He tried again.
One more step through the door. One more push, one more desperate attempt to escape the circle.
And yet—
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, he emerged into the same room again.
Same air. Same couches. Same smug prince sitting there like he'd been waiting for him the whole time.
It was like walking through a mirror that only led back to itself.
Avin blinked once. Then twice.
He reached for the handle again, twisted, stepped—
And—again—the same damned room.
The repetition gnawed at something deep in his skull.
It reminded him of that dream.
The one he'd tried so hard to forget.
The dream where he kept dying—over and over, again and again—each death slightly different but always ending the same. Every reset left him emptier, colder, more detached from what was real.
That same weight pressed down on his chest now.
