Shut the fuck up Edwin.

  I thought to myself repeatedly. Though I forced my lips into a faint, calm smile. “I’m fine. Just stretching.”

  He narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. “Stretching, huh? You look… weird. Did you trip on your own feet this morning?”

  I studied him carefully, noting every detail: the smirk, the way he shifted his weight, the slight curl of his lips. Everything was exactly as it had been. Everything… except me. The world doesn’t remember what happened this morning, only I do.

  Wait.

  Morning?

  I look towards a windowsill and notice that the sun is already high up in the sky.

  I switch my gaze to a clock hanging above an archway in the halls.

  2’ in the afternoon.

  It’s 2’ in the afternoon.

  But how?

  The events of earlier today should’ve taken place from this morning to 2’ in the afternoon.

  Therefore, this replayed interaction with Edwin right now should be taking place before I’m even handed breakfast for the trip.

  But it's way past what most would consider lunch time right now.

  Did everything else reset…

  except time?

  Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

  If so, does everybody else think that it’s still morning or do they know that it’s already this late in the afternoon? But if it were the latter, did everyone just forget what they did this morning?

  Something is off. This isn’t a dream. I can feel it. The time, the sequence of events… something rewound, but not completely.

  I needed to test it. Carefully, without making it obvious.

  I stepped past Edwin, deliberately taking a slightly different path down the corridor. Instead of the usual left turn to the stairwell, I veered right, toward the long balcony overlooking the north gardens. I forced myself to notice every detail: the glint of sunlight on the railings, the way the flowers swayed in the breeze, the scent of fresh herbs from below.

  Nothing reacted. Everyone was moving as if nothing had happened. No one noticed a shift in time, no one remembered the morning’s events, and yet here I was, armed with the knowledge of my own death.

  I reached out and touched the railing, careful to let my fingers brush against a carved knot I hadn’t noticed the first time. Solid oak, cold to the touch, faintly rough. Good, tactile evidence. Small, but important.

  Then I glanced back toward the hall. Edwin was gone. Servants moved like clockwork, tending to their duties, faces blank, conversations dull. My father’s shadows… they weren’t here, not visibly. Which is exactly what made it worse. How did they even get into position in the forest? How long had they been following me? Why were they assigned in the first place? I didn’t know. I had no idea why father would want to observe me so closely; only that something had gone wrong, terribly wrong, with whatever they were assigned to do.

  I made a conscious decision to avoid repeating the fatal events. I had to change my actions, even in small ways.

  Back toward the hallway I went, walking carefully, observing each servant as I passed. I made sure to nod at the young footman and smile lightly at the older maid, gestures I had never made before. Subtle, inconspicuous, almost imperceptible. But necessary.

  Time still seemed to flow forward normally. So the loop wasn’t a full reset. Not really. Only this at the very least seemed to have returned to their prior state; the hall, the portraits, Edwin. But time itself was continuous. That wasn’t something I expected.

  I began to catalog everything I knew: the morning I had lived, the carriage, the forest, the shadows, Edwin’s mockery, the stabbing, the vivid pain, and the unnatural stillness of the forest.

  Then I ran the scenario backwards in my head. The forest. Jabbelore. My stomach turning, the carriage rocking. The shadows. Father’s shadows were known to be masked, silent, and efficient… yet they were dead before I even knew it. How did that happen? They weren’t attacking me; but they were gone, butchered, almost before the attack.

  Why were they there? The only thing that made sense was that my father had sent them to kill me or at the very lnorth monitor me for whatever reason. But the way it ended… that wasn’t his hand.

  I cross-referenced the timeline. The reset happened after my death, but only the spatial layout and people’s positions had rewound. The day itself had moved forward. Morning became afternoon. Events that should have taken hours; my breakfast, Edwin’s mockery, the long carriage ride, were already completed in “real time” before the reset.

  This means something is selectively resetting the environment around me, not time itself. But why? What purpose does it serve to let only me retain memory?

  I started forming hypotheses.

  This is a localized loop, tied specifically to my consciousness. The universe, or someone, wants me to have the memory of failure.

  The shadows may have a role beyond surveillance. They could be part of the mechanism; traps, checks, failsafes to ensure something happens. But last time, someone or something overrode them. Whoever, or whatever, attacked me in the forest may have been anticipating my father’s moves.

  My father may not fully understand what is happening. He could’ve simply gave specific orders to his shadows, whatever those specific orders may be. He wouldn’t orchestrate an attack on his own loyal men, his elite forces at that. So the failure in the forest, the massacre, was likely unplanned.

  I paced the balcony. My mind is racing. Each hypothesis raised more questions. If this is a localized loop tied to me, why does the rest of the world remain unaffected? The servants, Edwin, the footmen; they continue their routines, oblivious. They cannot remember the morning, yet the sun and the clocks march forward. It’s as if reality has chosen me alone as the anomaly.

