Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Boasting beautiful graphics, intriguing storylines, and more importantly—extremely hot love interests, Heart4Heart quickly became the most popular dating sim on the market.

It tells the story of a commoner girl who is blessed with powerful healing magic and is lucky enough to be accepted into the Magic Academy. There she meets Till, the son of a Baron and the epitome of the childhood friend trope, Ivan, the Duke of the North who hides a soft heart underneath his cold exterior, Luka the Crown Prince whose playboy demeanor covers a much darker soul, and many other love interests. All in all, Heart4Heart was an amalgamation of horribly overused tropes and recycled dialogue, but in a way that made it incredibly endearing to its audience.

Till is not part of this audience.

He doesn’t know what prompts him to grab a copy of the game on his way home, but the terrible loading music and the pink heart-filled screen already have him regretting it. Internally he mourns the twenty dollars he spent.

Still, he presses start and hopes it’s not as bad as it seems.

Eight hours later, Till is ready to take everything bad he said about this game back. It’s a goddamn masterpiece.

Underneath the glitter and shine, there are several intricate murder plots and surprisingly insightful social commentary. He wishes there were less intricate murder plots though because he’s getting rather tired of getting stabbed at every turn. Or poisoned. Or drowned. Or strangled by a random ferret. The writers were clearly on the good stuff; these deaths were getting creative.

On a whim, he had picked Ivan as his target since romancing a character who shared his name felt a little creepy and Luka as a guy was even more creepy. He plays as the commoner girl named Mizi, who’s clumsy, bubbly, and a little naive, but as a series of murders overtake the academy, she grows into Till’s favorite character.

It starts with Sua, Mizi’s first friend at the academy and in Till’s opinion, barely concealed lesbian crush. Mizi thinks Sua is beautiful, Sua thinks Mizi is adorable, and something something, honestly Till was not paying attention to all this, slice-of-life was never his genre.

It's all fine and dandy until an abrupt turn when Sua is found dead in the ballroom, dangling from the chandelier like an angel without her wings. That’s the part that really clues Till into the fact that this isn’t a normal romance game.

Yes, the player must complete one of the love interest’s routes to win, but with each subsequent murder, the list of available love interests only grows shorter. Every time the attraction bar had raised above 50%, the character had ended up dead and Till was ready to tear out his hair in frustration.

After dying once again—though to be accurate Sua, Till the character, and Ivan had died before Mizi had followed—he faces the Game Over screen. Then, it blinks bright, neon pink, replaced with something new.

In his bleary state of half-awakeness, Till searches for the new game button.

He faces a cheerful [You Are Out Of Lives. Please Wait To Play Again! ] instead, complete with its own mini soundtrack and sparkling hearts. Till blinks, he hadn’t known the game had limited tries. He gets it though, they have to make money somehow.

He looks at the time at the corner of his screen, sees the lovely 4:13 am, and resolves to continue it tomorrow. Fuck, he has an 8 am in the morning. He really should have stopped playing earlier. He hasn’t gotten any closer to finishing a route or figuring out the killer.

In his exhaustion, he forgets to turn off the game. The pink screen glows brighter.

…

[You Are Out Of Lives. Please Wait To Play Again!]

…

[Please Wait While Game Updates!]

…

[New Game Starting!]

…

The lights are so bright.

Till groans, rubbing his eyes as he wonders if he left the lamp on. Fuck. The electricity bill is going to be high as hell.

He props himself up against soft pillows. Pillows that he does not own. Till’s eyes burst open.

What the fuck.

He looks around at what appears to be a college dorm on steroids. A college dorm if the college was rich as fuck and Barbie was the head designer. A dorm that also looks suspiciously familiar. He squints.

Then it hits—it looks like the dorm rooms from Heart4Heart.

He starts laughing because actually, what the fuck.

“Are you alright?” A voice asks from his left. Oh yeah, these are shared dorms. He forgot about that part.

Till whips around, coming face to face with quite possibly the most attractive man he has ever met. Okay look he might have said he only went for Ivan’s route because the man was the least creepy of the bunch, but honestly, Ivan being, to put it simply, hot as hell, definitely helped.

Till is forced to avert his eyes, this is too much for what he presumes was three hours of sleep. Maybe he’s finally lost it.

He hopes he hasn’t died, spending his afterlife in the dating sim he played right before the end seems vaguely pathetic, even for him. Damn it he has an 8am to get to though, maybe death is preferable over that.

He has to take a moment to collect himself. What does one do when they are either hallucinating from a lack of sleep or arguably worse, randomly dropped into a dating sim where everyone dies? Hypothetical question. For a hypothetical situation that is looking a lot less hypothetical by the minute.

Ivan continues to stare at him with his unfairly sculpted face and dark piercing eyes. Look, Till is mid-breakdown right now he does not need this judgment. Belatedly, he remembers Ivan had asked him a question.

“Yeah, I’m alright man. Perfectly cool. Never been better, “ Till says in a way that makes it clear he is not alright nor perfectly cool and has definitely been better.

Ivan—bless his heart Till knew there was a reason he chose his route—doesn’t question it.

Chapter Text

Till doesn’t think he has the imagination to make his hallucinations this creative. 

He had autopiloted his way through the academy, following Ivan around until he reached a class Ivan lovingly called Waste of Time and Space but the shiny name plaque called Magic Theory 1A . Magic that Till is pretty sure his entirely human self does not have. 

Maybe his hallucinations are a trauma response to all the times the teacher called on him in class and he had no clue what was going on. Karma's a bitch they say. 

He picks a seat at random, unsure of what he’s supposed to be doing, and it’s just his luck that Ivan chooses the one right next to him. 

Till sneaks a cautious peek sideways, only to catch Ivan already looking at him. The bastard has a smirk on his face and Till is hit with the sudden urge to wrap his arms around Ivan’s neck. Huh, maybe these hallucinations are making him violent as well. 

“This class is always so boring, ” Ivan says and Till nods along because what else is he supposed to do?

“I don’t understand why they repeat it, most of us learned this when we were children,” Ivan continues. Till just sits there. His childhood was spent learning the ABC’s not whatever complicated demon-summoning looking diagrams the professor was doodling on the board. He feels about as out of place as a fish trying to become an Olympic gymnast.

Ivan must realize it as well because his smirk only grows. 

To cement the fact that the Universe hates him, the professor chooses this moment to ask Till a question.

“You in the back. Can you tell me the most important aspect of magic?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Till tries to think about all the cliche magic tropes he knows and comes up short. He’s pretty sure they don't use wands and owls here, the developers couldn't afford a copyright case. He’s really starting to regret skipping all the cutscenes at the beginning of the game now. 

“Not killing people?” Till ends up saying with a sheepish shrug. He hears a huff of laughter from his right, Ivan that bastard. It wasn’t that bad of an answer in his opinion, not killing people is very important in general. 

The professor clearly does not share his opinion because she glares at him instead. 

“Very funny. You may tell that joke to the infirmary when you’re trying to explain why you accidentally killed a classmate,” she walks to his desk, “to answer the question, control is the most important aspect of magic, after all, magic is all about balance.”

“Disrupt the balance and you will have to pay the price.” 

Till swears he could hear a pin drop in the following silence. Damn, this must be a plot point or something he can practically hear the ominous music. 

He quickly nods and prays for her to turn her attention elsewhere. Except, she’s gone oddly still as well. Internally Till groans, he isn’t an idiot. He gets the point; this is a really important part of the plot. He can practically feel pink exclamation points popping up. 

He quickly revises that idea when the whole classroom, including the professor towering over him, blurs at its edges. For one glorious second, Till thinks the madness is over before he’s forced to close his eyes as the entire world tilts on its axis.

When he blinks away the blurriness he is no longer in the classroom. He looks around, seeing what appears to be a grand ballroom, and in a chilling moment of realization, he remembers what ballroom this is. 

It’s the one where Sua dies.

And when he looks up, he sees her—dangling from the chandelier, dark hair blowing from some nonexistent breeze, and pale academy uniform almost glittering in the light. Her eyes are wide open, coated with a matte sheen that eliminates all possibility of life. 

It’s those eyes that stare directly into his soul. 

Involuntarily, bile rises to his throat. He can’t move, torn between wanting to run towards her and wanting to run as far away as he can. 

Across the room hundreds of grayed-out forms of students gather around her, all in various stages of shock and horror. None of them seem to see him. 

A shock of pink hair darts its way between figures. 

Mizi’s scream pierces through the air, breaking the silence. He sees her fear, and then the fear hardens to resolve. She channels her power into Sua’s dangling corpse, but it’s no use. The dead can not be healed. 

It’s a trainwreck Till can’t bring himself to look away from. Mizi’s tears flow freely down her face, as she clutches Sua’s pale hands and begs her to come back, each plea punctuated with a sob that sounds as if her heart is being ripped out. Then again, it’s Sua. Sua was Mizi’s everything. 

Ping! A light pink glowing box appears. It’s identical to the ones from Heart4Heart.

[ In two days, Sua will die ] 

The you must save her goes unwritten. 

Then the world is tilting and shaking again, rising with the ebb and flow of tides Till can feel but not see. The nausea overtakes him and when he opens his eyes, he’s back, sprawled against the floor of the Magic Theory 1A Class. 

What the fuck.  

He must have said that out loud because the professor shoots him a scandalized look. Sue him. You try going on the Universe’s own custom-made Till-sized roller-coaster ride into the future. 

It’s at this point that Till is forced to admit that maybe this is far more than a little hallucination. Maybe he’s actually stuck in this god-forsaken game. And maybe, just maybe, he’s been given the impossible mission to save them all. 

Before he can start spiraling Ivan pokes him out of his thoughts. 

“What happened?”

When Till looks around everyone appears a little shaken, eyeing him with wariness. He makes eye contact with Sua in the back and reflexively flinches. Her lilac eyes sharpen in concern. He hadn’t noticed that she was here too, though he supposes in the game the students had mostly shared all of their classes. Still, he can’t shake the memories of milky eyes and pale, sallow skin, body swaying from a chandelier. 

Till has never been one to beat around the bush though. “Hey don’t take this the wrong way but I think I just saw the future.”

Till expects shock. Disbelief. People telling him to quit joking around and tell the truth. What he does not expect is Ivan rolling his eyes, “ Obviously. What did you see though?”

“The fuck do you mean obviously? Do people normally pass out and then start seeing visions? If that’s the case what we really need here is therapy.” Till doesn’t think it’s possible but Ivan looks even more exasperated. 

‘I didn’t think I’d have to explain your own powers to you, idiot. You’re a prophet. How else do you think we passed Divination last year?”

Till certainly feels like an idiot. He really, sincerely regrets skipping the cutscenes now. 

Magic was cool when people got to wave their hands and control water or something. Magic was a lot less cool when Till was watching one of the main characters die in a dating sim that is somehow now his reality. 

