The bustle of the Opes market continued to surge around them like an indifferent river. Merchants hawking the prices of their wares, the clatter of dozens of hooves on stone cobblestones, the aroma of warm bread and roasted spices blending into the mild late-morning air. A picture of everyday life perfect, sunlit, and utterly incompatible with the horror they both had just endured.
Isabelle remained motionless for a few seconds, her hand frozen midair, still reaching toward the silk drapery. Her face, usually proud and composed, had transformed into a mask of pale plaster. Her pupils, black voids dilated at the center of trembling irises, stared at Hayjin as if looking at a ghost unearthed from the ruins of the earth.
Beneath her plum-purple velvet dress, Isabelle's chest began to heave in a frantic, erratic rhythm.
"H-Hayjin...?" she repeated. Her voice was no longer the stern tone of the royal housekeeper; it was a thin, childlike rasp, fractured by terror.
Without thinking, her feet moving as if walking on thin glass, Isabelle took three steps toward him. Instinctively, she brought her hands to the center of her chest, fingers digging desperately into the fabric of her dress in search of the six stab wounds that had torn through her lungs and heart just a fraction of a second prior.
There was no blood. No shredded flesh. But the physical memory of the steel piercing her torso was so crisp, so excruciating, that Isabelle began to lapse into total panic.
"Hayjin... w-what... what is happening?" she stammered, drawing even closer, her breath turning into hyperventilated gasps. "I... I was... I was..."
She froze inches away from him. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, flailing in the air before clutching the sleeves of Hayjin's shirt.
"Hayjin, tell me! Are we really dead?!" she demanded point-blank, her voice pitching an octave higher into pure hysteria. "Am I dead?! Are you dead?! Are... are we in heaven or hell?! Why are we here?! Who was that person who killed us?! Who was that person in your room?!"
The questions tumbled from her mouth like an incoherent waterfall, relentless and unbroken, interrupted only by sharp coughs from a lack of air. Anguish was literally choking her windpipe. The sensation of her own blood filling her lungs was still right there, vivid and throbbing in her sensory memory.
Hayjin, despite the visceral terror shattering his soul and the fresh memory of his head disintegrating in limbo, realized he had to act. If Isabelle kept shouting in the middle of the market, the city guards would surround them in less than two minutes.
He placed the palms of his hands gently yet firmly on the girl's rigid shoulders, feeling her violent shudders.
"Isabelle... listen to me. Calm down, please," Hayjin said, striving to inject firmness into his voice, though his own lips were trembling. "Look at me. Isabelle, look at me! Breathe!"
But the housekeeper had slipped far beyond the threshold of rational control.
Faced with the warm, tangible reality of Hayjin's body, the dam of her aristocratic composure shattered completely. Isabelle broke down into ugly, violent, frightening weeping. Small, choked sobs tore from her throat, preventing her from uttering a single coherent word. She tried to speak, tried to demand more answers, but only agonizing laments and ragged gasps of air escaped her mouth.
"Shhh... it's okay... stay calm, everything will be fine," Hayjin repeated over and over, pulling her close to shield her from the crowd's prying eyes.
Isabelle offered no resistance. On the contrary, she threw herself against his chest, clinging to Hayjin with terrifying strength, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket as if he were her sole lifeline amidst a stormy sea.
"I'm scared..." She buried her face in Hayjin's shoulder, her hot tears instantly soaking the fabric of his shirt. "Hayjin... I'm so scared... everything was so cold... he stabbed me... he stabbed me in the chest..."
Hayjin tightened his grip around her shoulders, shutting his eyes for a second. An icy shiver ran down his spine as he admitted the harsh reality of their situation to himself.
"I'm scared too, Isabelle," Hayjin whispered under his breath, tilting his head close to her ear. "I'm terrified out of my mind. I'm scared to close my eyes for even a second. But listen... this won't help us fix things. Crying here won't save us if that monster shows up again. Right now, we have to find a way to figure out what's going on and a way to solve this. We need to stay sharp. Do you hear me?"
His words, spoken with desperate groundedness, managed to cut through the fog of Isabelle's panic.
The girl drew a long, shuddering breath. Slowly, she lifted her face from Hayjin's chest. Her flushed cheeks were streaked with tears and her light makeup was slightly smudged around her dark eyes, but her gaze, though still deeply traumatized, began to regain a semblance of rationality.
Isabelle stopped weeping, wiping her cheeks frantically with the back of her sleeve. Then, almost instinctively, she didn't let go of him; she held Hayjin firmly by the hand, gripping it with an almost painful tightness.
That prolonged contact, however, had not gone unnoticed.
Onlookers around them, merchants at the fabric stalls, and a couple of shoppers had paused to watch the scene. Seeing a high-ranking noblewoman of the royal administration weeping in the arms of a low-tier young adventurer right in the middle of the city market was an unusual sight.
