Ronan's eyes haunted Aurelia, her warm vibrancy a cruel contrast to the burning memory of her lifeless form, a spear piercing her corpse. He had seen her die fourteen times now and each time was more brutal than the last one.
"Oh, so the great king has finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Aurelia teased, leaning casually against the doorframe, her green eyes twinkling with mischief. "Late again, Ronan. At this rate, even the crumbs will be gone before you—"
"Shut up, pig," Ronan cut her off, his voice colder than winter frost.
The words hit like a slap. Aurelia's playful grin vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock. "W-what did you just call me?" she stammered.
"Stupid pig," he said sharply, his tone laced with an uncharacteristic edge.
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then, as if realizing the world had turned upside down, Aurelia bolted down the hall, shouting, "Mama! Something's wrong with Ronan! He called me a pig! I think he's hit his head or something!"
As her voice faded, Ronan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Cautiously, he went down the creaky wooden stairs and he took his seat at the table and picked up a bun, its warmth spreading through his fingers, and took a small bite.
"This is the fifteenth time, huh?" he thought to himself, looking at the food in his hands. "Fifteen fuckin times I've died. and each time, I come back here. Same day, same place."
"I almost killed that fuckin bastard, My powers will reset to zero and I have to wait for awakening again," he thought, his mind spiraling as fragmented images assaulted him—a burning village engulfed in chaos, the acrid stench of smoke filling the air. He saw a woman's desperate face, her voice calling out to him, though the words were lost in the roar of flames.
His breaths were shallow, and panic set in. He crushed the bun he was holding, crumbs spilling onto the table. Sweat trickled down his temple, and his chest heaved as though he had just run for miles.
"Ronan!" a concerned voice broke through the haze.
Eliana, their foster mother, ran into the room with Aurelia and other little kids right behind her, both looking alarmed. "What's wrong?" Eliana asked, gentle yet urgent as she saw his shaking hands and pale face.
Ronan blinked, his surroundings slowly coming back into focus. He straightened, wiping his damp brow with the back of his hand, and glanced at the crushed bun in his palm. "I'm fine," he said, his voice hoarse. "Sorry about the mess."
Eliana didn't look convinced. She moved closer crouching beside him, her warm brown eyes scanning him for any sign of injury. "Aurelia said something," she hesitated, glancing at the girl. "She thought you might've hit your head."
Aurelia crossed her arms, still clearly miffed. "He's acting weird, Mama. He's never this… rude."
Ronan sighed. It was the weariness that had seeped into his voice, unmistakable. "It's just her usual nonsense," he replied with a sharp tone, so flat it was deadpan. "I am perfect."
The room became silent. Eliana and the children stared at each other awkwardly, for Ronan was clearly startled to have said that, something about him that had all this time been shy and unassuming and softly-spoken was now doing completely in-character.
Eliana's head tilted. Concern creased her brows. "Ronan, are you certain? You seem." She hesitated over words. ".different."
Ronan pushed his chair back, the small hands reaching across the space between them to wrap closely around her. "I am all right, Mama, so long as you're here nothing will happen to us." The softness of this and its weight surprised him by giving it an unusual solidity.
Eliana stiffened at this sudden display, puzzled by his sudden closeness, but returned quickly the embrace. "Oho, Ronan…If you say so…"
Ronan closed his eyes, expression hidden in her embrace. "As long as you're alive, nothing matters. But I've seen you die fourteen times, Mama." His thoughts swirled with guilt and frustration, vivid memories of her death tormenting him. "Fourteen times. Fourteen times I've held your lifeless body, and every time, I swore it would be the last."
His grasp on Eliana tightened, overwhelmed with memories of thousands of timelines. In every one, it had all played out the same; the infamous bandits attack their quiet village when Ronan was just 12 years old.
The chaos would always start with the same sounds: fire consuming the once peaceful homes, villagers screaming in terror, and the bandits laughing maniacally as they tore everything in their path to shreds. Eliana, always selfless and brave, would hide the children under her body, shielding them from the flames.
But it was never enough.
He could still hear her anguished cries, see the way she fell to the ground as the bandits' weapons struck her. The sight of her lifeless body burned into his soul.
It was in one of those moments of despair that the divine magic of Aurelia came to life for the first time. Not even fully understanding what was going on, she went into a trance-like state; The energy coursed out of her, destroying the bandits in a split second.
But even as the bandits were reduced to ash, the cost was unbearable. Eliana was gone.
The first regression had brought Ronan hope—a chance to change fate. He had resolved to save Eliana at any cost, believing he could outmaneuver destiny. He trained harder, thought smarter, and planned endlessly.
Yet, no matter what he did, the result was always the same.
Desperation had driven him to try countless other approaches. He had attempted to warn the village over and over, pleading with the elders and townsfolk to prepare for the raid. He managed to delay the bandits some of the time, then catch up on them later and corner them. Other times, he tried to face them head-on, wielding every ounce of his strength, only to fall in battle. And when he survived, it was to merely witness helplessly as Eliana died amidst all that chaos.
He'd been unsuccessul on fourteen counts.
And as he embraced her in this embrace now, it was those past failures crashing upon him like some crushing tide, forcing the chest tight with the strain of that labor.
"What's the point of regression if I can't save her?"
Eliana, still uncertain, placed a hesitant hand on his back, stroking gently. "It's all right, Ronan," she murmured, mistaking his silence for simple distress. "Whatever's troubling you, we'll face it together, okay?"
"This time will be different," he vowed silently. "This time, I'll save you, no matter what it costs me."
Days passed uneventfully, the routine almost mocking in its normalcy. Ronan worked in the fields under the beating sun, the orphanage nestled behind him like a fragile sanctuary. His muscles ached as he leaned on the handle of the hoe, wiping sweat from his brow.
Faint laughter carried on the breeze, a rare balm to his troubled thoughts. Leo's voice rang out above the others, the boy's infectious energy filling the air. For a moment, Ronan allowed himself to bask in the sound—a fleeting moment of peace in his endless turmoil.
Then came the screams.
Ronan's head jerked up, his heart pounding as the shrill cries tore through the air. Dropping the hoe, he sprinted toward the sound, his boots kicking up clouds of dust.
The sight that met him froze his blood.
An Ursa Malice—a towering, monstrous bear-like creature, an C ranked monster—stood just a few feet from Leo. Its glowing red eyes fixed on the trembling boy, who stood frozen in terror.