The Professor takes this as her cue to resume class again, telling Till to sit back in his seat, and continuing on with her lecture about … well … complicated chalk shapes and an odd-looking balance scale from what Till could figure out, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to care. 

It makes sense that he would have some kind of magic. It was an academy of magic after all; if Mizi had the power of healing the rest of them all had to have unique abilities as well. Except, if the original Till had the power to see the future, what the fuck is happening now, playing a dating sim one second and then living it the next. Seeing the future couldn’t even begin to encapsulate what was going on. 

Never mind the whole thing with Ivan. They were partners for the Divination class last year? He doesn’t remember the two being friends in the game. TIll was Mizi’s childhood friend and Ivan was one of Mizi’s love interests. He’s pretty sure the two were not originally friends. 

Till puts his head in his hands and groans. Ivan pats him sympathetically. He should’ve noticed how familiar Ivan acted with him, but he had thought it was just because they were roommates. 

The class ends and Ivan follows Till out, hand pressed lightly to his back, guiding him through the hallways. Till hadn’t realized how touchy of a person Ivan was. In the game, he was portrayed as an untouchable stone-cold figure whose frozen heart was thawed out by the warmth of the female lead. 

“Till! How was your class?” Mizi’s bright voice exclaims from behind him. 

Till turns, smiling unconsciously. She is as sweet as she seemed in the game: light pink hair trailing behind her and a bright smile lighting her pretty face. It’s a sharp contrast with how he had last seen her in his vision, her tear-stained face stricken with grief. He wills those thoughts away. 

“It was nice-

“He passed out and then the professor got mad at him,” Ivan interrupts, snaggletooth on full display as he smirks. Till kicks him in the shins. 

“Oh no, are you alright?” Mizi asks worried, but before Till can reassure her Ivan interrupts again, “Speaking of which, what did you see in the future anyway?”

If Till didn’t know better he’d think Ivan was doing it on purpose, but alas, it’s more likely no one taught him manners in his spoiled upbringing. What was he again, a duke or something?

Till opens his mouth to respond, because to hell with it they already know he can see the future, but no sound comes out. He tries again, but it's as if his vocal cords are contracted by some unknown force. 

He snaps his mouth shut. 

Seriously? Isn’t this terribly cliche? What even is the point of seeing the future if you can’t say what happens? He curses the game developers. 

Ivan and Mizi look back confused. 

Oh. 

So maybe not being able to talk about it isn’t normal. Maybe this is a Till-only feature that’s because of the whole stealing the body of a character in a dating-sim thing. 

He frantically mimes something and they get the meaning. He can’t speak. 

They both look as if they have more questions but they’ve reached the second class of the day and it’s just his luck that Advanced Divination stares right back at him.

As the three of them enter the classroom, Till has just enough time to wonder why Mizi wasn’t in their first class. He’s pretty sure they’re all supposed to have the same beginner courses, after all. 

Chapter Text

If Till had to rank the two classes he took today, they would be fighting for third place because if Magic Theory 1A was a mindfuck then Advanced Divination was plain bullshit. 

The classroom was beautiful: an indigo night sky dotted with flickering stars for a ceiling and ivy vines trailing from oak walls. Opalescent crystal balls flowered from buds decorating the vines—and wait a minute those are fucking crystal balls. Like straight out of tarot card mind-reading tepee crystal balls. 

Till does not think he’s going to like this class very much. 

Besides, he’s still stuck on his vision of the future. How is he, whose greatest skill is finishing university assignments last minute, supposed to stop someone’s murder? He barely passed Modern Literature last year, he seriously doubts he’s cut out to be a hero.

Well, at least the classroom design is nice. If they’re all going to die he expects an extravagant funeral. 

The professor asks them to pair up for an activity and immediately Mizi turns to Till but before she can say anything Ivan has already draped an arm possesively around him. “Don’t you have a certain someone to ask?” Ivan eyes Sua pointedly. “Leave Till for me, I’ll take care of him.”

Till opens his mouth to tell Ivan that he can take care of himself thank you very much, but he’s interrupted by the little eep Mizi lets out. 

“It’s not that simple!”, she whisper-yells, with a tone that makes it clear this is a conversation they’ve had many times. 

Ivan smirks. “Certainly seems that simple.”

Mizi’s cheeks are flushed pink as she fiddles with her hair, staring at Sua with wide doe eyes. “B-but what if she says no? What if she already has a partner and she thinks I’m weird? Or what if she doesn’t want to because I’m not a noble and it would be beneath her—

“Sua would never. Breathe and go for it,” Till breaks her off mid-ramble. It’s a lie, Sua would say no in a heartbeat if any of them asked, probably complete with a Why the hell are you asking me? Sit back down .

Nevertheless, he shoots a hopefully reassuring smile. It’s Mizi asking and he knows for a fact that Sua will adore her, more than adore her. She’s willing to sacrifice everything for Mizi—and in the end, she does. It’s a sobering thought: Sua will die in two days, her demise starting the chain reaction that leads to all of their deaths as well. 

Nope, he decides, not if he has anything to say about it. How hard could stopping a murder in two days really be? 

Impossible , his mind supplies.

But then again so is this whole fucking situation. 

Mizi seems to have made up her mind. 

“You’re right. I’m going to ask her,” she says puffing up like a little bird and taking the first few steps, but not before squeezing Till’s hand nervously. Ivan’s draped arm tightens around him, “Look at our Mizi, all grown up now. Remember to be safe and look both ways sweetie,” Ivan teases. 

Till shoves Ivan off of him with a sigh. 

The two watch as Mizi nervously makes her way to Sua’s desk and asks her something. Sua’s normally impassive face softens with a tiny smile, nodding in agreement. Mizi immediately perks up at her response, then she’s frantically gesturing and the two girls are quickly lost in their own little world. 

Wow, Till feels like he’s intruding on something and they’re sitting half a classroom away.

He scrambles to rearrange his ideas. So it wasn’t just homosexual subtext, Mizi and Sua were definitely more than friends. For that matter though, Ivan doesn’t seem to harbor any sort of romantic interest towards Mizi, which is a little strange since he was the only route Till had gone for in the original game. If anything, they seemed like siblings.

Till, Ivan, and Mizi though? They were clearly close friends. Till doesn’t know if it's the original body’s unconscious intent, but the way he smiles at Mizi and instinctively curls into Ivan’s touch feels far too familiar for an outsider like himself. 

Except, he doesn’t feel like an outsider. Somehow, it feels right, like a missing piece finally slotting into place. Now that he thinks about it that’s weird as fuck. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts when Ivan nudges him.

“The professor says we need to pick out a crystal ball,” Ivan says with disdain lacing his words, pointing at the glowing orbs dotting the vines. On a whim, Till reaches for the ball closest to him. It thrums with warmth; he takes it as a good sign.

Ivan notices and nods.

He then swiftly plucks the crystal ball like a fucking berry. It quite literally snaps off at the stem and Ivan has the audacity to knock on it a couple of times as if he was choosing a watermelon at a supermarket. 

Till is hit with another feeling of what the actual fuck. It’s starting to be a common occurrence. 

Cool. Crystal balls growing plants. Because that’s how crystal balls are made apparently. Nice one developers. 

Once most of the students have chosen their crystal balls from their magical-crystal-ball-watermelon-farm-ass-thing, the short-pudgy professor clears his throat to get their attention.

“Alright, students please return to your seats. Today we will explore the magic of the future with the most basic tool,” he gestures with a flourish, “A crystal ball.”

He’s clearly expecting some kind of clapping or cheering. The deadpan expression of at least twenty tired students is probably not the appropriate response. 

He barrels on ahead with an unsteady grin. “No matter, every group, please pull out the divination manual. Write down what you see in the ball and what it means.”

“This is a waste of time.” Till hears muttered from across the table. He looks up and sees long brown hair and tanned skin. The girl lifts her head, and Till recognizes her as Hyuna, one of the other love interests in the game. Her partner, Luka, simply smiles creepily and replies in that lilting voice of his,

“It’s human nature to seek the future,” Luka makes direct eye contact with Till, “You would know, wouldn’t you Till?”

“Uhh.. yes?” Till says rather intelligently. He’s pretty sure he nor the original Till had ever met Luka before.

Ivan takes this moment to insert himself into the conversation. “Luka, please don’t steal my partner I intend to copy all of his answers and I really can’t have you bothering him.”

“Your partner indeed,” Luke says with a ghostly smile. It gives Till the creeps. Everything about Luka gives Till the creeps.

“Alright shut up, we’ve got an assignment to do,” Hyuna interjects tugging Luka back to their crystal ball. Till decides that he really, really likes Hyuna. 

(He thinks Luka might as well, if the way he reverts back to the poise of a crown prince under her gaze is anything to go by.)

With that momentarily resolved, they turn back to the crystal ball. 

A crystal ball that doesn't seem to be doing anything.

Ivan gives it another knock, then glares at it when nothing happens. 

“Till, what do you see?” Ivan asks.

Till gives it a long hard look, staring at its reflective surface. 

“I see shiny dots.”

“That’s the ceiling being reflected you idiot.” 

“You give it a shot then,” Till says annoyed, making room so Ivan can press against him, “What do you see?” Ivan peers in the crystal ball too.

“I don’t know like a bird or something. We all know seeing the future isn’t something you can learn.” Still, Ivan dutifully flips to the page on birds. 

“Oh would you look at that it’s an omen of death. Maybe we’re all going to die and then we won’t have to take this class anymore,” Ivan mocks, “We can share your future-telling powers now.”

“Alright, just give it here,” Till mutters despite the small grin on his face. Still, unease bubbles within him, Ivan doesn’t know how right he is. 

He entertains the thought that there’s more to the crystal balls than meets the eye. After all, his power is seeing the future, it wouldn’t be a huge leap to say the crystal balls could do the same.

He takes ahold of the ball and marvels at its warmth. Something seems to lurk beneath its surface, thrumming to its own rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. 

Still no matter how hard he tries it refuses to look like anything other than a ball of murky glass. He’s almost tempted to give it a couple of knocks too. 

But the methodic cadence is lulling, swaying to a beat of tides and currents that ebb and flow, weighting his eyelids and clouding his mind. It’s the same shifting feeling he felt when he passed out, albeit calmer. 

He waits for something, a vision, a voice, anything close to the help he desperately seeks. 

But there is nothing but warmth in his hands and the steady heartbeat of glass. 

Till can be oblivious at times, but even he recognizes when what he’s doing is futile. He attempts to remove his hands from the delightful warmth but it's much harder than he expected. Something tugs at him, willing him to stay in its warm embrace.

The change is so gradual TIll doesn’t notice it at first. The crystal ball grows warmer until it's a little too hot to be comfortable to hold, but he holds on anyway entranced by the lulling beat. 

It's burning under his hands and the heat only intensifies, as if he’s trying to cradle the blazing sun in his mere, mortal hands. 

