Nobody moved.
"Today... is your twelfth."
The words echoed through the council chamber. Twelve days. Rin instinctively counted backward.
The forest. Meeting Kaelith. The fortress. The banquet. The siege. Ji-ho. The darkness. The dream.
Only twelve days. It felt like months.
"...You're wrong."
His own voice sounded distant.
"I'm still alive."
Aiden nodded.
"I know."
"You just said—"
"I said the others weren't."
"The others..."
Rin struggled with the words.
"...were me?"
Aiden hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod.
"Not copies. Not illusions. You. The version born each time the story began again."
Silence settled over the room. Even Elder Veyron looked unable to speak. Lucien was the first to break it.
"...You claim history has repeated itself."
"Many times. And each time..."
He looked toward Rin.
"...he dies."
Aiden lowered his eyes.
"Usually."
The single word hit harder than a lengthy explanation ever could.