  In the unlikely scenario wherein the shadows were meant to protect, why were they so easily destroyed? That implies either an external force, or that their “protective” role was conditional. Perhaps if I made one wrong move, they could be neutralized. Maybe I am the test, the trigger.

  And then it struck me. If time itself isn’t rewinding, only space and people’s positions, then every choice I make in this second loop can alter outcomes without erasing the “real” sequence of events. The forest, the carriage, the edge of Jabbelore; it can still happen, but differently. I could act. I could prevent death.

  I considered my past actions carefully. Every bump of the carriage, every moment I lost focus, every distraction that led to my nausea and vulnerability. If I could identify the exact sequence that made the attack inevitable, I could intervene. I could survive.

  I ran scenarios in my mind. What if I altered when or how I left the manor? What if I took a different corridor, even subtly? What if I avoided pausing at certain spots? Every deviation became a variable in the experiment. I realized I could create a buffer between myself and the forest. Every minute mattered. Every second I wasn’t complacent might be the difference between life and death.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Then I thought about Edwin. I had brushed past him differently, altered my gestures, my words. Each small change might ripple forward, changing the way servants moved, the way my father’s shadows tracked me.

  And then the carriage. My movements, the packing, the boxes, the way I handled the breakfast. If I could manipulate them slightly, maybe I could prevent the nausea, the stumble, the exposure.

  The forest itself was the key. I needed to map the path, anticipate dangers. Each bump, each hidden root, every shadow could be a hazard. I had the memory. I had the experience. And now, I could act.

  But then the shadows again. The thought gnawed at me. They were never truly gone. They were watching, waiting, following invisibly. And now I had reason to fear them. Not as enemies, maybe, but as part of a system I didn’t understand. They were my father’s instruments, yes—but only he could issue the original commands. Last time, something went wrong. The forest massacre wasn’t his doing. Someone else had used the loop, the shadows, to alter my fate.

  But I can’t be sure if I’m able to ‘rewind’ myself and the state of my surroundings every time I die. Perhaps this weird power has a limit as to how many times I can die and revive, or I could be a victim in some fairy tale where I’m trading ten years of my life span per revival-upon-death. It’s simply impossible to know for sure, so I need to stay cautious.

  I took a deep breath, letting my mind settle. The anomaly was clear now. This was a selective, conscious loop, tied only to me. Time itself marches forward, but the universe; or whoever controls it right now, allows me to retain memory to test, to learn, or perhaps to manipulate outcomes.

  I realized then that my survival depended on discipline. Observation. Experimentation. And action. Not rash, impulsive moves. Not letting nausea or panic dictate my choices. Every small deviation might be the key to avoiding Jabbelore’s nightmare.