With an undignified yelp, he jerks away, fingers raw and red from the scalding heat and it’s just in the nick of time too— because in a deafening crack, the crystal ball fucking explodes.

It shatters in a brilliant blast of light and glass shards that cut skin and flesh. It shatters with a piercing sound like the fissures and cracks are bleeding their way into his own head. It shatters with finality, and even without his power of foresight he can tell something important is happening. 

Through the haze of chaos and pain, he catches a glimpse of the room. It’s then that he realizes that every single crystal ball has shattered. 

Well fuck me, he thinks. 

“Gladly,” Ivan responds far too quickly for his liking. Till must have said that out loud. He spares a glance towards Ivan but in typical male lead fashion, the man looks not only unharmed but also unfairly handsome compared to the rugged surroundings. 

Upon closer inspection, he realizes Ivan has set up an inky black shield surrounding the two of them.

“Neat trick,” Till grudgingly admits. 

Ivan's lips curl upwards. He stands up and offers Till a hand, “You look like you could use some help, princess.”  

Till bats his hand away with an eye-roll, "Maybe you should’ve set that thing up sooner,” gesturing towards the black writhing mass protecting them. Till stands up shakily and dusts himself off. 

He stumbles and immediately Ivan is by his side, hand supporting Till’s arm, a genuine look of concern washing over his face. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Where’s Mizi?” Till asks, trying to look past the shield blocking his view. Of course, the male lead gets cool fucking shadow powers while he’s stuck being the unwilling participant (read: victim)  of bungee jumps into the future. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Sua protected her. It was really romantic.”

Till looks at him incredulously from over his shoulder. Ah yes, the screams of random students and occasional splatters of blood, how romantic. No wonder he never finished Ivan’s route in the game. 

“You don’t think it’s romantic to protect someone you like?” Ivan asks, catching the expression on Till’s face, something unknown glinting in his dark eyes.

“No, you’re right I guess,” Till admits; it’s an incredibly popular trope for a reason. Still, it feels a lot less romantic when they’re the ones stuck in a dangerous situation. “We can ask Mizi her thoughts on it later, I’m sure she’ll have a lot to say.”

Ivan stares at Till like he’s an idiot. Till feels offended for some reason. 

Ivan lets out something that sounds suspiciously like a long-suffering sigh and resigns himself to being Till’s glorified crutch. 

“So can you take this whole shield thing down now?” Till asks, he really hopes the crystal balls thing wasn’t his fault but with his track record, it’s not looking good. It’s the cardinal rule of getting stuck in made-up worlds—don’t draw attention to yourself. 

Then again, Till has never been good at following rules. 

“About that, well there’s still some assassins running around,” Ivan replies casually. 

Till has to take a second to process that.

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE STARTED WITH THAT?”

Chapter Text

Till has no clue how he ended up in this situation.

That’s a lie. He has a pretty big idea but he’s doing his best to try to ignore it, if only to preserve his own sanity. 

He’s currently getting princess carried by Ivan which is definitely not supposed to be happening. It’s a trope for the female lead for fucks sake, but Ivan’s arms are warm around Till as he gets hauled around like a sack of potatoes, trying not to scream every time an attack gets too close. 

He’s pretty sure this is going in the top three most humiliating moments in his life. 

Honestly, what even is a prophet supposed to do against assassins? His only power is the equivalent of fainting. What is he going to do, offer to tell their future for 50% off?

Besides, Ivan doesn’t seem to be complaining; if anything he seems to be enjoying it. A bit too much in Till’s opinion. But what’s Till’s opinion to matter when Ivan’s the only thing between him and getting sliced and diced

The assassins are the most generic assassins he’s ever seen. Like straight out of a budget-anime, the first image on Google search type assassin. He genuinely wonders if the developers took the first clipart they found online and slapped it in. 

Unfortunately, they also seem hellbent on causing destruction. Till tries to remember if there were any assassins attacking students in the game and comes up short. He’s pretty sure it happened but after the hundredth random ass death plot they all kind of blurred together.

From his comfy place in Ivan’s arms — and wow he’s going to go back to repressing that thought — he has a decent vantage point of the now-destroyed classroom. Among shattered fragments of glass and a couple of injured students hiding under broken desks, he sees Sua and Mizi. 

True to what Ivan said Sua is protecting Mizi to the best of her abilities and it really is quite romantic. They make quite the duo, Sua’s almost crystalline water affinity reflecting the healing glow emanating from Mizi’s hands, bathing the two in a halo of light and sparkling refractions. Together they form what resembles a healing beacon roaming from injured student to injured student. 

Till thinks they belong on America’s Next Top Model instead of a half-destroyed classroom. Who cares what Till thinks though, he’s stuck being the passenger princess. 

Still, the stream of assassins is almost neverending. Figures cloaked in black emerge from tears in the very fabric of space. Till has to appreciate that, that’s a pretty cool power. Too bad it seems only one of them has a cool power though because the rest of them seem to only be capable of waving their swords and daggers. 

He squints and to the left, he sees Hyuna and Luka. Hyuna moves almost too fast for Till’s eyes to catch, setting a flurry of kicks and punches while Luka’s blue-tinted fingers dance through the air as he grins and directs her. Strapped to his side is a jeweled dagger, non-threatening but Till gets the feeling Luka wouldn’t hesitate to use it. 

Idly he looks at Ivan whose face is contorted with grim concentration. Between tendrils knocking out several cloaked figures, Till notices he’s also watching Sua and Mizi’s back. Never letting someone get too close to them. 

Even in the game, that was how Ivan showed his love. Silently. Unannounced. But ever-present. 

All of a sudden an indescribable feeling overtakes him, telling him to turn. He sees a student whose power seems to be deflecting attacks and immediately Till feels a chill in his bones. 

He realizes why in the next couple of seconds. 

“BEHIND YOU,” Till shouts at the student, jumping out of Ivan’s hold. He sprints toward them but before the student can turn a cloaked figure emerges from behind and in one smooth motion, slits the student’s throat. 

Up until now none of the students have been seriously hurt but with dawning horror, Till realizes the injury is fatal. 

The student falls to the ground, eyes wide open as blood spurts outward, dyeing the floor in dark red. Till had never realized blood was so dark. In the games and movies, it had been bright red, bright like a poppy, not dark the way the boy's eyes were turning as he struggled with labored breaths. 

Because it wasn’t a game. Maybe once it had been, but not anymore. 

In just moments Mizi is next to the boy, Sua protecting her from the people attacking her. Till races towards them, unsure what to do, but he gets the feeling he should be there. Vaguely he can hear Ivan chasing behind him. 

She places her hands on his neck uncaring of the dark red that stains her hands, but Till can see the worry in her eyes. There is a point where even the strongest healing powers can do nothing. You can’t heal the dead and this guy is very close to dead. 

Beads of sweat begin to collect on her forehead as concentration mars Mizi’s face. Around them, the fighting seems to blur away into the background but Till can’t look away. He doesn’t know why but something compels him to stay and watch. Till has faith that Sua and Ivan will keep them safe, he’s needed here. 

Mizi for her part, is trying her very best to keep him alive. She looks close to passing out but she pours more of her powers, of herself, into the boy. 

There’s a moment where it looks like he's too far gone, but Mizi clenches her jaw and her eyes take on an unnatural sheen. She’s trembling, barely keeping herself straight. The light keeps pouring from her fingertips into the boy, brighter and brighter until it feeds life back into him, labored breathing finally steadying. Mizi coughs and it's little more than a croak as blood spits out. It sets off all the warning signs in Till’s head.

“Mizi, stop—

“A little more,” she forces out barely a whisper. Till almost doesn’t hear it because he’s struck by the feeling that everything is wrong. Unsteady. It isn’t right. Something bubbles underneath his skin and pulses like an unnatural heartbeat. Apprehension maybe. 

“Mizi, are you alright?” Sua asks softly reaching for Mizi’s shoulder and everything inside him collides, like a dam breaking loose Till lunges for Sua, batting her hand away. He feels like a primal animal, full body weight colliding into her delicate frame. 

Immediately he’s struck by a blast of icy cold water. It washes over, splashing a freckled girl behind them, knocking her off balance. She crashes into Mizi who‘s already strained.

The feeling dissipates, washed away by cold rivulets dripping down his face. Now, he just feels foolish. 

"Why would you do that?” Sua hisses, bruises forming on her arm from where she landed. Till hastily removes himself. 

“I don’t know. I’m really sorry,” he stammers. He doesn’t know what came over him. He really hopes Sua forgives him, but by the narrowed look in her eyes, he gets that his apology wasn’t accepted. He has bigger things to worry about though, as he releases eye contact to find Mizi. 

The freckled girl who fell onto Mizi picks herself up and yelps when Mizi’s slumped-over form doesn’t rise. She shakes Mizi a few times though and just as Till and Sua get to her side, Mizi opens her eyes. They’re finally back to a normal green, but there’s still blood dripping down her mouth. 

“I’m alright,” Mizi croaks, very much not alright. Till sighs worriedly and grabs her arm to heave her up. 

Sua reaches for her too but shoots a glare at Till first, “Going to tackle me again?” 

“No. Definitely not. I’m really, really sorry about that.” Till says ears burning red. Sua responds with something that sounds suspiciously like I can’t deal with men under her breath before helping him carry Mizi. 

Belatedly he realizes that his faith in Ivan had been right. Between Ivan, Luka, Hyuna, and a handful of other students, the assassins have all been taken care of. 

It strikes him as odd though, that no one came to help them. 

“Where are the professors?” Till asks Ivan who has sort of appeared next to him. 

Ivan’s face turns grim. “Someone knocked out the professor and the exploding crystal balls offset the room’s magic. We’re isolated from the rest of the school now.”

It’s then that Till notes the way the edges of the destroyed classroom seem to shimmer. Ivan directs one of his shadowy tendrils toward it and it distorts, unable to penetrate beyond. 

“It’ll need time to recalibrate, for now, we just need to stay safe.”

Ivan tends to Mizi instead, and the harsh lines on his face soften from what he finds. She must be fine, Till reasons. 

By now, students are emerging from their hiding places since the imminent danger has passed and several have noted their confinement inside the room. A girl reaches for the indigo-tinted ivy-covered wall and immediately retracts her hand, hissing as if she had been burnt. 

Sua in particular pinches her lips as she stares at Mizi. They won’t be able to take her to the infirmary now. 

Hushed panic emerges from the twenty or so students in the room. Oh yeah, to them assassins must be completely unexpected. For him though, it’s another common plot device used in shitty royalty dating sims. 

Only Luka seems unaffected, eyes cold and calculating as he stares towards the shifting boundaries. Hyuna leans onto him as they whisper in urgent hushed tones. They know something, Till gathers, possibly about the assassins. 

Luka, the playboy, the schemer, the mastermind, and most notably the Crown Prince as well as his right hand Hyuna, the Knight. Together they hold more influence in this world than anyone else, except perhaps the King.