"Hey, young man... everything alright over there?" asked a burly fruit merchant from across the street, crossing his arms over a stained apron. "The lady seems quite shaken. You're not causing her trouble, are you?"
Another townsman stepped forward, recognizing the girl's features and attire. "Wait... isn't that Lady Isabelle? The princess's housekeeper! My lady, do you need help? Should we call the royal guard?"
Hayjin turned toward the crowd, putting on a mask of forced composure that took an immense mental effort.
"Everything's fine!" Hayjin called out, raising his free hand in a reassuring gesture and cracking a strained smile. "Everything is fine, really! We just had a fight... a stupid personal argument about errands and work, but it's all sorted out. No need to call anyone."
The townsfolk still eyed the boy skeptically before addressing Isabelle directly, seeking confirmation from her.
"Lady Isabelle? Are you certain? Is everything truly alright?"
Isabelle swallowed with difficulty, forcing her facial muscles to recompose themselves. She gave a stiff nod, attempting to reclaim her usual aristocratic tone, though her voice still came out slightly cracked.
"Yes... everything is fine, thank you," Isabelle replied, throwing a stern look at the merchant to dispel any further curiosity. "It was merely an unpleasant misunderstanding between myself and my associate. Your concern does you credit, but you may return to your business."
Reassured by the woman's formal response, the merchants shook their heads and slowly returned to their stalls, as the hum of the crowd resumed its normal cadence.
As soon as the onlookers turned away, Hayjin squeezed Isabelle's hand in return and leaned closer.
"Now we need to go back," he whispered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the road leading to the upper districts of Opes. "Right now."
The two set off at a brisk pace, hurrying back to the castle as fast as possible.
They weren't just walking; it was practically a forced march. Hayjin's legs moved on instinct, while his eyes frantically scanned every alley, window, and shadow along their path. Paranoia gnawed at his stomach: if the assassin was already in the city, any passerby in a dark cloak could be their executioner. Isabelle, for her part, didn't stray a single millimeter from his side, her hand clasped in his so tightly that both of their knuckles had turned completely white.
They traversed the long stone avenue ascending toward the royal fortress, passing through the main entrance gates. They didn't pause for a single moment, not even before the guard posts whose sentries seeing them streak past like that, with Isabelle visibly shaken and their hands tightly laced together watched them with profound bewilderment and shock.
They passed through the palace's massive bronze doors, penetrating deep into the inner gardens that led toward the servants' wing and the guest quarters.
Right at the center of the wisteria courtyard, beneath the shade of a grand marble portico, a group of people was chatting casually.
There was young Wren, seated on a stone bench attempting to refine a spell with her grimoire; there was Zhilian, leaning against a pillar with crossed arms and her usual watchful gaze; and a little further off...
Hearing Hayjin and Isabelle's frantic footsteps on the gravel, everyone turned around.
"Oh! Isabelle! Hayjin!" Wren chirped with a radiant smile, raising a hand in greeting. "Back from the market already? Did you find the fabrics that..."
Wren froze mid-sentence. Her smile vanished the moment she took in their appearance: flushed cheeks, agitated strides, and the palpable tension radiating from them.
Isabelle knew she had to offer an explanation to keep anyone from becoming suspicious or following them. She stopped a discreet distance from the group, stiffening her back and struggling to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill from her dark eyes.
"Wren... Zhilian..." Isabelle said, her voice chilled by a monumental effort. "Forgive us. Hayjin and I will be unavailable for a while. We must go to my room to discuss a very grave mistake he made while we were at the market."
The explanation, rigid as it was, fit perfectly into the image the others held of Isabelle: the strict housekeeper sternly reprimanding an adventurer unaccustomed to royal etiquette.
Wren looked at Hayjin with an expression of deep sympathy, shaking her head softly.
"Oh no... Hayjin, what did you mess up this time?" the young girl murmured with a rueful sigh. "Good luck... I'm sure if you apologize sincerely, Isabelle won't be too harsh."
Hayjin barely managed a response, settling for a stiff nod and an unintelligible mumble: "Y-yeah... thanks, Wren..."
But while Wren and Elara accepted the explanation without asking questions, someone else was not convinced in the slightest.
Zhilian uncrossed her arms. Her razor-sharp eyes scanned every inch of Hayjin and Isabelle. She caught the microscopic quivers running through the girl's shoulders, noted the cold sweat glistening on Hayjin's forehead, and above all, observed how their hands broke apart only at that exact second with a trembling gesture.
"A mistake at the market...?" Zhilian thought, her eyes narrowing. "Isabelle looks like she's seen death face-to-face, and Hayjin looks like a walking corpse. Something isn't right..."
Zhilian didn't utter a word, but she kept her gaze locked on them as Isabelle gestured for Hayjin to follow her to her room, striding quickly toward the corridor of the private wing.
