Not a trick of shadow, not the play of candlelight across thread. The black embroidery shifted, scales rippling in place of fabric. Its slit-pupiled gaze was alive now, burning deeper than any human iris, a hole into a place with no ground and no sky. It did not blink. It did not waver.
And it was staring at him.
Cha Hae-won's body locked against the sheets of the infirmary bed. His lungs dragged in air like it was water thickened with ash. His skull still reverberated with the hymn — Seo Ha-young's hymn, the hymn without sound.
But now, layered beneath it, came another voice.
[ Chaos Division Sigil: Awakening Response. ]
[ You are not permitted to forget. ]
The eye pulsed once, and the world folded in on itself.
The infirmary dissolved.
For a moment, he stood beneath a sky of burning ash — the 148th regression. He knew it instantly, because Seo Ha-young was on her knees again, blood spilling from her throat. The hymn without sound slipped from her lips as she reached for him.
But before her hand could brush his, the scene shattered like glass.
Another regression. The 213th. This one was fire. A city tower collapsed behind him. His body staggered forward, a blade protruding from his own chest.
Shattered again.
The 401st regression. A mountain of corpses. His own hand carried the spear that built it. He remembered none of these while living them. But now, the flood came, each memory a fable carved into his marrow.
The dragon's eye burned.
[ Fable Recognition: 148th Regression → Hymn of the Silent Martyr. ]
[ Fable Recognition: 213th Regression → The Devouring Tongue. ]
[ Fable Recognition: 401st Regression → The Spear of Fallen Ashes. ]
Each line of text bled into his vision. Each dragged him deeper. He clutched his head until his fingernails drew blood across his scalp.
"Stop," he rasped.
But there was no mercy.
A cold hand touched his wrist.
Hae-won's eyes snapped open, and the infirmary returned.
Seo Ha-young sat beside him still. Her expression hadn't changed — sharp, cunning, faintly amused as if she'd caught him lost in another spiral.
But her fingers on his wrist grounded him. Warm. Real. Not bleeding.
"You're seeing it again, aren't you?" she asked quietly.
Her words felt too exact. He flinched.
The hymn pulsed beneath her voice. Alive. Dead. Alive. Dead.
He couldn't trust his sight. He couldn't trust his ears. He couldn't even trust his breath. The regressions whispered through him like worms gnawing marrow.
And then the dragon's eye pulsed again.
[ A new Fable stirs. ]
[ Regression 500: Manifestation Threshold Reached. ]
His chest seized.
This wasn't like the others. The weight was different. He felt his hand rising — not by will, but by command. The air before him rippled like water over a black mirror.
And from it, something began to emerge.
The outline of a sword.
Its hilt was bound in blackened cloth, as though the blade itself bled. Its edge flickered between steel and shadow. Whispers swarmed from it — not the screams of thousands, but the voices of seven.
Seven companions.
Every tone was familiar. Too familiar.
Seo Ha-young's voice. Yun Arin's voice. Others he couldn't place yet, but knew, bone-deep, he had once fought beside.
[ Fable: Sword of Cursed Salvation has manifested. ]
[ Condition: When wielded, you must choose. To save the world, sever the bonds that keep you human. ]
Hae-won's throat locked.
The sword's tip pointed down as though begging him to take it.
Seo's eyes narrowed, following his gaze. "What is that?"
She didn't see the text. She didn't hear the whispers. She only saw his trembling hand stretched toward the blade.
Her voice sharpened. "Hae-won. Look at me. Not it. Me."
But he couldn't. The voices in the blade grew louder.
"…end us if you must…"
"…I trust you, even in death…"
"…kill me before the world falls…"
His stomach turned to ice.
And for a moment, the entire infirmary faded again — this time, not into regression memories, but into possibility.
He stood at a crossroads of futures.
One where he raised the blade, and Seo Ha-young's head fell. One where the professors outside the door lay in their blood, their noble crests shattered. One where every companion he had yet to meet looked at him with trust, and he answered it with execution.
The sword shone in each.
Not as glory. Not as victory.
As ruin.
"Hae-won!"
Seo's voice broke the vision.
Her knee shot up again, slamming into his solar plexus. The breath ripped from his body, and the sword flickered — wavering, glitching, dissolving into threads of shadow before sinking back into the dark.
The dragon's eye closed halfway, slitted and unreadable.
[ Fable: Sword of Cursed Salvation suppressed. ]
[ Cost: Psychological stability reduced. ]
He collapsed back onto the sheets, coughing. Tears streaked down his face, though he didn't know if they were his or remnants of the regressions bleeding out.
Seo sat back, arms folded. "What did I just stop you from touching?"
Hae-won's lips trembled. He couldn't answer. Couldn't tell her the truth: that the sword wanted her blood.
The silence outside the door deepened, pressing against the wood until it creaked. Professors. Students. Nobles. All waiting. All whispering.
And inside the room, the dragon's eye never closed.
It waited.
The silence outside the infirmary was not silence at all.
