Cael stared at the pulsing red screen, heart hammering in his chest. The dorm room was quiet—too quiet. The noise of students beyond his door felt distant, muted, as if reality itself was stepping back to make room for something else.
The interface didn't disappear.
Fate Thread. Predicted Death. 21 Days.
The Battle of Lysburn Ridge.
The cursed spear. The broken oath. The dirt in my mouth. The blood soaking through my chest.
He remembered it all—too well.
His hands clenched.
There was no second-guessing this time.
"Let's see what you are."
He reached forward—and touched the screen.
It didn't feel like glass. Didn't feel like anything at all.
But it responded.
The blinking text vanished.
And then, line by line, something new began to appear.
[Rewrite System Activated.]
[User: Cael Ardyn]
[Status: Diverged Thread – Fate Level 2 Anomaly]
[Would you like a tutorial?]
A breath caught in Cael's throat.
"Diverged thread… Fate anomaly…?"
Before he could think twice, his hand moved again.
Click.
"Yes."
The screen shimmered once, then expanded, symbols rotating behind the text—glyphs of red and white, some of them vaguely familiar, like the sigils used in prophecy rituals. Only… corrupted. Glitched.
[Welcome, Cael Ardyn.]
[You are a Fate Divergent — one whose thread of destiny has fractured across multiple cycles.]
[Your thread is classified as: Repeating Martyr.]
[You have died 30 times in service of the Hero Archetype: Leon Solhert.]
[Due to critical divergence, the system has granted you Rewrite Access.]
[Explanation begins now.]
The text disappeared.
Replaced by an animated glyph—two threads twisting through each other.
"All beings are bound by Fate Threads."
The system didn't speak out loud, but the words formed in his head like a thought not his own.
"These threads determine one's path—who you meet, what you do, when you live, and when you die."
"Some threads are stronger. Some are breakable. Yours… was locked into sacrifice."
Another image: a glowing thread leading to a dark cross—marked "DEATH."
"You have been reset thirty times. Always to die. Always for him."
Cael's jaw tightened.
The screen pulsed again.
[Fate Prediction: Death in 21 Days]
[You may now use: REWRITE]
"What does it do?"
As if hearing his question, the system answered.
"Rewrite Points allow you to interfere with key nodes in fate: events, relationships, or decisions."
"Each Rewrite Point bends the thread."
"But all power has a price."
A new screen appeared. Sharp. Cold. Terrifying.
[Sacrifice Required For Rewrite:]
- Memory (of a person, event, or self)
- Emotion (joy, grief, guilt, love)
- Moral Standing (compassion, restraint, integrity)
Warning: Overuse leads to Thread Collapse or Self-Loss.
Cael's eyes darkened.
Memory. Emotion. Morality.
Those were the costs.
The pieces that made him Cael Ardyn.
"If I want to live… I have to lose myself?"
"Piece by piece?"
The idea should've scared him.
But it didn't.
Not after thirty deaths.
Not after being forgotten every single time.
"If that's the price of freedom... then I'll pay it."
His hand hovered above the screen again.
The interface shimmered again, responding to his intent.
Then—
[Practice Rewrite Available.]
[Scenario: Minor Daily Event – "Dropped your favorite quill yesterday."]
[Status: Broken Tip – Currently discarded.]
[Option: Rewrite to "Did not drop."]
[Cost: 1 Memory Fragment]
[Confirm Rewrite?]
Cael's brow furrowed. The quill?
He glanced to the edge of his desk where the familiar silver-feathered quill used to sit—until he'd dropped it the morning before. It had snapped. He'd meant to fix it but never had the time.
"This is harmless," he thought.
A safe test.
He pressed his finger to the confirmation.
[Confirm Rewrite]
Yes.
There was no violent flash.
No boom of magic or twist of time.
Just a soft flicker.
Like a candle being lit in a windless room.
The interface blinked out.
Cael blinked, too.
And then—
There it was.
Lying atop his desk.
Perfectly intact.
The silver-feathered quill, undamaged.
Exactly where he'd last used it—before it had fallen.
He slowly reached for it.
Held it in his fingers.
It was real.
The weight. The balance. The slight smell of enchanted ink embedded in the tip.
It worked.
A new message appeared on the interface's periphery:
[Rewrite Complete.]
[Cost Deducted: One Memory Fragment – "Mother's smile during your first snowfall."]
"Wait."
His hand froze.
His breath hitched.
"What?"
He tried to summon the memory instantly.
"Mother's smile... during snowfall...?"
There was… something. A faint glow in the haze of his childhood. Laughter. Cold air. Tiny white flakes clinging to his hair.
But her face?
Gone.
The shape of her smile?
Gone.
The warmth in his chest that used to bloom at the memory?
Gone.
Replaced by… a dull ache. Like he'd dreamed something beautiful but woken before the best part.
"It's… gone?" he whispered.
"Just like that?"
He stood still, staring at nothing, the silver quill trembling slightly between his fingers.
It had always been just a tool. A gift from a tutor long gone. A fancy writing implement.
But that wasn't the point anymore.
The cold steel of reality was clearer now than ever.
He had exchanged a memory for an object.
Not a metaphor.
Not a feeling.
A transaction.
A literal erasure of something once warm, now hollow.
His breath hitched as he gripped the edge of the table.
"I… I can't remember how she smiled."
"I know she did. I know I loved it."
But now it's a blank.
There was no sudden grief. No tears.
Only absence.
Like a book missing its final chapter.
"This isn't just a skill."
"This is real."
He looked up sharply as a sterile chime echoed in his mind.
[System Notice:]
[Every fate must be balanced.]
[The more you take, the more you lose.]
No comfort.
No apology.
Just cold, universal law.
He clenched his fist.
The quill snapped in his grip—again.
But this time, he didn't flinch.
"So that's how it is…"
He turned back toward the interface still hovering in front of him.
Its design was deceptively elegant—soft lines, pale glow, a quiet hum.
A system meant to rewrite fate, offered in beautiful packaging.
But beneath it all, a blade.
A trade.
A choice.
And at the center of it stood him—Cael Ardyn, who had died thirty times for someone else's legend.
The menu opened further.
A soft scroll of parchment-like interface unfurled with a flick of his thoughts.
Events. Triggers. Decisions.
He barely noticed the rest of them, because one line was already pulsing red.
Circled in faint gold, as if mocking him:
[Major Event Forecast – 21 Days Remaining]
Your Death
→ Location: Royal Academy - Dueling Grounds
→ Cause: Magical Overload Trauma
→ Public Witnesses: 83
→ Memory Retention: None
Cael's mouth tightened.
So it was still coming.
Even in this loop.
Even with this system.
His death had already been written.
The only question now… was whether he'd let it stand.
He took a deep breath.
Then smiled—not with hope.
But resolve.
A darker thing.
Hardened by grief. Tempered by thirty lifetimes of futility.
And now, finally, sharpened with choice.
"Then I'll pay the price."
"Piece by piece."
"I'll rewrite everything."
"Even myself."