The market smelled the same. The air was the same. But there were differences, and Elias couldn't help but see them—the kind you only noticed when you'd already lived them. The bread merchant's cart would tip over in twenty seconds. The wooden toy boy would trip and scrape his knee a second or two later. Brynn would pass through the square, going to the barracks, and yell out his name. And it all happened just the way he remembered.
He didn't answer when she talked. He just stared at her, at the way the sunlight picked up in her hair, at the energy in her eyes. She forgot none of the Ash Hollow. None of his dying. No one did.
He followed her to the barracks anyway, expecting half the Warden to order the same. But when they entered the map room, the conversation wasn't about Ash Hollow. It was about the reconstruction of the west road following the caravan attack. Elias's skin prickled. Different. The same day, but not the same things.
The Warden glanced over at him. "You look as if you swallowed something sour." Elias kept his voice flat. "Just tired."
When he was alone in his room, he tested his hypothesis. He knocked over his water bottle on the floor. Waited. Nothing was different. He left his bed unmade. Waited. Nothing was different. The loop did not restore things to what they were. It just rewound the world to a place in time. The rest was a matter of choice.
But that raised an even bigger question—what else can I alter?
The Script emerged at night, feeble but unyielding. "The beast lies in the shadow of the tallest stone." Elias's stomach tightened. The same exact warning again. So Ash Hollow was indeed coming. His own mortality was indeed coming. But maybe, this time, he would arrive before time. Maybe he could rewrite the conclusion.
The following day, he found Aric in the practice field, practicing with younger recruits. The mage raised an eyebrow when Elias approached. "You're exceptionally stubborn," Aric stated. "Which means you're going to do something stupid."
"I want to hunt something within the Ash Hollow."
Aric's expression remained neutral, but his white-knuckled grip on the staff told a different story. "You've heard what's in there."
"Not heard." Elias lowered himself slightly. "I've seen it. I know where it hides. And I know how I died."
Aric's gaze narrowed. "This is a Reader thing, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
It was harder to persuade the Warden's assistance. Brynn protested in so many words, claiming that Elias had never fought anything even close to the monstrosity in Ash Hollow. Elias did not argue—he just kept repeating the one thing he knew would echo in the Warden's mind.
"If we don't act, it'll kill me too."
That was enough.
They left that afternoon with a slightly larger group—eight men instead of four. Elias watched each recognized landmark along the highway, each susurrus of the wind through the trees. It was the same, but not. And there was one thing which caused him to stand stock still halfway there.
A faint scar on his forearm. He had not noticed it in the marketplace, but now that he saw it, he remembered exactly where he'd acquired it—three nights before Ash Hollow, in the first loop, a raider's knife had slid over him during the tannery rescue.
He rolled up his sleeve. The scar was still there. In the city, he'd slashed his palm intentionally to test it out. And now, in the current loop, the wound was gone.
Some wounds reset. Others did not. He didn't know the rule yet, but the scar on his arm was proof—something from the previous cycle had stuck. And if scars stayed… what else did?
The Ash Hollow was as still as ever. The black rock loomed at the far end, its shadow distinct against the ash's pale hue. Elias's heart pounded, but his hand remained clenched around his sword. "It's there," he told Aric.
The troops formed line. Brynn moved to his left. "We do this fast. Don't give it time to pin us down."
The creature snarled out of the darkness, just as it had the first time. But this time, the troops were ready. Aric's first fireburst sent it back before it could reach them.
Elias stayed with the squad but not ahead of them. He waited for the right moment—the very one that had killed him the last time—and stepped aside instead of turning. The jaws of the creature snapped in thin air.
Hope flared for a moment. Maybe that was enough.
Then the creature's tail thrashed through the ash, striking him in the legs. He crashed down on the ground. The Script blazed. "The Reader lives if the horn shatters."
He struggled up to his feet, staring at the sharp horn that crowned the beast's head. At the conclusion of the previous loop, he'd not even tried to hit it. This time, he charged, parrying a claw swipe and striking upward with every ounce of strength he had.
The horn cracked with a sharp snap. The beast faltered, emitting a cry of agony. Aric's flame engulfed its chest. Brynn's sword went into the gap beneath its jaw.
And then—it was still.
The ash fell slowly. The soldiers formed a loose circle around the corpse, panting. Brynn slapped him on the back. "Not bad, outlander."
Elias breathed raggedly. "This time, I live."
Aric raised an eyebrow at the use of words. But he didn't push.
That night, the Script returned. "The first law of the loops is this: some things don't turn back." Elias looked at the scar on his arm.
He wasn't sure whether it was a warning or a welcome. But either way, the loops weren't going to make things easy.