Oh shit. 

The King. 

As in the highly corrupt, powerful guy who hates commoners and is all-around evil. Romance may have been one focus of Heart4Heart but the secondary theme was political struggle. 

If Till had to place bets on who orchestrated this it would be the King. But it didn’t make any sense, killing Mizi in broad daylight would be downright stupid and the King was many things but stupid wasn’t one of them.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Luka says smiling down at him. He looks pristine, unbefitting of someone who was just engaged in a fight. In contrast, Hyuna’s hair is everywhere and a sheen of sweat covers her tanned limbs. He hadn’t heard the two approaching. 

Till feels Ivan’s warm hand curl around his back protectively and silently thanks him for the comfort. Something about Luka had always unnerved him, he had never attempted his route for a reason. 

“Care to share something with us all, little prophet?”

Till internally debates the merits of saying he’s pretty sure their oh so great King just tried to have them all killed, but he’s pretty sure Luka won’t take too kindly of him slandering his father. 

He squints at Luka’s face. Then again, it’s most likely he already knows. He isn’t sure what Luka’s relationship with his dad is but he’s pretty sure it wasn’t great. Luka’s the poster boy for daddy issues. 

“Do you know who sent the assassins?” Till asks. It’s not a question, not really. More like confirmation. 

"I might, do you?" Luka hums. 

Surprisingly it’s Ivan who responds, “I think we all have our suspicions.”

“Go play with your shadows. I want to know the future, not your emo ass,” Luka says back, much more casually. He and Ivan must have history. Till snorts anyway. He’s always been kind of blunt, the truth can’t hurt. 

“The King right?” Till says. The atmosphere shifts slightly. Luka and Hyuna don’t seem surprised but Ivan’s eyes widen imperceptibly.

“Very good,” Luka says lips shifting upwards.

“Man, you’re being creepy as fuck, just ask him,” Hyuna mutters rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. 

Luka pulls out half a cracked crystal ball from god knows where. “This is the biggest piece we salvaged. Do you think you could use it?”

“Say please.” Hyuna tacks on at the end. 

“Please.” Luka drawls, displeased. 

Till looks at Ivan who nods and his curiosity wins out. He reaches for the large glass shard and immediately there’s warmth. He remembers the burning sensation and hesitates but the piece doesn’t burn. 

There’s a little bit of shakiness like he just got off of a rollercoaster and is struggling to stand on still land again. Like a current flowing through.

Ping!

Everyone looks up to see a bright pink box light up the room. Shit maybe the room's unbalanced magic did something to the system. 

[She will die tomorrow.]

Immediately everyone’s eyes turn to Mizi who is still lying on the floor blood leaking from her mouth. All, except for Till who’s eyes travel to Sua instead. His blood runs ice cold. The two days left have become one. 

In the silence, Till remembers his old philosophy professor. “Every action has its consequences” he had said. Perhaps Till’s doomed them all. 

Chapter Text

Till can feel everyone’s eyes crawling around him, boring holes with questions he has no answers to. His face flushes as sweat collects on his back. He feels like a deer in headlights, especially when hushed whispers erupt, beady eyes directed towards him.

Sensing his distress, Ivan grabs Till’s shoulder tightly. In a hushed voice, he says, “We should move elsewhere”.

Till breaks eye contact with the ominously glowing pink square high above their heads and allows Ivan to direct them somewhere a little more hidden. He moves sluggishly, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Vaguely he notes Ivan’s taking them to a more secluded place but his mind is a constant stream of Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. 

He’s drawn out of his stupor when a warm body presses against him.

With a startle, he realizes Ivan is hugging him, and even more surprisingly, it’s helping. Gradually, the cloud of panic dissipates as his heart rate settles. 

They've found a small patch, hidden away by some rubble and ivy, allowing a semblance of privacy. When Till takes in his surroundings, he sees that Luka, Hyuna, and Sua have carried Mizi along, trailing behind them. 

Hyuna reaches them first. “Alright Till, what’s going on? Is Mizi actually going to die tomorrow?” she asks sharply.

Till opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Ivan’s firm voice instead.

“I don’t think it will be Mizi.”

Till whips his head around, coming face to face with Ivan’s dark eyes. “What do you mean?”

“It’s Sua isn’t it?” At the mention of her name, Sua looks up confused. Her eyebrows knit upwards.

“I’m sorry?” She says with a wary tone. 

“What makes you think that?” Till directs toward Ivan instead, tensing. Maybe Ivan knows more than he’s letting on, the narrative is already slowly splintering.  

Ivan’s shoulders relax at the implicit confirmation. “You looked at her instead of Mizi when the message came,” he answers steadily. Till’s heart rate settles a little at that.

“So does anyone want to fill the rest of us in or…” Sua trails off. Till isn’t sure how much he can say, but if all of them could see the pink box, then maybe the regulations on him would be temporarily lifted, too, perhaps a byproduct of the room’s unbalanced magic.

He takes a breath. “Do you remember when I passed out in Magic Theory this morning?”

That gets a small laugh from Ivan, “You’re never living that one down, the professor was so mad.”

Seeing as he hasn’t been forcibly silenced by some otherworldly power yet, Till continues shakily, “Well, I saw Sua’s dead body, but in my vision, it was supposed to happen in two days.”

“Now it’s one and I don’t know what changed.”

The resounding silence is grim.

Surprisingly, it’s Luka who speaks first. “Well, we can’t have that, funeral black washes my skin tone out too much.”

Sua’s ashen face regains some of its color as she rolls her eyes.

Hyuna lets out a long-suffering sigh, “What he’s saying is that we’ll try to stop it.”

“There’s more,” Till says hesitating, “Sua’s death comes first, all the rest of us follow afterward.”

He’s met with a long silence once again. 

“I don’t think white is my color either,” muses Luka unperturbed.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” Sua asks tensely. All things considered, she’s taking the news of her impending death fairly well in Till’s opinion. 

“Many, many things,” Luka says in the same casual tone but with a harder glint in his eyes. It’s paired with a sideways glance at Hyuna. 

Ivan claps to get everyone’s attention. “Great. Well now that we’ve established that we’re all going to die, maybe we should work on fixing that. Just a thought.”

Till suddenly remembers what he wanted to ask Mizi.

“It’s been bothering me actually, why wasn’t Mizi in class this morning? For the Magic Theory class?” Till asks.

Ivan tilts his head subtly. “She’s not allowed to, on account of her blood status.” Classic. It’s the whole classism thing that Till kind of forgot about.

“But why only that class?”

“I’m not sure actually. The official excuse was that she didn’t have the training to take the class since most nobles start magic education when they are children.”

“That’s bullshit though. She can’t learn the basis of magic, but she can take a second-year Divination Class?” Till muses. He feels like he’s missing something here. 

Mizi chooses this moment to regain consciousness. 

“Actually, I’m not allowed to take a lot of classes,” Mizi interrupts. “I was lucky enough to be accepted as is. It’s mostly Theory classes though and I don’t like those very much so it’s okay.” She says it with a smile that quickly turns into a grimace as she coughs up more blood.

Sua gently rests Mizi in her lap, brushing her hair with her fingers. Till makes eye contact with Ivan and they can’t help the little shared smirk that forms. Mizi’s face turns bright red as she narrows her eyes at the two of them. Sua is none the wiser as she continues carding her fingers through soft, pink hair. 

“Maybe we should talk about the assassination attempt instead,” she says.

“Yeah, why would they try to kill Mizi and all the other students in broad daylight?” Till muses.

“Not everything revolves around your beloved Mizi,” Luka says with a sardonic half smile. “I believe father dearest meant it as a warning.”

“For what?” Till asks confused.

“He’s afraid of a coup,” Hyuna answers. 

“Wait, hold on. Luka, are you trying to overthrow your dad?” Sua prods.

“No,” Hyuna says at the same time as Luka says “Oh Absolutely.” The two make eye contact and have an entire silent conversation before Hyuna amends with an irritated puff, “Fine. Yes.”

It’s another brief moment of processing as the six students reconsider their life choices.

“Wonderful, so we have a plot to overthrow the King, certain death in the next couple of weeks, and we’re still trapped in the worst class at this school,” Sua says, looking absolutely done with her life.

Till puts the final nail in the coffin. “Yeah we're completely fucked.” 

[...]

By Till’s estimates, it is about nighttime and the room has shown no signs of releasing them yet. 

Surprisingly, despite the heavy and slightly insane starting conversation they had, Till finds that the six of them just seem to click. It feels like he’s meeting his childhood friends after a decade apart. If Till’s being honest, it’s kind of strange but he supposes that’s what happens when you develop parasocial relationships with two-dimensional characters. 

The starry magical sky feels an appropriate backdrop to the pile they’ve formed around a little fire, compliments of some kid with the worst haircut Till has ever seen but the pretty neat ability to conjure fire.

They’re laughing about some inane joke and despite the rather harrowing situation they’re in, Till’s filled with a warm, bubbly feeling in his chest. He thinks he’s been missing this his whole life, an intrinsic feeling of content. As he leans against Ivan’s warm, solid frame, his eyelids start to droop, and in the quiet crackling embers of a flame, he misses the six words whispered into his hair. 

“I love you. Every single time.”

Under a starry night sky, Till falls asleep, wrapped in the arms of a boy that is unknowingly the other half of his soul.

In the morning there will be lives to save, plans to make, and a future to fix, but for tonight he dreams of blazing red comets and a hundred different whispered promises. 

[...]

When dawn breaks it comes with an overbearing sense of wrongness. For all the planning and hypothesizing they’ve done, Till knows they simply don’t have enough information. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he knows they’ve reached the deadline.

The day has passed. A life will be claimed. The others are still asleep around the now ashes of the bonfire, but Till knows it deep in his bones. It is over.

As his feet carry him to his destination, pushed by an invisible current, he sees a chandelier dangling from the ceiling that wasn’t there the day before. A delicate gossamer string catches the light as it extends downwards and following the line of sight, he makes eye contact with open, lifeless eyes. 

Dull orange eyes.

Eyes that do not belong to Sua with her inky lashes framing lilac irises or anyone else in the group for that matter. It’s a girl hanging from the chandelier and as he looks at her eerily lifeless face, he struggles to place where they’ve met before. 

He squints. Then, it clicks.

Her face is dotted with cute freckles—freckles he saw just yesterday. She had been the one to collapse on Mizi after Sua had accidentally splashed them. 

Immediately, he’s filled with a perverse sense of relief. The selfish voice inside of him whispers, thank god it's not any of them, but it’s followed by a tidal wave of guilt. Who is he to determine the value of a life? It’s been made abundantly clear this isn’t a game anymore. These are real people with real lives and real dreams. She died because of something they changed and yet Till doesn’t even know her name. Still, is it a crime to be grateful the people he cares about are still alive? Till doesn’t know. 

The longer he stays here, the less he understands. 

