'Third Point of view'
The mirror remained black.
Leon stared at the soul-binder, his heart hammering in his chest. The final image—Sylra's wide eyes, the blade through her chest, blood blooming like crimson petals—played again and again behind his eyes.
She was the only family he had left.
The only person who'd ever loved him for who he was, not what power he could give. And he'd kept her hidden for that reason. In the first timeline, Sylra died in a fire blamed on rebels. But now he knew better.
"Someone knew," Leon muttered. "They were watching the mirror... tracking her."
The system's mechanical voice echoed suddenly.
[Deviation detected. Unknown variable 'Sylra Drayven' encountered. Adjusting narrative parameters.]
His fists clenched. "Don't you dare touch her. I swear, I'll burn this entire world down if she dies again."
[Warning acknowledged. No direct intervention authorized... for now.]
He let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to stand straighter. The mirror was dark, but not broken. That meant one thing:
Sylra wasn't dead. Not yet.
Not if he moved fast.
---
By morning, Leon had mobilized his private cavalry.
In the great stone courtyard of Veylor Manor, dozens of elite riders awaited him in midnight armor, their crimson-crested helms glinting in the dawn. General Kael, mounted atop a massive black destrier, rode to Leon's side.
"We ride west," Leon commanded. "To the ruins of Old Verradin."
Kael frowned. "That's abandoned territory. No one's lived there in decades."
"Exactly," Leon replied grimly. "That's where I hid Sylra. That's where the assassin struck. And if my guess is right, they're still there—cleaning up."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You think it's the Church?"
"No," Leon muttered. "The Church doesn't kill in the dark. They light pyres and call it justice. This was someone else. Someone working in the shadows of the main story... someone who wasn't supposed to be here."
---
By midday, they reached the ruins.
Old Verradin was little more than scorched bones and wind-whipped ash. Once a village known for rare ores and alchemical herbs, it had been abandoned after a mana-quake cracked its leyline. But Leon had seen it differently—a perfect hiding place. Out of sight. Off the map.
His men spread out, searching the rubble.
Within minutes, Kael shouted. "Over here!"
Leon rushed to the sound—through a half-collapsed stone doorway and into the husk of what had once been a cellar. Blood. Still fresh.
And footprints—small ones—leading toward a broken tunnel behind the stone rack.
"She ran," Leon whispered. His chest clenched. "She's alive."
Kael knelt, examining the tracks. "But someone chased her. Two men, heavier. One's bleeding. She fought back."
Leon's lips twitched. "Of course she did. She's a Drayven."
He turned to Kael. "I want hounds. I want scouts. I want every blood-hunter within three counties sweeping these tunnels. Bring her back. Now."
Kael nodded. "And if we catch the bastards who came after her?"
Leon's eyes burned red. "You don't kill them. Not yet. First, I want names."
---
Meanwhile, far to the south in the capital, a different kind of storm was brewing.
Inside the marble sanctum of the Royal Assembly, Hero Rael slammed his gauntlet against the oaken table, sending scrolls scattering.
"You knew this would happen!" he growled, pointing at the Grand Vizier. "Drayven was executed. I watched him burn. Explain how he's back!"
The Vizier, a thin man with sunken eyes and silver spectacles, calmly adjusted his robes. "My sources say he's moving faster, making choices he never did in the original sequence. We believe... someone altered the timeline."
Rael's eye twitched. "You mean the system failed?"
The Vizier did not answer directly. Instead, he motioned to a sealed scroll. "This arrived last night. From the Shadow Archivists."
Rael broke the seal. As he read, his expression darkened.
Project: Fallen Flame Subject: Leon Drayven Status: Temporal Disruption Detected Directive: Recontain. If impossible, eliminate.
Rael folded the paper slowly.
"I killed him once. I'll do it again."
---
Back in the northern wilds, Leon sat alone in a cave beside a dying fire.
He needed to think.
The system wasn't omniscient—it had clearly failed to track Sylra until now. That meant it had limitations. Maybe... maybe he could find a way to break it entirely. But how?
And what if someone else was interfering—another reborn? Could Rael be more than just the Hero?
Was he... a player, too?
He stood, pacing.
That was when the flames flared blue—and the mirror in his satchel began to vibrate.
Leon yanked it free.
Sylra's face appeared again—but this time, she was covered in dirt, her arm bandaged, her breathing shallow.
"Leon..." she rasped.
"Where are you?"
"I escaped... but they're close. I think—someone hired shadowmancers. They knew about the soul-binder. They're tracking it."
Leon's gut twisted. That meant even this call could be putting her in danger.
"I'll find you," he swore. "Just hold on."
She nodded, tears in her crimson eyes. "You always say that."
The mirror blinked—then went dark again.
Leon turned to Kael, who had just entered. "We change plans. I'm going in alone."
Kael frowned. "What? You said—"
"I know what I said. But they're hunting her through the soul-binder. That means if I bring anyone, they'll sense it. I'm the only one who knows the tunnels well enough to stay hidden."
Kael looked like he wanted to argue. But then, he simply nodded.
"If you die," he muttered, "I'll resurrect you and kill you myself."
---
Leon entered the tunnels before midnight.
The air was thick with damp earth and lingering mana residue. Every footstep echoed like a drumbeat in his chest.
He moved like a ghost, cloaking himself in voidfire magic—one of the forbidden arts he'd mastered too late in his last life. Now, it kept him invisible to most detection spells.
Hours passed.
Until finally—he saw it. A flicker of movement. A limp form, huddled behind a collapsed cart.
"Sylra."
He rushed forward—but stopped mid-step.
The figure shifted.
Too tall. Too broad.
And then it turned.
Rael.
No armor. No holy glow. Just a smile—wide and cold.
"Took you long enough."
Leon's hands flared with flame. "How did you find her?"
Rael didn't answer. Instead, he tossed something.
Leon caught it by reflex—then stared.
It was Sylra's pendant. The one she'd made him when they were children. Cracked. Covered in blood.
Leon's heart stopped.
"No."
Rael stepped forward, sword unsheathed. "You changed the script, Leon. So now I'm changing it too."
Leon's voice shook with fury. "Where is she?"
Rael smiled. "I buried her. Deep."
Leon roared—and the cave lit up in red fire.
---