Zack sat alone on the weathered wooden bench, nestled in the heart of the Academy's white and golden flower garden. The delicate blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant hues glowing under the afternoon sunlight. The scene was serene, a slice of heaven frozen in perpetual beauty.
It was always the same.
The garden never changed, no matter how many lives Zack lived. Whether it was a hundred, a thousand, or one hundred million cycles ago, the flowers remained in full bloom, untainted by time or tragedy.
He reached out and plucked one of the golden flowers, twirling it slowly between his fingers. Its soft petals brushed against his skin, a fragile contrast to the steel of the spear strapped to his back.
"Such a beauty," Zack murmured, his voice low and bitter, "but in the end... you don't have a chance to show it to everyone."
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of countless memories. He thought back to all the times he had seen this garden, to all the lives he had tried to save, and to all the times he had failed. His mind drifted to them, to his parents in this world.
They were supposed to be background NPCs, the kind of figures whose faces were veiled in shadow, their eyes hidden from view. That was how most of the world's inhabitants were designed—blurry, faceless entities meant to fill space without taking on significance.
But then, as fate dictated, something would change.
Zack's hands trembled slightly as he stared at the flower in his grasp. He didn't need to turn around to know what was coming.
"Zack?"
The voice was familiar, warm and kind. He froze, his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he turned his head, and there they were.
His parents.
Their eyes, once hidden beneath shadow, were now fully visible. His mother's soft brown eyes, filled with worry, locked onto his. His father's strong gaze, so protective and steadfast, seemed to pierce straight through him.
Zack's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He'd seen this moment before, countless times. The sight of their uncovered faces was a death sentence.
It always happened the same way.
For background NPCs, gaining fully rendered features marked their transition into tragedy. It was a cruel mechanism of the world, one Zack had come to understand all too well. No matter how hard he fought, no matter how desperately he tried to alter their fate, it was immutable. They would die. And not just once, but again and again, in every possible variation.
Zack swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain calm. The pain that flared in his chest was unbearable, but he'd learned to mask it well.
"Hey," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.
His mother walked closer, her face etched with concern. "You've been sitting out here for a while. Are you okay?"
His father nodded, his expression soft but stern. "We worry about you, son. You've been distant lately."
Distant. The word cut deep. How could he explain it to them? How could he tell them that he had held their dying bodies in his arms more times than he could count? That every time he got close to saving them, the world twisted itself to snatch them away in some new, horrifying way?
He couldn't.
Instead, he offered a small, hollow smile. "I'm fine. Just needed some air."
His mother knelt beside him, brushing his hair gently out of his eyes. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a wave of anguish crashing over him. How many times had she done this before? How many times had he taken it for granted, only to regret it moments later?
"Zack," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly, "you know we're always here for you, right?"
His father placed a reassuring hand on Zack's shoulder. "We just want you to be happy."
Zack's chest felt like it was being crushed. He wanted to scream, to beg them not to say these things, to stop pretending that everything was normal. But he knew better.
They wouldn't understand. And even if they did, it wouldn't change anything.
"Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know."
They stayed with him for a while, talking about mundane things—his classes, the weather, the academy. Zack barely registered their words. All he could think about was how they would die this time. Would it be an accident? An illness? An attack? He'd seen it all before, and every version of their deaths replayed in his mind like a broken record.
When they finally left, Zack remained seated on the bench, staring blankly at the golden flower still in his hand. He crushed it between his fingers, the petals crumbling into dust.
"Why?" he whispered to no one in particular. "Why do I have to go through this again?"
The garden's beauty surrounded him, but it felt like a mockery. No matter how lovely it was, no matter how perfect, it couldn't mask the truth. This world was broken, and so was he.
Zack leaned back against the bench, closing his eyes as the familiar ache settled deep in his soul. He had learned to accept the inevitability of their deaths, but that didn't make it hurt any less.
The pain was always there, a constant companion in his endless cycle of suffering. And yet, as much as he wanted to give up, he couldn't. Because even though it was hopeless, even though he knew he would fail, he couldn't stop trying.
Not for them. Not for the ones he loved.