Still with one last look at her dangling body, Till utters a silent prayer to whatever higher power governs this world, hoping that she finds peace after.

He turns backward to go and wake up the other five. He wants to know their thoughts because one of his theories has become a whole lot more believable.

Chapter Text

It’s a slow walk retracing steps Till doesn’t remember walking. He’s following footprints of himself but as dewy stalks of grass crunch beneath his feet his mind is somewhere else entirely. He feels numb, dull orange eyes reflected in every crevice of his mind, the chilly morning air doing nothing to clear his head.

Above it all is a crushing sense of guilt. She had been real. In the whispers of morning, she had looked almost alive, her body caught in a permanent stasis as death slowly sapped all life away. He can feel her eyes blinking, steam rising from her breath, a family bidding their daughter off to university only to have her returned in a casket.

They had paid for Sua’s life for another. 

No, he had. 

It is the burden of the prophet to always see what could have been. 

Perhaps worst of all though—alone in this field he’s certain hadn’t existed but must have been an extension of the room, remnants of an otherworldly force desperately trying to shape itself— he can admit the ugly truth.

He would do it again. Every single time. There isn’t a universe where he wouldn’t trade her life for Sua’s. 

And it’s irrational, it’s completely insane. He’s going insane. None of this makes any sense.

Because despite everything, Sua means something to him. Deeper than the connection of a classmate, beyond the blood and flesh of his being, her fate is intertwined with his. 

His head hurts. There’s something at the tip of his tongue, the vestiges of a life that isn’t his. But whose is it then? Is it the Till from a game? The Till that plagues his dreams running through red comets and a vibrant garden? He feels like a stranger to himself. 

Till huffs out a breath and attempts to recenter. 

His name is Till. He’s a university student studying graphic design with a minor in musical composition. He likes doodling flowers and his electric guitar.

So why does he feel like it’s not quite true?

Before he’s even realized it, he’s made his way back. 

Mizi and Sua are curled around each other beside a broken desk and a large white flower that envelopes the two. Luka and Hyuna are sleepily embraced beside the now extinguished fire. 

Something wet bounces lazily onto his forehead. Then another. Before he knows it hundreds of tiny droplets drop down from the overcast sky. 

With a jolt, he realizes it’s raining—and it sends such a sharp panic in his chest that he frantically searches for Ivan. The violently bubbling panic has no logical cause but it sends Till in a frenzy anyway. Each raindrop shakes his very core.

He’s never liked the rain. It reminds him of sitting alone at home, watching raindrops pelt window glass, waiting for his parents who would never come back. It reminds him of listening numbly as officers and their flashing sirens try to break the news of their death—a freak accident they said. 

It reminds him of pooling blood and the echoes of a gunshot that plagues his nightmares. 

He finally catches sight of Ivan sitting on a log, gazing at the rain. Under his eyes are dark-rimmed circles and with the faint light from the overcast sky he looks unfiltered, raw, for once. 

When they make eye contact a weak smile emerges on Ivan’s face. 

If ever asked about it afterward Till would say it was a culmination of the rain and the traumatic morning he had. The reason doesn’t matter though. One second his eyes are watering and then the next tears are running down his face, salty tracks combined with the watery raindrops. Ivan’s eyes widen imperceptibly.

“Come here,” Ivan says more gently than he’s ever been, making space for Till. Till runs with all the force in his legs, collapsing in Ivan’s warm solid embrace. 

He wraps his arms desperately around Ivan’s waist, clutching the solid form as reassurance for something he can’t quite place. 

“Sorry, I don’t like the rain,” Till whispers, voice hoarse. For a second Ivan's eyes take a faraway sheen, like he’s looking right through TIll. 

After a long pause, Ivan says, “I don’t either. It brings back bad memories.” 

Then there are arms wrapping tightly around Till’s middle as if he could disappear any second, finding comfort in his physical form. They don’t need words. Being next to each other is enough. 

He’s sure they’re both worlds away from the present. 

It could have been a couple of minutes or an hour for all Till knows, but he feels a tense ball unwind in his chest, something he’s carried for his entire life dissolving away.

“I’m sorry,” Till breathes into Ivan’s neck. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for but he’s been desperate to say it, for Ivan to hear.

Ivan understands. He always does. 

“Don’t be. I would make the same choice every time.”

It makes no sense and yet it makes all the sense in the world; with it comes hallucinations of vague formless shapes, stormy rainy skies, and final whispered notes—the ending and the beginning. 

After a long pause, Till asks, “Have… Have we met before?” 

And it sounds absurd even to himself, yet Ivan’s body thrums with a little sob that racks through his entire being.

“In a way.”

It soothes something in Till’s soul. 

But in the comforting quiet after, Till remembers why he sought Ivan out.

“There’s something you need to know,” Till starts, “but we should wake the others first, they should know too.”

Ivan makes no move to remove his arms wrapped tightly around Till’s middle. Till can’t bring himself to pry Ivan away. 

As the rain falls serenely under the quiet field, Mizi and Sua arm lengths away, dozed off in quiet slumber, Till thinks that perhaps the rain isn’t that bad.  

[...]

He lied. The rain fucking sucks. His clothes are wet and soaked through, and he’s shivering as the temperature keeps dropping. Which, it’s a fucking magic room can they not make it a little warmer.

Lucky Sua and Mizi with their giant Calia Lily umbrella, pearly white petals protecting them from the downpour. If it wasn’t obvious from the start that Mizi was the main character of the story, the whole giant flower growing in to protect her really sealed the deal. 

He looks down at Ivan, but the rain has soaked through his white academy uniform too, leaving the shirt a little too flimsy and transparent for Till’s liking. 

He catches a glimpse of the hard lines of muscle, evidence of years of dedicated training. The wet shirt clings rather indecently to it. 

Till feels his cheeks color and then he averts his gaze to stare at the grey sky. 

Ivan must have noticed because his face morphs into a shit-eating grin and he says, “You can look you know.”

Leave it to Ivan to ruin the mood. Till rolls his eyes and carefully keeps his eyes directed toward the sky, “I’ve seen better.” 

He has not. But he isn’t going to leave a statement like that unanswered. 

“Where?” Ivan asks, petulantly. 

Till racks his brain before naming the only other character he can remember, “The King.”

Ivan stares, “Dude he’s like seventy.”

“Even better.” 

Ivan's lips quirk up. “He likes murdering kids and exploiting the poor in his free time.” 

“It’s good to have shared hobbies,” Till says without hesitation. 

That gets a real smile out of Ivan, the genuine kind where it’s a little crooked and his eyes squint. “Doesn’t he have a wife and kids?”

“They won’t mind.”

“Actually, I do mind,” Luka says interrupting their conversation with a look of faint disgust. He pauses. “You can do a lot better than him.”

“Like me,” Ivan says.

“I said better not worse,” Luka deadpans.

“Alright cut it out kids,” Hyuna interrupts, breaking their conversation, “Till has something he wants to tell us.”

“How’d you know?” Till asks quizzically. 

“It’s your face, you wear your heart on your sleeve,” she says bluntly. 

“She’s calling you ugly,” Luka supplies helpfully.

“No he isn’t,” Ivan interjects at the same time Till says, “So that’s definitely not what she said.”

Till stares at Ivan, “Thanks man, you’re not ugly yourself,” he says patting Ivan on the back. The wet shirt squelches and he wipes his hand off with concealed disgust. 

“Men are so strange,” Sua says, awake now. Apparently she and Mizi have been awake a little longer if the silly little smirk on Mizi’s face is to be believed. She keeps looking at Ivan with a smug expression, like a cat that got the cream. 

Ivan glares at her in response.

“Back to the issue," Till says, "Someone's dead." All eyes turn to look at Sua. 

“Don’t look at me,” Sua says. 

“The girl yesterday who ran into Mizi. The one with orange eyes and freckles,” Till elaborates, “She’s hanging from a chandelier a short walk from here. The room’s been expanding randomly.”

They fall quiet. 

It’s Luka who breaks the silence, “The message never did specify who was going to die. We just assumed it was Sua.”

Then Sua speaks, “I remember her, she was the one who I accidentally hit with my magic.”

Mizi hums at that. “I think I remember bits and pieces. I was so drained it felt like wading through a murky lake. She knocked me out of it when she fell on me.”

There’s a pause.

“You were what?” Ivan says frantically before grabbing Mizi by her shoulders. “By any chance did your vision go out and then your magic tug you in all directions, like it’s trying to rip you apart?”

“I-I guess…? Sort of.” 

Ivan looks seconds away from shaking the life out of her. Sua and Luka stare silently, both clearly understanding what Ivan’s getting at. 

“Alright guys fill me in here I’m lost,” Till says. Mizi nods too.

Ivan pauses to take a breath. He looks frantic.

“Do you remember what Professor said, how control is the most important aspect of magic because magic is all about balance,” he starts. Oh fuck. It’s coming back to Till, at the time he had thought it was more lore filler from the game developers. 

Ivan must have noted the expression on Till’s face because he groans and says, “It wasn’t a hypothetical. Magic will always return to balance, overexert it and it will make you pay the price.”

Luka nods grimly, Till has a feeling there’s history there. “Every child learns this when they're young. When the price is far less steep.”

“Not every child,” Hyuna says, “Only nobility.” She stares pointedly at Mizi. 

“No wonder they won’t let you take half the classes here.”

Till can see the dots connecting and he doesn’t like how it’s lining up. Fuck, he thinks. Mizi must have arrived at the same conclusion because she bursts out distraught, “But why would they do that?”

It’s Luka who candidly answers. “Why do you think?”

Chapter Text

There is a long, pregnant pause. It gives birth to several other tinier pauses, and in the cloistering mess only tiny children can create, Till finds himself suffocating. 

“Dude this is so fucked up,” he finally says.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” Mizi says, half-hysterical. He’s never seen her so frantic.

He shrugs uncommittedly. 

He barely hears the rest of the conversation because holy shit the whole game is starting to make sense. No wonder they were all fucking dying, as the stakes increased it was only natural that Mizi would be forced to push herself to the brink more as well. And who is she touching? Ding ding, her closest fucking friends. It’s like a bad game show when you finally know the answer, but instead of a cash prize, you get the dubious honor of getting touched to death. If he weren’t so busy panicking, he’d find it hysterical. 

Come to think of it, he’s been feeling like this a lot recently. Who knew. Local university student figures out that getting tossed into a murder mystery game is bad for mental health. He should publish a study. 

Though, is it really a murder mystery if you’re the one accidentally killing people? Isn’t that just unintentional homicide?

He’s spiraling, and it’s only Sua’s calm, collected voice that breaks him out of it. 

“So, how are we going to fix this then?” she says, laying her pale hand gently on top of Mizi’s. 

“You’re surprisingly calm about this.” Ivan eyes her with what looks like suspicion, but Till can tell is begrudging respect. Even Ivan can not resist the natural pull the group of six has. The intrinsic closeness that surpasses physical boundaries. Damn he’s getting philisophical, maybe the research study wasn’t a bad idea after all. 

