a figure we''ve come to know as ''The Phantom of the Pit.'' A single individual who has turned this rebellion into a force to be reckoned with."


    Her words caused a ripple of murmurs across the chamber. She continued, "He is fast, precise, cunning, and strong. His strategies are diverse, and he strikes where we least expect it. What¡¯s more alarming is how he landed on classified chemical items and survived while using both the copper serum and the chrono drug¡ªa feat believed impossible until now."


    Sylvain, seated among the other members of the Flamesworth delegation, kept his expression unreadable, his hands folded in front of him. To anyone watching, he appeared calm, as if Maria¡¯s report did not concern him. Yet he was keenly aware of the attention her words were drawing.


    "We should shut him down before he becomes a real danger to the structure of the houses," Sylvain said, his gaze scanning the room to convince them that he indeed did mean those words.


    "The Pit and Pendulum is not the only threat we face," Pierre Welter interjected, his deep voice silencing the whispers. "The kingdom of Ilisar and Usovgrad¡¯s republic are still pressing on our borders, attempting to seize the eastern and northern territories of Pilturia. I suggest we divide these matters among the houses to address them efficiently."


    Sylvain¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. It was an obvious ploy¡ªPierre¡¯s house was the largest and best-equipped in terms of manpower. By taking the lion¡¯s share of the external conflicts, the Welters would secure even more prestige while leaving the rebellion for the other houses to deal with.


    Arnold Forger rose from his seat, his tone defiant as he spoke. "Then the Forgers will handle the little terrorist threat¡ª"


    "The Flamesworth will crush it," Faust Flamesworth interrupted, his voice cutting through Arnold¡¯s like a blade. The room fell silent. There was no mistaking the authority in his tone, nor the unspoken threat beneath it. Faust had no patience for negotiation, and everyone present knew better than to challenge him. Arnold clenched his jaw but nodded curtly, retreating with a terse, "Very well."


    Sylvain observed the exchange with a blank expression, his features carefully devoid of emotion. Yet, inside, he couldn¡¯t help but acknowledge the predictability of it all. Faust¡¯s dominance was absolute, and no one in this room had the courage to oppose him.


    Pierre¡¯s voice broke the silence once more. "Now we will convene a meeting for the High Council. Those who have not passed the ceremony may take their leave."


    Maria, Sylvain, and several others stood and bowed respectfully before exiting the chamber. Sylvain¡¯s steps were steady as he made his way to his private quarters, but as soon as he closed the door behind him, a smile crept across his face. Then, as if the weight of the moment finally hit him, he threw back his head and laughed hysterically¡ªa sound of triumph and unrestrained joy.


    River, his cat companion, blinked up at him in confusion from her perch on his desk. Sylvain picked her up, holding her close as he whispered, "You heard that, River? He finally took the bait. Faust caught the bait!"


    The cat let out a soft meow in response, her tail flicking lazily.


    Sylvain¡¯s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a near growl. "Faust... I will make you pay for everything. My hate, my mother¡¯s, my sister¡¯s... you¡¯ll feel it all, you damn bastard."


    As he spoke, a shadow seemed to fall on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Sylvain thought he saw a figure¡ªthe silhouette of a woman, graceful yet haunting, with a prominent scar running across her neck as if her head was reattached to its place. The image was fleeting, but it froze him in place.


    "Don¡¯t misunderstand it, brother," a soft, familiar voice seemed to whisper. "I don¡¯t have the capacity to handle hate anymore."


    Sylvain turned sharply, his blade drawn in an instant, but the room was empty. His breathing was uneven as he scanned every corner, but there was no trace of anyone.


    His grip on the blade tightened. "Am I finally going mad?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. But deep down, he knew the answer wasn¡¯t so simple.