The morning sun over the Capital of Oakhaven was a blinding, polished gold, reflecting off the white marble of the palace spires with an intensity that felt personal. For Kaelen, it was the culmination of a decade of discipline. At twenty-five, he wasn't just a Captain of the Guard; he was a prodigy of the blade, a man who believed that every variable in life could be controlled with enough steel and sweat.

  "Do you feel it, Kaelen?" Prince Valen asked. He was standing on the mounting block, preening as a servant polished his greaves. "The air of destiny? The Oracle said the hero would depart on a day when the winds blow from the East. And look! East!"

  Kaelen tightened the cinch on his horse, his eyes scanning the courtyard. He didn't believe in destiny. He believed in the twelve scouts he had sent ahead, the thirty-two distinct ambush points he had identified on the map, and the high-grade whetstone he’d used on his sword until the edge could split a falling hair.

  "I feel the humidity, Highness," Kaelen replied, his voice a steady, professional baritone. "Which means the Blackroot Marsh will be slick. Keep your visor up so you can see your footing. If you slip and twist an ankle, 'destiny' is going to look a lot like a muddy ditch."

  Valen laughed, the sound bright and careless. "Nonsense! A hero must look the part! If the songs don't mention my shimmering visor, did the quest even happen?"

  As they rode out of the city gates, a strange blue ripple shimmered in the corner of Kaelen’s vision. He blinked, rubbing his eyes.

  [SYSTEM INITIALIZING...] [USER: KAELEN VANE] [ROLE: GUARDIAN (UNASSIGNED)]

  What in the Three Hells is that? he wondered. He glanced at the other guards. They didn't seem to notice the floating text. He dismissed it as nerves. This was his first major escort mission for the Crown Prince. A bit of lightheadedness was to be expected.

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  The journey was textbook for the first three hours. Kaelen’s scouts returned with "clear" signals. The weather held. The Prince spent the entire ride regaling the guards with stories of his "heroic potential," despite never having fought anything more dangerous than a practice dummy.

  Then, they reached the Bridge of Sighs—a narrow, ancient stone span crossing a gorge that roared with white-water rapids three hundred feet below.

  "Highness, wait," Kaelen said, his hand snapping up. The scouts hadn't signaled, but the silence was wrong. The birds in the nearby brush had stopped chirping. The wind had died down to a stagnant, heavy chill. "Something is off. We take the long way around. The Low Road adds four hours, but it’s defensible."

  "And lose half a day?" Valen groaned, spurred his horse forward before Kaelen could grab the reins. "Kaelen, you worry too much! I have the 'Hero’s Grace' blessing. The Oracle said—"

  Thrum.

  It was a sound Kaelen felt in his marrow. Not a volley of arrows, but a single, precision shot. It came from a hollowed-out tree stump a hundred yards away. The arrow wasn't aimed at the Prince’s heart—it was aimed at his mount.

  The horse screeched as the poisoned tip sank into its eye. The animal reared, its front hooves flailing in the air. Valen, locked into his ceremonial heavy plate armor—armor designed for parades, not survival—was top-heavy. He didn't have the leverage to stay seated.

  Time seemed to slow. Kaelen threw himself from his saddle, his boots skidding on the wet stone of the bridge. He lunged, his fingers reaching out, the tips of his gloves just inches from the Prince's flapping silk cape.

  "Valen!"

  The Prince looked back, his eyes wide with a sudden, sharp realization of his own mortality. Then, with a sickening, metallic thud, he hit the stone railing. The weight of the armor did the rest. He tipped over the edge like a lead weight.

  There was no splash. The roar of the rapids swallowed everything.

  [PARTY MEMBER DECEASED: THE CHOSEN ONE HAS FALLEN.] [WORLD STABILITY CRITICAL: 99%] [TIME LOOP PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.]

  Kaelen stood at the edge, his hand still outstretched. The world began to fray at the edges, the colors bleeding into a dull, static grey. "No," he whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I had scouts... I had the map... I did everything right..."

  The grey turned to white. A deafening silence filled his ears.