Arjun knew the name Saint Direfang. He was the Saint whom Nephis and Sunny had slain during the chaotic meat grinder of the Antarctica campaign. Of course, in those records, both Nephis and Sunny had already ascended to the rank of Master.
Even though the feat was hailed as a legendary accomplishment for the duo, it had cast a long, dark shadow over the legacy of the Saint himself. For a Saint—a being who had transcended the mortal coil—to be felled by mere Masters was considered a staggering humiliation. Even in death, Direfang's reputation had been dragged through the mud, and it appeared that the stain of that "shameful" defeat had trickled down to his surviving kin.
Diana looked at Arjun, her eyes red-rimmed but defiant, searching his face for the same mockery she had seen in the others. "What?" she spat. "Do you also think my father committed some unforgivable crime? Do you believe the lies she spreads? That he deserved to be put down like a mad dog?"
Arjun met her gaze with the cold, crystalline clarity of his new blue eyes. "No," he said simply. "Your father died in a war. As a member of the Song Clan, I can tell you clearly: your father didn't die because he was evil. He died because, in that specific moment, he simply lost. In the Spell, there is no morality—only the victor and the corpse."
Diana froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The shock on her face was visceral. "You're from Song?" she whispered, taking a half-step back. "Then... why were you infected so late? You aren't from our batch. You're older than a typical Sleeper."
Arjun offered her a small, enigmatic smile. "Trust me, I'm wondering the same thing."
As the hours bled, the chaos of the Academy began to settle. There were exactly two months left before the Winter Solstice—the terrifying event where these Sleepers would be cast back into the Dream Realm for their formal journey.
Because Arjun had intervened for Diana and remained friendly with her, the social hierarchy of the Academy had already branded them in a short time. They were pushed to the fringes, labeled as the "Haters' Corner" by the more idealistic Sleepers who worshipped the Changing Star. Arjun didn't care. His mind was miles away, anchored in some things.
I need to test it, he thought, sitting in the back of a lecture hall while an Awakened named Rock gave his daily, monotonous speech about the mechanics of the Spell. I need to understand the limits of the Eternal River. And I need to understand the cost of the Flaw.
To understand the divinity of his aspect, he had to do the one thing most humans spent their lives avoiding.
He had to die.
That night, Arjun retreated to the cold privacy of his dormitory. The room was silent, the air heavy with the scent of sterile linens. He summoned his [Plain Sword]. The iron blade hummed with a low, dull energy as it manifested in his hand.
He looked at his reflection in the window—the silver hair, the blue eyes, the face of a "Heavenly Demon."
"Better work," he muttered.
He didn't hesitate. He gripped the hilt with both hands and drove the iron point directly into his own heart. The pain was an explosion of white heat, a familiar agony that he had learned to embrace in the desert. The world tilted, the lights dimmed, and the last thing he heard was the wet, ragged thud of his own body hitting the floor.
Arjun suddenly woke up.
He saw the white ceiling again. The sterile smell. The soft morning light.
I'm really back, he thought, a shiver of genuine awe running down his spine. He turned his head and saw Awakened David by the window, performing the exact same stretches he had seen before.
"Congratulations, Sleeper Arjun," David said, his voice a perfect echo of the previous timeline. "You survived your first Nightmare."
Arjun watched him, a cold realization settling in. It's the same. Everything is exactly as it was. He went through the motions—the bath, the makeover, the meeting. But as he sat in the transport vehicle (PTV) heading toward the Academy, he tried to recall his promise to Silas. He tried to think of the girl he was supposed to protect.
Luna, he thought. 'Wait... what does Luna look like?'
His heart skipped a beat. He closed his eyes, searching his mind for her face. Usually, he could recall the soft features of the girl he had promised to guard, but now, there was nothing. In the space where her image should have been, there was only a black, hazy fog. He could remember her name, he could remember the promise, but her physical form was gone—erased as if it had never existed.
The weight of his Flaw hit him like a high-speed truck.
"Okay," he thought, his hands trembling. "So I lose a piece of memory every time I return,temporarily. I forgot what she looks like."
A cold sweat broke out on his brow. If he kept dying to fix his mistakes, what else would he lose? Would he forget the face of his parents? Would he forget why he had chosen to regress in the first place? If he died too many times, he would become a Heavenly Demon who remembered nothing but the hunger for power.
He arrived at the Academy gates, the scene playing out with haunting familiarity. He saw the crowds, heard the whispers about Nephis and Effie, and eventually, he saw Diana.
He steered her away from the mob again, but this time, his mind was sharper. He looked around the hall
Arjun thought,'I need to avoid three people right now, he told himself. Cassia , Mordret and the Dreamspawn.'
One wrong move, one slip of his guarded thoughts, and he would become a puppet in their grand games.
He looked at the sea of Sleepers, his blue eyes turning cold.
"Okay," he muttered to the empty air. "I need to steer carefully. Or I'll lose myself before I even reach the throne."