“I thought I was going to die half a day ago,” she looks towards Mizi with a small smile, “all things considered, at least I’m not dead yet.”

That was really the wrong thing to say because Mizi looks like she’s going to cry again. In a small, broken voice, she whispers, “It was me then? I killed her and I don’t even know her name.”

“It’s okay, first time for everyone,” Luka says, grinning easily, but the smile is stilted. Till suspects even he hadn’t suspected how far the issue lay. The division between nobility and blood drew further than just societal exclusion. 

Till supposes he was the most prepared for this outcome in a way. It hadn’t been close to a fully formed theory, but with the game’s rather heavy themes of discrimination and flawed power structures, he had carried his suspicions.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Mizi says, but the distraction serves to detract some of her attention from the issue. 

It’s Hyuna who guides Mizi to sit and then bends down to her knees to comfort her.

“It’s alright, sometimes life is like this.”

“Thank you, Hyuna, but I just killed someone. With my bare hands.”

“Technically not your bare hands,” Ivan interjects helpfully.

“Dude, not helping,” Till mutters. 

“We all cross these milestones at different stages of our lives,” Hyuna continues, giving both Till and Ivan the stinkeye. 

“Milestones??” Till whispers harshly. This time, Hyuna pinches his ankle, and without turning away from Mizi, she says gently, “You know I killed someone when I was eleven.”

“Damn right,” Luka whistles, holding his hand up for a high-five. 

“If all of you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to be the one adding bodies to my count,” Sua says scathingly.  

Hyuna shoots her a grateful look. “As I was saying, I know what it’s like to blame yourself. But you can’t, because that’s what the system is built upon, that is what it banks on. It feeds on the ugly, rearing feelings that keep you isolated, because then you won’t dare look any deeper.” 

She pauses, taking Mizi’s face into her hands and staring deep into her eyes. 

“You’re going to feel regret, remorse, and disgust with yourself. But you can not shoulder the entirety of the blame.”

“What do I do then?” Mizi asks quietly, her eyes red-rimmed. 

“You fuck them over,” Hyuna says with steely conviction. Mizi’s eyes widen. She pauses.

“I need a moment,” she finally says, “but thank you, Hyuna, sincerely.” Then she starts walking, ambling into the distance, and when Sua tries to follow, it’s Till who holds her back. He understands the need for time and space. 

“I don’t think I took my first kill that hard,” Luka says forlornly.

“That’s different, you just lack empathy,” Ivan snorts. Hyuna and Till nod in agreement before the discomfort really sets in.

"Okay, guys, this is really throwing me off, but how many of you have killed someone?” Till finally asks.

Luka raises his hand without shame, then Hyuna follows. After a beat, Ivan and Sua raise their hands as well. 

What the fuck, Till thinks internally

“What the fuck,” Till says externally as well because he was born with the distressing lack of a filter. He raises an eyebrow at Sua, “You too?”

“We just got jumped by assassins, what do you think?” 

That is a pretty good point, Till concedes. Still, what happened to ethics, what happened to murder is bad, what happened to common decency? 

“I don’t know, you guys were so shocked about Mizi.”

“Oh, that was because we were surprised about the lack of magical knowledge non-nobility receive,” Luka pauses skeptically, levelling an eyebrow, “Have you never killed anyone?”

At Till’s silence, they all stare at him like he’s the odd one. 

“No rogue magicians, assassins, not even with the recent wars?”

“I’ve heard in the more rural areas they kill you for displaying abilities,” Ivan muses. 

For the second time today Till says, “Dude this place is so fucked up.”

Ivan shrugs, “Could be worse.”

“It could also be better,” Luka says with a hard voice. 

“Yes, it could be a lot better,” Sua says thoughtfully. “Alright, I’m sold. What’s the master plan for toppling the monarchy?”

“First, I’m the monarchy.” Luka says, mock-offended, and then his expression morphs into delight, “Second, murder, of course.”

Till blinks. Then again. He waits for Luka to elaborate, but there’s nothing. 

“Is that it?”

Luka stares back unbothered. “Why over-complicate it?”

“This is the worst plan I’ve ever heard of,” Till replies hysterically. “Forget actually carrying out the murder, what about the aftereffects? How do you plan on stabilizing the country or you know maintaining peace and shit?”

Have none of them read any history books? You can’t just topple the ruling system and call it a day. 

When all he gets are blank-eyed stares, Till seriously considers taking the next boat and just booking it out of this hellhole.

“Fuck man,” he says and spends the next four hours attempting to regurgitate every bit of revolution and bureaucratic reconstruction material he’s ever learned.

He really should have paid better attention in class.

[...]

Okay, he’s got to give them some credit. They’re in a better position than he assumed (which is to say none at all), it’s just ... not a very good position. 

Luka’s education and experience have actually prepared him to be a decent head of the country, and he wields politics and its games with considerable skill. He also has some control over the governing bodies; too bad they’re littered with corruption and often little more than figureheads turning at the King’s whims. 

Also, while Luka has substantial support outside of the castle, it isn’t large enough to warrant the peaceful transition of power. It’s only really substantial enough to make the King feel threatened, which would explain the rather numerous attempts on Luka’s life. Joy, really. 

The greatest issue, though, lies instead with centuries of discrimination by blood purity and ancestry. Rulers and policies can change, but beliefs are much harder. Nobility detests those with lesser status and fears losing their power. Commoners distrust those in power and have an entire history surrounding fear of the magical and supernatural, likely originating from the lack of magical education causing unintentional casualties. It’s an impossible situation.

In the end, after enduring, quite frankly, some of the worst ideas Till’s ever heard (no Hyuna, you can not beat all seven million of your subjects into submission, nor can you cause a magical explosion that kills dissenters), it’s Sua who suggests the first reasonable idea. 

It’s really simple, actually. Luka is the next heir, they just need to have the King die in some unsuspecting way (and before the King manages to kill them) so that he inherits the throne. From there, change can begin gradually. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Luka drawls. 

“That is not at all the same thing that you’re suggesting.” Till rubs circles at his temple, feeling an impending migraine, before Ivan nudges against him, “As great as exploiting the courts' weakness, and then manipulating each bureaucratic member into planning their own execution, there’s no way that’s happening.”

He thinks the world nods too. Then he blinks again. Oh fuck, the world's actually nodding, shaking at its edges to be precise. At this point he’s done this enough times to tell them, “Fuck man, I’m getting another vision,” before the tugging deep within him pulls him under.

When his vision clears, he’s sitting at the outskirts of the city, in a little tavern. There’s an elf in the corner, and he’s pretty sure it’s a mushroom spirit tending the bar. What draws his attention, though, are two hunters heatedly arguing while reading the newspaper. They appear to be human and non-nobility, if their practical leather gear is anything to go by. 

No one notices him, like he is the vision instead of them. It should bother him, but he finds it strangely reassuring.

Still, the newspaper catches his eye, not only because the publishing date is two months from today, but also because the headline is bolded in large, neat letters: KING FOUND DEAD, CROWN PRINCE SET TO TAKE THE THRONE.

“What do you make of this?” The shorter, stouter hunter asks. 

His companion takes another sip of the golden alcohol, “I’ve learned to lower my expectations.”

“Still, don’t you think it’s odd?”

“Stranger things have happened, and perhaps change is what we need.”

Then Till’s vision is shifting again. Blurring at the edges and scrambling to rearrange itself. This time he’s staring at himself, rather, his future self. He’s a little older, and by his side is none other than Ivan, which comforts Till a little. They make it then, at least in the current future (well, that’s certainly an oxymoron).

Except then future-Till leans in and Ivan gently cups his hands around the man’s face, staring lovingly in his eyes before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. 

Immediately, Till flushes. Holy shit they end up together? Sure, he’s had an inkling of it, but to see physical, tangible proof? He almost feels like an interloper, voyeuristically watching it happen.

There’s a heavy feeling in his chest. Nope nope he’s not going to process that. He doesn’t even want to think about his current feelings, vowing to compartmentalize them and tuck the box somewhere, hopefully never to be seen again. 

Still, something forces him to cast one look back, and there’s a light in future-Till’s eyes; the soft curve of a smile graces his features, mirrored in Ivan’s own. They’re so happy it physically pains him, and the memory of it lingers in his head for quite a while afterwards. 

As he sits in the void—the mess between present and future, tangible and abstract, time and space—he takes the time just to think. To process the turbulence inside him.

Till knows this complicated feeling: envy, jealousy, or perhaps worse, desire . As much as he tries to deny it, he wants what they have. And when his vision inevitably begins to blur again, and he’s returned on solid land in front of the group of six, he finds he can’t quite meet Ivan’s eye. 

The future is never set, and Till would rather die than jeopardize their relationship. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Hell is dark. Unnaturally so. Till feels as if he’s swimming under the deep recesses of the ocean where light will never penetrate and creatures beyond human existence glide with no restrictions. 

It’s inky, murky, bleak in a way nothing on earth even compares. Calling it dark feels laughable, like calling the universe big or the ocean deep.

He has vague memories of pressure around his neck and the taste of a little more. There’s something just beyond his reach, a memory, a goal, something worth fighting for, but it slips from his grasp like inky water. 

There’s pressure around him, in his ears, his lungs, his head, but none of it matters in the comfort of darkness. 

So this is what it feels like to die. 

It feels like falling asleep in the car and being carried back to bed, warm in someone's embrace.

It feels like laughter next to a crackling fire, as rain drizzles down quietly and lips mouth three whispered words. 

It feels like coming home. 

Perhaps it isn’t the comfort of death, but the comfort of familiarity. He’s been here before, hundreds of thousands of times. Every single time. In a way, he’s never left it. 

There’s a brief flash of something.

It’s so faint it can hardly be called light, but in this plane of absence, the presence of anything at all catches the eye. 

For a moment, Till thinks he can hear voices. They reach out to him, grasp at his essence, and demand something of him. Then it is silent once more. 

Still, it ignites something in him, and the next time it flashes, he holds on. This time it’s brighter, fully deserving of the name light. It punctures a sharp hole through the darkness. Then, hundreds of pinpricks stab through the cloak of death, as voices chorus for him to take hold. 

There is nothing for him to do except accept the hand he’s been given as it tugs him fully awake. 

[...]

The first thing Till notices when he opens his eyes is the delightful lack of pressure around his neck. Life is so much better without random ass men choking you. 

Feather-light pink hair tickles his arm, and when he looks up, he meets golden eyes. He’s just about to reach out when he notices it. Her eyes are completely empty of soul. They shine unnaturally, like hazy oil after a spill, and betray no sign of thought. 

Animalistic panic roars through Till as he scrambles to get away. 

“Mizi,” Till huffs, once he puts some distance between them, but she doesn’t seem to recognize him. 