  I returned to the hallway. Edwin’s smirk remained faintly mocking, but I no longer cared. I had a plan. I would proceed carefully. I would observe, record, and adjust. Small experiments would accumulate into survival. And for the first time since the reset, I felt… a measure of control.

  ```

  I drove the carriage over to the grandeur front doors of the Jakobster Estate Manor, I was recently assigned to drop off Young Master Jakob Jakobster somewhere so far that I had both the horses and the wheels magically augmented for the trip.

  I had been waiting for over ten minutes, the reins heavy in my hands, the horses shifting nervously beneath me. Young master Jakob was ten minutes late for the carriage’s departure time. Not that he usually cared about punctuality, but I expected at lnorth a hint of urgency.

  Twenty minutes passed. Still nothing.

  Thirty minutes. My patience was thinning. The morning air, heavy with dew and the scent of polished stone from the manor, pressed down on me. My legs ached from standing on the carriage box, my hands gripping the reins tighter than necessary.

  Forty-five minutes. By now, I was certain I had been made a fool. I was about to call it; tell the stablehands to begin without him, perhaps have one of the younger footmen hurry him along; when, with a sudden swing, the grand front doors burst open.

  Jakob strode out like a man on a mission, long strides devouring the polished marble of the entry hall. He didn’t speak a word, didn’t glance at me, didn’t acknowledge the clatter of boots and servants around him. I raised my eyebrows, unsure whether to feel relief or concern.

  He approached the carriage and, without ceremony, climbed aboard. For a moment, I expected him to start rearranging his luggage, opening boxes, or swinging his wooden practice sword; something to break the silence. But he didn’t.

  He sat. Ever so still. A serious look carved into his face, eyes fixed straight ahead. Not a twitch of his fingers, not a glance around. My eyebrows furrowed. I had seen him in carriages countless times, the young master doing the most absurd things to pass the time; stacking his luggage, moving pieces on a tiny chessboard, shouting at the horses for no reason, swinging that damned wooden sword until it flew across the cabin. Always. Never. Quiet.

  Yet here he was, silent as a tomb. And disturbingly… deliberate.

  I adjusted the reins, shifted the horses forward, and muttered under my breath, “Well… this is unusual.”

  We made our way out of Jakobster manor, the central territories stretching lazily to either side. The fields, the estates, the familiar hills that rolled gently into the distance; everything looked normal, yet something about the air felt heavier. Something about Jakob.

  I cleared my throat. “Pardon the bumps, young master, Jabbelore’s road doesn’t take kindly to carriages. Mud and roots… you know the sort.”

  No response. Not even a nod. Just the faintest tightening of his jaw. I glanced toward the carriage window. Jakob sat still, posture straight, hands resting neatly in his lap. Eyes forward, unreadable.

  A minute passed. Then another. A few more. The forest approached, first as a distant dark smear, then as jagged shapes on either side. I noticed the horses hesitating, ears flicking. Even they seemed wary.

  Jakob didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance at me. I had half-expected him to throw his luggage across the cabin in boredom, to open the boxes of food and inspect every inch, to speak; to do anything. But no. The young master was still. Unmoving.

  I tugged on the reins gently, careful not to jostle the carriage too much. “We’ll get through this, young master. Just a little longer. I… apologize for the discomfort.”

  Still nothing.

  We entered Jabbelore forest. The canopy swallowed the sun almost entirely. The air grew cooler, heavier, smelling of wet leaves, rot, and earth. The first bumps struck the carriage like deliberate punches. Wheels rattled, jolts shot through the floorboards. Every shift of the horses sent a shudder up my arms, reverberating through my chest.

  “Beg pardon, sir,” I said again, more loudly. “This section is particularly… treacherous. Mind the bumps.”

  No reaction. Not a twitch. Just that same unflinching, serious stare.

  The silence from the cabin of the carriage was driving me insane, uneasy with whatever Jakob had planned up his sleeve to behave this way in an incredibly boring and uncomfortable situation such as this.

  I watched the shadows dance over him in the dim light filtering through the canopy. The carriage rocked violently, my hands tightening on the reins, trying to steady the horses, and yet Jakob did not flinch. Not a single grimace, not a hand raised to brace himself. Calm. Composed. Almost… unnatural.

  Minutes passed.

  And still, he did not move.

  I stole a glance into the carriage, trying not to draw attention. The sight unsettled me. Jakob’s expression was fixed, eyes forward, hands neatly folded in his lap. Everything about him radiated control. Something about it felt… calculated.

  I couldn’t help but theorize. Could it be that he’s upset about something? Or… no, I’ve seen him throw tantrums before. This wasn’t that. This was different. Quiet. Observant. Focused. Maybe he’s plotting. Maybe he knows something I don’t.

  The forest thickened around us. Roots, rocks, uneven mud. Every lurch made my heart skip a beat. I apologetically murmured to Jakob again, “The bumps… I hope they’re not causing you discomfort, young master.”

  Still nothing.

  An hour passed.

  I lost count of how many jolts, how many bumps. The carriage rattled like it might fall apart at any moment. The horses snorted nervously, digging hooves into the mud, trying to maintain footing on the twisted path. And Jakob, he did not move. Did not flinch. Did not speak.

  I adjusted my hat, wiped a bead of sweat from my brow. Who knew the young master could sit so still? He seemed… different. Changed. This wasn’t just discipline or boredom. This was something else.

  I let my mind wander despite the nerves. What could have happened to him? I’ve known the Jakobsters for years as their coachman. Never have I seen him like this. Not even in the most tense of family gatherings, not even when my hand trembled with fear for the horses.

  He’s thinking. Planning. Waiting. For what?

  Another hour passed. Then another.

  The forest seemed endless. Its canopy grew thicker, darker. Even the light filtering through the leaves took on a muted, greenish tint. The smells of wet moss and rotting wood intensified, clinging to the carriage. My hands ached from holding the reins, my back stiff from standing so long.

  Yet Jakob remained immobile, the image of patience and calculation. Every bump of the carriage, every twist of the wheels, every jolt that threatened to spill him from his seat… he met it with stillness. With composure.

  I had to speak again. “young master… the road…”

  He didn’t respond. Not even a glance. I swallowed nervously. Maybe I should stop apologizing. Maybe he doesn’t want conversation. Maybe… I’ve seen him act strangely, but this is beyond strange.

  Hours passed like minutes, and minutes like hours. The rhythm of the carriage, the bumps, the scent of earth and leaves, the tension in the horses’ muscles, everything merged into one long, oppressive sensation of movement. And still Jakob did not speak, did not react, did not shift.

  I couldn’t help but theorize again. Maybe he knows something. Maybe his father finally did him away as a bastard. Perhaps he’s… planning something. That could explain the seriousness, the silence. But what?

  I stole another glance. Still him. Still immovable.

  Dusk creeped over the treetops. A faint orange glow touched the horizon. I squinted, trying to see through the thick canopy. Then; just beyond the dense wall of leaves, I saw it. The forest ending. The sky was widening.

  And there it was.

  A small settlement, quiet, orderly, nestled against the rolling hills. Finally, after hours trapped in the suffocating darkness of Jabbelore forest,

  We had arrived at Foklunn.