The moment they crossed the threshold into Isabelle's bedroom, the solid wooden door was locked behind them with a double turn of the key.
The metallic click of the deadbolt was the spark that ignited the emotional powder keg inside the girl.
Isabelle backed away from the door, took two steps toward the center of the room, and descended into utter, total panic.
Her hands clutched her hair as a devastating panic attack took full possession of her body. Her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees on the heavy Persian rug, beginning to hyperventilate terrifiedly. Her eyes darted erratically from one corner of the room to another, completely unable to lock onto reality. Nothing made sense to her anymore.
"It's impossible... it's impossible..." Isabelle babbled, shaking her head violently as tears streamed down her cheeks once more. "I... I felt the knife! I felt it! Hayjin, what really happened?!"
Hayjin immediately dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbing her wrists to stop her from pulling at her hair.
"Isabelle, look at me! Breathe! You have to breathe!"
"Who was that person?!" she shrieked in a broken whisper, her throat aching from the violence of her sobs. "Why did he kill me?! Why did he kill you?! And above all... WHY DID WE GO BACK IN TIME?! Does any of this make sense?! Have we gone mad?! Is this an illusion from some forbidden magic or demonic spell?! Answer me, please!"
Hayjin remained silent for a long, agonizing second. He looked into the desperation filling her dark eyes, realizing he could no longer keep anything hidden from her. This girl had died because of him, dragged directly into his personal hell, and she deserved the truth no matter how absurd it sounded.
"I... I don't fully understand it myself," Hayjin admitted, lowering his eyes under a weight of paralyzing guilt. "I don't know who that killer is. I don't know where he came from or why he wants to slaughter me so viciously in my room."
He raised his eyes again, fixing Isabelle with ruthless gravity.
"But one thing I have figured out," the boy continued, his voice trembling. "Every time I die... I can turn back time."
Isabelle's eyes widened, freezing mid-sob. "W-what...?"
"It's the truth," Hayjin confirmed. "It already happened to me when Zhilian and I came out of the dungeon."
Isabelle stared at him as though he were speaking a foreign language. "In... in the dungeon?"
"Yes," Hayjin explained, memory summoning those nightmarish moments once again. "I died that time, too. My head exploded... and then I came back slightly earlier in time, before I died. I thought it was a curse tied only to me. I thought I was the only one who kept the memories of my deaths. But this time... this time you were close to me. You were holding my hand when they cut my throat. And for some reason... you came back with me, remembering everything."
Hayjin shook his head bitterly, letting go of her wrists to cover his face with his hands.
"I don't know how it happens, though," Hayjin rasped, crushed by his own powerlessness. "I don't know who wants me dead, and above all, I don't know WHY. I don't know if it's an... enemy of mine... let's say, an assassin sent by some noble in Opes, or if it's something even sicker... All I know is that I'm a magnet for disaster. And you... you died because of me."
At those words, Isabelle's panic didn't vanish; instead, it morphed into an ancient, childlike, visceral terror for her own survival.
She curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her knees to her chest and weeping with a desperation he had never seen before.
"I don't want to die..." Isabelle sobbed, her head buried in her arms. "Hayjin, please... I don't want to die again! I don't want to feel that dying sensation ever again! It was horrible... the cold... the lack of air... the blood choking my throat... I can't take it! I don't want to go back to that room! I don't want to relive that moment!"
Seeing the proud, strong, and rigid court woman reduced to emotional ruins struck the deepest chords of Hayjin's heart.
Without a word, Hayjin stepped forward, reached out, and embraced her tightly, holding her against his chest on the room's floor.
Isabelle buried her face in his shoulder once more, clinging to him as if he were her last defense against death.
"Rest easy..." Hayjin whispered to her in a deep, warm voice imbued with desperate resolve. "Rest easy, Isabelle. Everything will be alright. I swear it on everything I hold dear... I will find a way to fix this. I won't let that bastard touch you ever again. You won't die anymore. We will break out of this nightmare, I promise you."
Isabelle continued weeping against his chest while Hayjin gently rocked her, striving to instill a sense of security he himself did not possess.
Outside the room, the corridor of the private wing was enveloped in absolute silence.
A few inches from the carved wood of the locked door, a shadow stood motionless on the marble floor.
Zhilian was there.
After seeing them cross the courtyard in such an unnatural manner, the young woman hadn't bought Isabelle's explanation. She had followed their footsteps in silence, moving like a ghost through the palace galleries without being noticed by anyone.
Now, her ear pressed lightly against the ebony wood of the door, Zhilian was overhearing every single word from the other side.
Her golden eyes, usually calm and analytical, had widened in pure shock. Hayjin's words "Every time I die... I can turn back time... it happened when we came out of the dungeon too..." echoed in her mind like a bolt from the blue.
Zhilian's fist tightened around the hilt of her rapier as her breath caught in her throat.
Hayjin's secret was no longer his alone.