If it weren’t for her eyes, Till would have thought she was dead. Her skin is pale as death, her lips are completely chapped, and her stare is blank as paper. She almost looks possessed.

“Good, you’re awake,” a frantic voice says behind him. He turns, and it’s Sua, though she’s looking a little worse for wear. Her normally neat hair is matted, and there’s blood and dirt crusting her face. 

“Hurry up and do something before we all die,” she says before shoving a dagger into his hands. Then she brandishes her water, forming icicles aimed straight forward. They streak across the air, faster than Till’s eyes can even track, hitting the King dead in the eye, but shatter into millions of pieces upon impact. 

That doesn’t stop Hyuna from jumping straight into the fray, magic cloaking her form until she’s nothing more than a whirlwind of lethal spins and hits. The King dodges most, but the hits that do connect send him staggering backwards. Even so, he recovers near instantaneously, while fatigue begins slowing Hyuna’s movements as sweat beads on her. A delicate gold string wraps around her head, evidence of Luka’s powers. 

Upon closer inspection, each of them is in some way connected by it, all of it leading up to a gold thorned ring around Luka’s right eye. A sight-based power that allows him to inspect anything at its core. Depending on the complexity of the ability, he can mimic parts or even alter the ability in its entirety.  In short, it’s the classic should-be-overpowered ability in a shitty power fantasy novel that is a lot less overpowered now that they’re using it in real life.

“It’s useless, he’s still almost entirely impenetrable,” Luka says, having almost teleported to their side. “Still, the plan kind of worked. He’s been weakened quite a bit; he’s no longer immortal.”

That would be quite heartening news if they weren’t still getting their ass kicked. He elects not to say that out loud, though, as Sua has several very dangerous icicles floating around her. Icicles she likely has no qualms about familiarizing Till with. And would you look at that, he’s developing himself a brain-to-mouth filter. 

The dagger is cool in his hands. The surface shines like a polished mirror, and when he catches his reflection in the edge, he just looks like some kid. He doesn’t fit into this messed-up world. He has no combatant powers, and the one power he does have is extremely finicky and has little to no use in an actual fight. Honestly, it's almost a detriment with the way visions overtake him completely. His most recent struggles have been passing his midterm and turning homework in on time; he’s seriously not cut out for stopping tyrannical overlords.

Above all, though, Till hates feeling useless. He’s always been someone who goes for what he wants regardless of obstacles. This feeling of powerlessness—he loathes it. 

“Holy shit, we’re all going to fucking die, and you’re out here moping.” Hyuna’s voice cuts through. “Stop admiring yourself in the mirror for a second and—

A sickening crunch breaks off her words. The King shatters waves of icicles to leap directly at her, and a shadowy tendril around his leg is all that stops him from snapping her cleanly in half. He manages to crush her leg instead.

The scream she lets out is enough for Luka to break his concentration, forcing him to take a direct hit to the head, and just like that, it all goes to shit.

Before Till gets a chance to comprehend what's happening, both of Hyuna’s legs are snapped, Ivan’s pinned under the King’s gorging mass, and Mizi is still entirely out of commission. Sua attempts to freeze him in place while Ivan’s shadow desperately restrains him, but he bats it away like they are nothing but nuisances.

There’s a twisted smile on the King’s jumbled face as he places a clawed hand on Ivan’s shaking chest. He stabs one finger between the ribs and the bloody cough Ivan lets out hurts Till more than any scream. The next finger punctures Ivan’s lungs, and at this point, the mess of dark red has stained the dewy grass beneath him, watering the ground with blood and the air with metallic tang. Gradually, the light in Ivan’s eyes dim, like the closing scene of a show for an audience of one. 

Ivan’s going to die. Ivan’s going to die.

And this time, Mizi’s too far gone to save them. 

Hold on. 

Mizi.

He takes another look at her slumped form, her eyes filled with unnatural gold and the promise of so much more in its lifeless sheen. She had crossed the boundary to save him from death. Relinquished a piece of herself to grasp at his fleeing soul. Her catatonic state was proof of the imbalance. 

And magic will always right the tipped scales. 

It’s a life for a life. A heart for a heart. And right now, Till has a clear idea of whose life he’d like to trade. 

With the solid weight of trepidation in his chest, Till grasps at their final straws. 

On the King’s face is a deranged look, and as he turns away from Ivan’s crumpled, bloody form, he makes his way towards his next target. He’s had his fun with his current plaything, having toyed with them enough to consider ending the show. 

The King’s eyes swivel towards Sua, the last one unharmed, and by the way he casually ambles towards her, it’s clear this fight is over. There are no screams. No applause. No pleas. Acceptance befalls all of them. To start a fight is to accept that defeat is possible, and now they face it with dignity. 

As he glides to Sua’s side, she doesn’t even attempt to run; there’s a stormy regality in her eyes, in the tilt of her chin, in the promise to fear nothing, much less a King whose physical form rots in spite of itself. 

And when he stops right beside her—Till sees his opportunity. 

Till lunges straight at the King, catching him by surprise, and the momentum causes both of them to tumble backwards. Straight onto Mizi’s slumped form. 

Instantly, the glow in Mizi’s eyes begin to dissipate, allowing heavy eyelids to eclipse. 

A shocked blink is all the reaction Till gets from Sua before she starts encasing him in another block of ice, but it’s unnecessary. The inhuman glow has already encompassed the King’s form, twisting and redirecting his physical being until there’s nothing but dust left. 

All in all, it’s oddly anticlimactic, and while his chest thuds with the rivers of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Till’s mind is surprisingly clear. He stands up and dusts the debris off himself.

“Holy shit, is it actually over?” Hyuna wheezes, her pinched expression slightly befuddled, though clearly in extreme pain. 

“I guess?” Sua replies.

Till pays them no mind, sprinting over to Ivan’s side with Sua right behind him. 

He drops to his knees and puts his ear to Ivan’s chest, uncaring of the pools of blood. It’s so faint it’s almost unnoticeable, but he’s still breathing. 

“Till?” Ivan creaks, and it's barely above a whisper. 

“Ivan,” Till responds, numb with grief. He says it from his chest, from the weight of a million things left unsaid.  He’s shaking, they both are. They both know it’s the end. 

“Come closer, idiot,” Ivan mutters weakly, and Till obliges with a wet laugh. What else is he to do? And with the last of his energy, Ivan kisses him, smearing sticky blood on Till’s chapped lips. It’s nothing more than a gentle press. 

“It always ends the same, but I’ll love you every time,” Ivan breathes before the light in his eyes fades, the curtains are drawn, and Till is left alone again. 

Fuck.

He’s numb. He’s so numb it hurts. The cool air blows against his skin, pushing and pushing until the millions of bottled feelings deep in his chest burst out unabated. He feels so empty until he doesn’t, until anger and sorrow envelop what little sense he has left.

“I love you,” Till swears it like a curse. “I LOVE YOU, IVAN. DAMN IT, SAY IT BACK.”

He’s screaming, sobbing into Ivan’s bloodied chest, and then he’s shaking Ivan, uncaring of the open wounds. It doesn’t matter. Not the way the blood gurgles like a spout, nor the rattling of a stiffening body. Fuck. It doesn’t matter when Ivan’s dead. 

Just as quickly, he removes his hands, because even if Ivan’s dead, it feels wrong to desecrate him, to disrespect his corpse. 

But he’s still so angry, and he isn’t even sure where the rage stems from. He makes no move to process it, though, because once he’s done, all he’ll be left with is grief. Anger is familiar, anger is manageable. But grief will shatter him. 

It pours off of him like waves, without a channel to direct. 

It’s so loud it echoes in his mind until it’s nothing but a chamber of rage, of sorrow, of grief. Inside, one thought resonates. 

This was never supposed to happen. 

Till knows the vision he saw of his and Ivan’s future together when all of it was over, and he craves it now with all his being.

Because that’s what should've happened.

And there’s so much power, so much belief infused in this thought that he can feel it crack through, shatter through realities of sleek modern university architecture and artificial pink hearts and lights, of stages in neon lights and cheering stadiums of creatures beyond recognition.

He’s ascending, transcendent, a part of everything and nothing all at once. He sees futures beyond human comprehension, merges the fiber of his own being with every branch of the multiverse of timelines. Throughout it all, the same thought stays clear—this was never supposed to happen. 

In one timeline, the group of six dies one by one, each a victim of Mizi’s unchecked powers. 

In another, Till wakes up exhausted in his university dorm after spending his entire night playing a game. 

In this one, though, Hyuna and Sua can only watch as Till’s unfocused eyes glow with unnatural light, his lips still sticky with Ivan’s blood.

Chapter Text

What really is magic? Till doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’d be willing to sacrifice anything.

Hundreds of Threads. Tangling. Choking. Tugging.

CHOOSE ONE TILL. WHAT WILL YOU HANG ON TO.

Tugged like a marionette in every direction. This is a game and you are but strung up in the web, unravelling at every bend. Each is an option—each string a promise, a timeline, a future.

MAKE.

YOUR.

CHOICE.

Till grasps at the red, the mess, yet all it does is tighten the rope around his neck. And despite it. He sees.

Future, foresight, prophet what meaning do any of these words have. Syllables strung together to try to explain sight to the blind.

For the first time, Till is completely aware.

Crowds of engorged creatures, myriads of colors and shapes, some with tails or horns or things he can’t even begin to explain. They cheer at the bloodshed, relish in the violence agains the soulful melody all around. He is there, here and there, and everywhere all at once. He’s screaming his throat raw, heaving breaths of cold rainy air, fingers thrumming against metal guitar strings. Then he’s screaming until it’s all numb, hands bloodied by another Ivan, stiff body on a floating white island. No, not another Ivan. The same one.

BUT TILL. YOU HAD ANOTHER CHANCE.

The rope coils tighter. He fights, yanking it away, trying to release the tension on his throat, to make way for air. His hand catches another string.

The same stormy night and white floating platforms. An assortment of creatures against a beautiful dotted sky. The six of them once again. This time, though it's just a set; they’re in costumes: anger, sadness, agony, paint their faces, but it's all a facade. The moment the cameras stop rolling and the director yells cut, they shed it like a second skin, like butterflies taking flight.

And Till, both himself and this one and all the more bloom. Takes off the mask, the costume, the guitar, the artificial stage lights, leaves behind his acting agent to put his hand in Ivan’s with a promise to meet Mizi and Sua for drinks later on his tongue.

It’s late when their part is done. They have new lines to memorize for tomorrow, but today the car’s dashboard fogs up in cold night air. Ivan’s staring at him with those dark eyes that never seem to leave his face. Till’s laughing, kicking his feet against the dashboard even though he knows he shouldn't. The streetlights wash away the indigo of twilight. They're unstoppable. On top of the world.

And then the lights get too bright. Blur into two headlights rushing straight towards them. A loud siren. An even louder, sickening crash, the impact running through both of them like a deadly strike. And then there is nothing again.

