Focus.
He forced a slow breath.
Alain scanned the courtyard. Envoys murmured. Guards shifted their stances. Nothing had exploded, no weapons were drawn.
Everything was still in its proper place.
Which meant one thing.
Lia was here. Somewhere.
And he needed to find her before anything else went wrong.
Alain moved quickly, slipping through pockets in the crowd before they noticed him.
But one thing was already wrong.
He reached the spot where Lia had stood last time—near the pillar, hands clasped behind her back, trying to pretend she wasn't nervous.
Empty.
Alain's steps slowed. His pulse didn't. He swept the courtyard again, sharper this time. No trace of white hair. No familiar posture. No bright eyes searching for him.
A faint unease pressed against his ribs.
She would never wander off alone… not here.
Alain slipped through the stone archway at the side of the garden back into the large mansion—one he didn't remember from the first run. The Revelation must have woven it into the layout, stitching a new path where none existed before.
Then—
A soft chime rang in the back of his mind. A faint notification pulsed at the edge of his vision:
[Proximity Alert: Secondary Host Detected]
Alain's breath stalled.
Another flicker:
[Corruption Level: 5%]
He stopped walking.
For a moment, the world tilted—his heartbeat kicking against his ribs with cold realization.
Same as me, but knowing Lia, she'll undoubtedly…
Lia had barely brushed the edge of fear in the previous run. She had never reached anything like this.
The message pulsed again, sharper this time, as if urging him forward:
[Warning: Secondary Host Location Shifted]
He wasn't imagining it. The Revelation had moved her.
Alain swallowed tightly and pushed forward, following nothing but instinct and the lingering pull of the message. The corridor grew narrower, heavier, as though the air itself thickened the closer he came.
The hallway ended at a wooden door he didn't recognize, faintly humming with a pulse that matched the rhythm of Lia's breathing in his memories.
He didn't hesitate. He pushed the door open.
A small, quiet bedroom. Curtains drawn. A blanket, slightly rumpled on the bed.
And there—
curled toward the wall, shoulders shaking— Lia.
Her white hair hid most of her face, but the parts he saw were flushed. Damp. She bit her lip to keep herself quiet, but the sound still escaped her—a small, stifled sob that cut through the silence like a blade.
She cried like she'd held it back for hours, and the moment she was alone, it finally slipped through.
Alain's chest tightened painfully.
"Lia…" he breathed.
Her head jerked slightly at his voice, but she didn't turn. If anything, she tried to wipe her face quickly, embarrassed—her hand trembling too much to hide anything.
Kneeling beside the bed, he lowered his voice.
"Hey," he said softly. "I'm here."
For a moment, she didn't move.
Then her fingers gripped the blanket tighter, knuckles whitening.
"I… I didn't want to be alone."
The Revelation hadn't placed her here to harm her—that truth struck him sharply.
It had placed her here to test him—to force him to confront the part of her he almost never saw.
Not the bright, confident, teasing Lia.
But the one who carried fear quietly, who hated being left behind, who cried only when she was certain no one could hear.
Alain reached out and gently rested a hand on her arm.
"You're not," he whispered. "Not this time."
Lia trembled once—then finally leaned into him.
And Alain realized, with startling clarity, that this loop wasn't just another retry.
It was personal.
Lia leaned into him for only a breath. Enough for him to feel her shaking, but not enough to let the moment stretch into something heavy. She pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm, embarrassed.
Alain didn't push the subject.
"Lia," he said softly.
She flinched at the sound, wiping at her eyes quickly even though it didn't help. "S-sorry… I don't know why—" Her voice cracked.
"The mist," he said. "Whatever it said, don't let it get to you."
"We can get out of this, I know we can."
Lia nodded, wiping the last tear from her face.
"It's the Revelation," he said. "It moved us. It changed the timing."
She looked up—confused, tired. "Changed…?"
Alain looked out the window. For the most part, the mansion was empty except for servants. The venue looked like it had more to be done, and no tables were set up yet.
