The sky was on fire.
Not from the setting sun or a natural blaze, but from the dozens of flaming swords raining down from the heavens. Screams filled the air, sharp and terrified. Blood soaked the stone courtyards of the Ardyn Clan estate, turning the white gravel crimson. Buildings cracked and splintered beneath the weight of battle, and the scent of death clung to the wind.
Kael Ardyn stumbled through the chaos, his breathing ragged. His left shoulder bled freely where a blade had grazed him minutes earlier. He was just seventeen. A mere Level 3 cultivator in the Body Foundation Stage—a nobody, weak even among the outer disciples of the clan.
He ducked behind the shattered archway of the southern hall, pressing his back to the cold stone. All around him, cultivators clad in black and red robes with the sigil of a blazing phoenix slaughtered Ardyn warriors. The attackers moved with ruthless precision, their sword strikes glowing with condensed Essence Qi, slicing through defenders as though cutting paper.
Kael peeked from behind the rubble. His heart stopped.
In the central courtyard, his father—Galen Ardyn, Clan Head and a Spiritual General Level 46—stood defiant, his body bleeding, his robe torn. He held a long spear in one hand, its shaft cracked near the base. Facing him was a tall man in red armor, his long black hair tied into a war braid. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, and in his hands, he held a curved sword glowing with a deep violet hue.
Tarnis of the Black Phoenix Sect.
A name whispered in fear across the continent. A Spiritual King, Level 53. A butcher known for annihilating entire sects that opposed his rise.
Kael's throat went dry. "No… Father, don't—"
His words drowned in the roar of Essence techniques clashing. Galen struck first, his spear enveloped in blue lightning. "Heaven's Judgment Spear—Third Form!"
The spearhead surged with force and lightning exploded around it. The attack tore through the air with a piercing whistle, aimed at Tarnis's chest.
Tarnis didn't even flinch.
With a flick of his blade, he deflected the lightning, sending it crashing into the clan wall behind him, blasting stone and flame into the sky.
Then he moved.
Kael's eyes couldn't keep up. One moment Tarnis was standing, the next he was behind Galen, his sword dragging across the air like a phantom.
A burst of red exploded.
Kael couldn't even scream.
His father stood for one more breath, his eyes wide in disbelief, before his body slid apart—cleaved from shoulder to hip. The spear clattered to the ground, splintering as it fell.
Kael's knees gave out. He collapsed behind the rubble, tears spilling freely down his face. His breath came in sharp, choking sobs.
They weren't just killing his clan.
They were erasing them.
A heavy step sounded behind him.
Kael turned just in time to see a masked invader step over the bodies of fallen Ardyn guards. The man's eyes were emotionless, his blade stained with fresh blood.
Kael tried to summon Essence. He focused on the core in his chest, willing energy to his limbs, but his fear choked his connection. His body trembled as the man raised his sword.
He was going to die.
"No—no—please—"
The blade came down.
Kael rolled aside. The sword crashed into the stone, sparks flying. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing a fallen dagger. It was too heavy, too unfamiliar.
The invader advanced, expression blank.
Kael lashed out wildly. The man parried with ease, slamming a palm into Kael's chest. Pain shot through his ribs. Kael flew backward, hitting the ground hard.
As he gasped for air, something tumbled from the folds of his robe—a small, broken silver watch.
It landed beside him with a dull clang.
Kael blinked.
That watch hadn't been there before.
It ticked.
Once.
Backward.
The invader stepped forward. Kael reached out instinctively. His fingers brushed the watch—
And the world froze.
Time stopped.
The flames halted mid-air. Blood hung like glass droplets in the sky. The sounds of battle ceased, replaced by a deafening silence.
A voice—cold, mechanical—echoed in his mind.
> "Wielder confirmed. Loop initiation possible. Choose anchor point."
Kael's vision blurred. A list of dates appeared in his mind, glowing with silver light. The latest one pulsed softly—30 days before today.
His thoughts were a whirlwind. Was this real? Was this a dream?
He didn't know.
He only knew one thing: if he had the chance… he wouldn't let this happen again.
"I… I choose the earliest date," Kael whispered. "Thirty days before."
> "Confirmed. Loop initialized."
The world turned upside down.
Flames fell in reverse. Swords lifted from corpses. Blood returned to bodies.
Time unraveled.
And Kael fell into the void.
Kael awoke with a scream.