It was the silence of too many voices swallowed at once, of an army holding breath. Every second that passed pressed heavier on the door. Hinges groaned, wood strained, the air thickened until Hae-won swore he could hear the heartbeat of every student, professor, and noble jammed against the corridor.
"…he's awake."
"…contain him—"
"…Chaos-born can't be allowed to breathe in peace…"
Whispers like gnats swarmed the cracks of the door, pouring into his skull until his temples throbbed.
Seo Ha-young glanced toward the noise and then back at him. Her smirk was thin, but it didn't reach her eyes this time. "Looks like the whole damn Academy's waiting to see if you explode."
Hae-won pressed the heel of his palm into his brow. His body was trembling, not from the stares outside but from the blade he'd almost touched. His fingers still twitched as though its hilt had burned them.
[ Fable: Sword of Cursed Salvation… dormant. ]
[ Cost of manifestation deferred. ]
Deferred. Not erased. Not gone.
The dragon's eye in his sleeve pulsed once, satisfied, then stilled.
Seo shifted in her chair, leaning forward until her face hovered inches from his. Her eyes, sharp and black as wet stone, fixed him in place. "Talk. What did I just stop you from grabbing?"
His lips parted. No words came. He couldn't tell her. Couldn't carve the weight into sound.
The truth would kill her before the blade did.
So he shook his head, clutching the torn sheets instead.
Seo's gaze lingered, long and hard, then narrowed further. "Fine. Don't talk. But don't think for a second I didn't see you reaching."
Her voice dropped, a blade hidden in velvet. "If you ever try that again while I'm in reach, I'll break your ribs before you even stand."
The threat should have cut him. Instead, it grounded him. Her cruelty was human. Manageable. A violence he could understand.
It was safer than the sword's whispers.
The door groaned suddenly.
A heavy thud struck from the other side.
The voices surged. "Professor—seal him—!" "If he manifests again—" "Contain Chaos!"
Another thud. Louder. The door buckled.
Seo's hand drifted to her belt, where no weapon hung. She had nothing but herself — but her posture suggested she was willing to bleed if it came to that.
Hae-won's breath hitched.
Not again. Not another regression where she would die for him.
The memory reeled back: 148th, her hymn bleeding into silence. 213th, her charred hand still reaching through fire. 401st, her body already buried beneath the corpses he'd made.
Every thread led to the same truth.
[ Fable Recognition: Seo Ha-young is the Martyr. ]
[ Probability of sacrifice: Absolute. ]
"No," he whispered.
The dragon's eye pulsed.
[ Regression Trigger Possible. ]
[ Infinite Regression: Awaiting consent. ]
His hand twitched. His breath quickened. The weight of five hundred lifetimes clawed at his chest.
If he regressed now, she might live.
But if he regressed now, she would still die.
Because she always died.
The door slammed.
This time, it splintered.
The infirmary filled with pale light as runic seals carved themselves across the walls, dripping like molten gold. Professors' voices boomed from beyond.
"Chaos-bearer! You will not unleash further destruction within these halls!"
Another voice, colder, noble-born, dripped venom. "By decree of the Academy, he is to be sealed. Open the door."
Seo rose from her chair, placing herself between Hae-won and the threshold. Her shadow fell across him, thin but unflinching.
"Over my corpse," she muttered.
And for a heartbeat, he saw it.
Her body crumpled. Her throat slit again. Her hymn without voice.
The 148th regression playing on loop.
[ Fable: Hymn of the Silent Martyr resonating. ]
[ Probability of re-enactment: Rising. ]
"No—" Hae-won's voice cracked. He pushed himself upright, muscles quaking.
The dragon's eye opened wider, threads splitting across his sleeve like veins.
The professors' seals ignited hotter. The students outside murmured prayers.
And within the rift of his vision, the sword appeared again.
The Sword of Cursed Salvation. Its whispers swelled.
"…better to end her now…"
"…better to kill the Martyr yourself, than let her bleed for you again…"
"…strike before the story repeats…"
The blade's hilt jutted toward him, gleaming with all the regressions that had led him here.
Seo's stance tightened at the door, her back to him. Unaware. Trusting.
The sword wanted her death. The world wanted his obedience.
And Cha Hae-won wanted neither.
His hand reached without permission.
Fingers grazed the hilt.
The whispers surged—
—and Seo moved.
She spun on him, faster than he expected. Her hand slammed his wrist against the mattress. Her knee rose again, merciless as before, driving straight into his solar plexus.
Pain detonated through his core. His lungs collapsed. The sword flickered, destabilizing, unraveling into shadows again.
Seo's face loomed over his, breath harsh, eyes narrowed to predatory slits.
"Snap out of it," she hissed. "I'm not dying for you. Not this time. Got it?"
Tears blurred his vision. Her words lodged in his chest like thorns.
Not this time.
But the regressions whispered otherwise.
And the dragon's eye never closed.
The door shuddered again. The final seals lit. The professors' chants reached crescendo.
The Academy was about to break in.
And inside, two people stood on the razor's edge — one cursed with infinite regression, one destined to bleed in every single one.
The Sword waited, humming in the marrow of the world.