Even as actors in a show, when the lights dim and the curtains are drawn, there is no happy ending.

The sheer unfairness of it all overwhelms Till. No, he demands again, raw.

“Cut” the director's words form before the crash echo. The next scene must go.

Cut.

Cut the damn rope.

BUT TILL YOU AREN’T THE DIRECTOR HERE.

And the strings never end. Till kicks against the red, though all it does is cut painfully against his shin. His foot tugs another string out of place.

YOU HAD EVERY SINGLE CHANCE.

He’s watching through his own eyes again, but this time it’s back at the start, at his University dorm, rubbing his eyes after spending the entire night playing some random dating sim he picked up. The game's bugged or something, but he leaves it be. He has an 8 am to get to anyway.

He’s running towards the class, desperate not to be late, and in his hurry, collides headfirst into a broad chest. He looks up, apology ready.

The same dark haunted eyes. Deep as the depths of hell. As the saying goes, when you stare into the abyss. The abyss stares back.

Ivan.

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO MEET AGAIN.

How? Till breathes, but it's not Till saying it. Of every single string, every single timeline, they are all him, and at the same time, none of them are. And just as quickly, the time speeds through like wind, like a current dragging him under again.

He comes to in the sterile white of a hospital room. There’s a ring on his finger: the metal a biting cold, an ache that won’t go away.

He sits on one of those dingy plastic chairs by the side of the hospital bed. A beeping of a heartbeat monitor next to pale blue sheets. He doesn’t need to look to know who the patient is.

“Till.” Ivan croaks, and when Till looks over, he swallows down the lump in his throat and the sting of tears in his eyes.

“You look terrible in blue,” Till chokes, a hot tear streaking down his face despite his efforts.

“Crybaby.” Ivan rasps with a weak smile, but there’s so much love, so much fondness infused in it that it seeps through like a warm hug.

And then Ivan’s strength gives out.

The beeping gets louder. Echoing. Until it stops all at once. Flatline.

The matching ring on Ivan’s finger glints like a taunt. An engagement ring. Till sucks in a breath. The real one is tucked in Ivan’s pocket, waiting for a wedding that will never come.

Cardiac Arrest is what the nurse tells him after. He was so young too, she says under her breath when she thinks Till can’t hear.

His vision blurs through tears.

Belatedly, he realizes he’s fallen to his knees. The pristine tiled ground hurts, and bruises are already starting to form—splotches of red that blur into a spindle of threads.

Till despairs into the void.

Every single time he meets Ivan and every single time Ivan slips through his hands like water.

Because their fates are intertwined, the same way that tragedy binds them together. He looks around, and the strings are endless. He knows every single timeline is the same, the same fate in every variation, and there’s no fight left in him to keep pulling at strings.

Please. Just once. We’ve given so much, what more do you want. Till’s so fucking empty there’s nothing left to give.

YOU KNOW THE RULES.

What fucking rules? In the emptiness, there’s enough kindling for anger. Fueled by open air and the emptiness of eternity. There are no curses to say, no forbidden words left, where breaching them could express his pure rage. For what is a curse when it is fate herself that has tied you to tragedy, when you look the world eye for eye and realize there's nothing underneath.

Eye for eye.

An eye for an eye.

The fundamental law of the universe.

Oh. So this is what you want from me. For the first time in this plane of lawlessness, Till smiles.

A Heart for a Heart.

A life for a life.

Till doesn’t even have to think; it’s barely a choice at all. The roaring in his ears sounds like the receding of the waves before a tsunami, before nature lulls from its slumber and bares its sheer power. Look at me, it demands. This is what you have forsaken. It is through my whims alone that I allow you to live.

And the current pours over him. Magic is the human way of explaining what they will never understand. This isn’t magic. It is simply the universe granting him a trade, so infinitesimal in its greatness that one request is nothing, provided the terms are met.

And suddenly, he sees beyond the strings, collects them all in his possession, in their tangled ball of creation. Cradles them to his chest and then tears.

Tears the fibers of the universe. Reweaves, restrings, and rewires. Rewrites his story. And every step, the rope—the noose around Till’s neck tightens, chokes the life, the universe out of him. His allowance of power dwindles, the trade comes to a close. With the last of his strength and as consciousness recedes from him, suffocated by the prison of red string that tightens with every new connection he ties, his hands weave together the final knot.

Ivan lives.

The wave crashes down. The ocean calms once more. Magic is and will always be a balance. One boy lives, the other dies. The debt has been paid, and the world continues to spin, undeterred by the fluttering of one butterfly.

As the string relaxes back into the void, this timeline irons out the final wrinkles.

Ping!

[ Unlocked Ending ]

The pink box startles everyone.

Ivan blinks into consciousness warily. He died. He knows this. And yet his hands push against the wet mossy ground, dig into clusters of moist dirt as he pushes himself up. He expects pain, but he feels good as the day he was born.

Still, he isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He whips his head back and forth, and to his relief, everyone is alive, though looking a little worse for wear. For some reason, though, Sua’s staring at him in abject horror. That’s pretty fair; he’s decently sure he just came back from the dead. He narrows his eyes, no wait, she’s staring next to him.

And when he takes a closer look at Till, his heart drops.

There’s a lifeless sheen to his green eyes, glowing with unnatural power.

Ivan stares at where his fatal wound should be, where the skin has knit itself back together without a blemish, as if nothing ever happened. He looks back at Till, who lacks any wound of his own, but sits in a catatonic state, charged with the current of magic beyond physically possible.

No. No No No No.

Till wouldn’t. It’s impossible. And yet here they are. Where one should be dead and the other should be alive.

With a sinking moment of clarity, he realizes what Till—beautiful, perfect Till has done.

“TAKE IT BACK.” Ivan roars, leaping onto him, hoping the magic will leech onto himself instead, so that he could put this worthless life of his into Till’s, let it seep from his bone marrow into the lifeblood of the person who is the other half of his soul.

Against all odds, he gets a response.

“What the fuck, “ Till says blearily. Then Till short-circuits. He’s definitely supposed to be dead right now. Like that was a lot of dramatics, a lot of cosmic overload for him to be still breathing right now.

He doesn’t get time to think about that, though, because then Ivan’s cracked, bloody lips are on his with all the ferocity of a million timelines, a million I Love Yous left unanswered. He kisses back. Lets the two of them mold into one: two pieces repeatedly torn across time and space, finally finding each other for good.

“Six kids. House in the countryside with two cats and a garden.” Ivan mouths heatedly in the midst of trying to physically devour Till.

“I want a dog,” Till says before his brain connects for half a second, “Wait, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You. Me. Us. I don’t care, I’ll take anything you’re willing to give.” Passion leaks through Ivan’s words, like honey on his tongue. “ Till, I’m selfish, I’ll take everything if you’ll let me. Just say the words.”

“Ivan, those are my lines. I’m the one who died for you.”

“So is that a yes? Till please, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if it means a shred of your attention. I’d give up everything if you’d so much as asked.”

“Yes, Ivan, you idiot, we can have it all. I love you. “ Till smiles, “Say it back this time, okay.”

“ I love you. I love you so much. I’d love you until the end of time and then again, “ Ivan says fervently, his larger frame covering Till’s entire body, pushing him deep into the moist ground. In the back of his mind, Till winces. Mud. Ew.

And then the common sense department clicks in again. “Wait, we can do this later, Ivan. Hyuna, Mizi, and Luka need aid.”

Ivan refuses to budge. “They’ll live,” he huffs petulantly, snaggletooth peeking out. I want to kiss him, Till thinks. Oh yes, I can, he remembers, before pressing a soft, chaste kiss in the corner of Ivan’s lips. In the temporary distraction, he shoves Ivan off.

“So I’m telling them you said that,” Sua says with a look of disgust, looking very much like she wished she were the one who died instead.

Till has the gall to look a little guilty, Ivan looks unabashed.

“You guys are pathetic. I guess congratulations are in order. Now, help me get these guys out,” she sighs, gently carrying Mizi on her back, careful not to jostle her.

Ivan uses his shadow to pick Hyuna and Luka up with considerably less care. On the way out, he drops Luka once. Till is pretty sure he did it on purpose.

They close the door and leave all the carnage behind in the crystal room. The King has no body to bury anyway.

Outside, the moon shines bright, tranquil in the night. It feels foreign enough to give TIll whiplash, and as the adrenaline seeps away, it's replaced with exhaustion. The rest of the school is still sound asleep, completely unaware of what has occurred.

Overnight, the world has changed, but for now, no one knows.

In the weeks that follow, it's a whirlwind of chaos. The King is declared missing. The court is in disarray, the country is on the brink of a civil war, and the ensuing power struggle is a bloodbath, but no one can deny Luka’s claim to the throne, and under his control, the nation stabilizes.

The six of them are elected to court positions, and it’s been a hard adjustment for Till, who knows next to nothing about politics beyond textbooks from a lifetime ago. But he’s willing to try and with Ivan by his side that’s more than enough.

It's on a warm morning in the palace gardens that Till unexpectedly meets Luka.

“I knew you’d be here, “ Luka says cryptically.

“Being King has only made you creepier, man,” Till mutters without heat.

“It’s been plaguing you, hasn’t it.” Luka states matter-of-factly, “Why you’re still alive, that is.”

Till knows better than to ask how Luka knows. “Yeah. It’s hard to explain, but I took a nose-dive straight off the magic cliff, and I sure as hell knew what the price was going to be.”

“And yet here you stand.”

“It doesn’t make sense. I had to pay a life to have one returned. Break the balance of magic to change the future, when my power only allows me to view it.”

“Oh, but you have paid, haven’t you?” Luka muses, before reaching a blue-tinted finger to stroke a gray butterfly on one of the red roses growing across the garden. “I think I’ve overextended my stay here now. If you’ll excuse me, I have a queen to return to.”

“You guys aren’t even dating.”

“Semantics.”

Still, there’s a glint in Luka’s eyes. He always knows more than he lets on. Then again, Till’s pretty sure Luka’s power gives him insight beyond words. They’re opposites, Till realizes: he can see the far beyond, albeit hazily, and Luka can see what’s right in front of him with piercing clarity.

A debt already paid, huh?

[How do you think you got here?]

A life for a life. But not this life.

[ You already saw what was supposed to happen in your last life. University, an unassuming video game, the death of a soulmate, and then you would’ve lived out the rest of your life. You were supposed to be a musician. ]

Till grins when it clicks, so that's how he ended up in a budget dating sim. Man, fuck being a musician. For Ivan? I’ll play a harp or something here instead. Holy shit, that’s got to be the best deal of my life, Till realizes, with a rising lightness in his chest.

It’s really forever huh.

Two separate red strings end up tangled. But while one is cut short, the other gets to flourish.

In the garden, Till watches as the gray butterfly beats its wings. Once. Twice. And then it flies off, free to roam the skies.