He jolted upright, heart hammering in his chest, lungs pulling in sharp, painful breaths. Sweat soaked his tunic. His hands trembled. His eyes darted around wildly—expecting flames, death, the scent of blood.
But none of it was there.
He was in his room.
The wooden beams overhead. The soft mattress stuffed with straw. The faint scent of incense from the shrine in the corner. A warm morning breeze wafted through the open window, carrying the chirping of birds.
Everything was normal.
Too normal.
Kael stumbled to his feet and staggered toward the polished bronze mirror hanging by the wall. His reflection stared back—disheveled black hair, a lean frame, tired grey eyes. Seventeen. Same as before.
He grabbed his robe and checked his chest. No wounds. No blood.
Nothing.
But then he saw it.
On his left wrist—right where the broken silver watch had landed—was a strange mark. Faint, like a burn. Circular, with tiny engraved ticks and hands pointing at twelve and six.
His blood ran cold.
It wasn't a dream.
It was real.
His father. His mother. His clan. The massacre. The blood. The silver watch.
All of it happened.
And now… he was back.
A knock startled him.
"Kael!" came a voice—soft, familiar. "Breakfast is ready! We've got training after!"
It was Lena, his cousin. The one who died screaming when the invaders breached the east wall.
Kael's knees gave out. He collapsed to the floor, covering his mouth to stop the scream. His entire body trembled as tears welled in his eyes.
She was alive.
Everyone was alive.
He had a second chance.
---
Later that morning, Kael sat at the long wooden table in the courtyard as his family laughed and ate rice cakes and spiced meat. His uncles argued about crop rotations. His younger cousins chased each other with sticks.
It all felt surreal.
Galen Ardyn, his father, sat at the head of the table—tall, broad, his deep voice filled with warmth.
Kael stared at him, barely able to keep from weeping. He wanted to run to him. Tell him everything. But he knew he wouldn't be believed. Not yet.
The laughter around him felt like ghosts.
He barely touched his food. His hands remained under the table, gripping his robe tightly.
Then the sky cracked.
A sound only he could hear. Like a whisper echoing through time.
Kael's head jerked up. No one else noticed.
The mark on his wrist pulsed softly.
The loop was real. But for how long?
---
That evening, Kael sat beneath the old plum tree in the courtyard, watching the stars appear.
He opened his cultivation manual and flipped to the pages he had once struggled to understand. It had taken him months to even condense his Essence back then.
But now?
Now he had all the time in the world.
He sat cross-legged, focusing on his breathing. The world around him faded. He guided the Essence in the air toward his core—a faint, spinning point of light in his chest.
Slowly, the Essence began to flow.
Each breath, each cycle, felt smoother than before. His body remembered the pain, the fear, the urgency. His mind was clearer.
This time… he would not remain weak.
---
Over the next few days, Kael trained in secret.
While others practiced routine sword forms and sparred in the training yard, Kael disappeared into the nearby forest at dawn. There, he meditated under waterfalls, punched trees until his knuckles bled, and experimented with forbidden breathing techniques he had only skimmed in old manuals.
He tested everything.
He needed to know the limits of the loop.
Could he die and return again? Could he bring people into it? Could he change the past before the massacre?
There was only one way to find out.
---
Seven days later, Kael stood at the edge of the Verdant Hollow, a forest crawling with low-grade spirit beasts.
He was still only Level 3, still in the Body Foundation Stage, but he had trained for a week with desperation no one else had.
And now… he was going to die. On purpose.
Just to be sure.
He stepped into the hollow.
The trees were gnarled and twisted, the ground soft with moss. Spirit beast tracks crisscrossed the underbrush. Kael moved quietly, dagger in hand.
Then he saw it.
A Verdant Lynx—a sleek beast with emerald fur and glowing yellow eyes—crouched in the clearing ahead, licking its claws.
A Level 8 beast. Too strong for him.
Kael stepped forward. The lynx's ears twitched.
It turned, hissed, and leapt.
Kael dodged left, barely avoiding the first strike. Its claws sliced through bark like paper.
He rolled and slashed with his dagger—missed.
The lynx roared and tackled him. He crashed into the ground.
Pain exploded across his ribs. He could feel his bones crack.
The beast's fangs closed on his shoulder.
Kael screamed—once.
And then, darkness.
---
The world froze again.
> "Death confirmed. Returning to anchor point…"
Kael fell into the void once more.
---
He gasped awake.
In his bed.
Same time. Same place.
A faint smile crossed his lips.
"It works," he whispered. "It really works."