"We're early," he explained. "Before anything started. Before the courtyard, before…" He cut himself off.
"We have time now. The question is, how much?"
Lia blinked, silent.
Alain continued, tone focused and level.
"The last loop dumped us into the moment everything fell apart. No context. No warning."
He gestured faintly to the calm beyond the walls, "The Revelation wanted to give us a chance to prepare. To figure out the cause."
"And you already have an idea," Lia whispered.
He nodded once.
"I'll map everything that happens today. Every conversation. Every shift in tension. Every detail that didn't matter last time but will matter now."
He turned back to her—expression firm but gentle.
"Come with me," he said, extending a hand. "It's safer if you're close."
Lia stared at him for a heartbeat, surprised. With a determined nod, she took his hand—not for comfort but for steadiness.
"We stay together for now," he said. "You don't need to say anything. Just observe."
She nodded, quiet but resolute.
Alain stepped into the hall first. Lia followed.
The hallway opened into the manor's eastern gallery, a long stretch of polished stone framed by tall windows. Morning light spilled across the floor in pale gold, nothing like the fractured glow of the courtyard from the first run.
Alain's steps were silent as he moved forward, Lia keeping close, her presence quiet but steady. Servants moved through the corridor with baskets of linens, trays of fruit, or piles of documents for tomorrow's conference. None of it felt dangerous yet. None of it felt out of place.
But Alain scanned everything.
Patterns. Positions. Expressions. Tension beneath the surface.
Understanding the shape of the day came first—only then could he understand how it shattered.
"Where do we start?" Lia whispered.
Alain didn't answer immediately. His mind sifted through the collapse in the first loop—what he'd seen, what he remembered, the image of the envoy's trembling hands just before the arrow flew.
Finally, he murmured, "The weapon. We find it first."
Lia nodded.
They crossed through two galleries, a dining hall being prepared for evening guests, and a quiet administrative wing where quills scratched over parchment. There were no traces of anything yet.
But the memory of its dark pulse lingered behind Alain's eyes.
A narrower hall pulled him in, instinct guiding his steps. A faint cold sensation brushed along the edges of his awareness
Lia stiffened beside him.
"You feel it too?" Alain asked softly.
She swallowed. "It's… like a needle. Very faint. A cold one."
Perfect.
The same sensation she felt in the collapse.
Ahead, a side chamber opened into a storage alcove where the visiting envoys' belongings were organized before being escorted to their assigned rooms. A guard stood at the entrance, bored but alert enough not to be asleep on his feet.
And there—being catalogued atop a lacquered table—sat a long, narrow case.
It was carved from dark wood, held together by simple silver clasps—unremarkable by design, as if it wanted to stay low on purpose.
"That's it," he said quietly.
Lia didn't need to ask. She felt it too, the cold prickle in the air, like the faintest breath of winter.
The table—no, the case upon it—drew his attention immediately.
The guard glanced their way, then straightened instinctively. His eyes flicked to the badges pinned at Alain and Lia's collars—marks of the host's endorsed guests.
The Revelation had dressed them properly for the roles it gave.
"Sir. Lady," the guard said, bowing his head. "Do you require access?"
Alain stepped forward without hesitation. "We need to examine that case."
The guard didn't question it.
"Of course." He moved aside, lifting the case gently and placing it closer. "These items arrived with the Jotnar envoy. They're undergoing inspection before being transferred to his quarters."
Alain nodded. "Unlock it."
The guard hesitated only a second. Not out of resistance, but protocol.
"Understood."
He unclasped the lid.
A faint breath of cold air drifted out, almost imperceptible—but Alain felt it. Lia did too; her shoulders tightened.
Inside lay the weapon.
A single arrow, carved from pale, unassuming wood.
Except—The wood wasn't wood.
It was mistletoe, the relic of inevitability in the children's tale Julie had told him countless times as a kid.
It started here.
[First Truth Identified. Progress 1/3]