Sunny woke with a shiver.
The first thing he felt was cold—a biting, unrelenting chill that sank through his torn tunic and gnawed at his skin. His body ached, his feet raw from the endless march, every muscle stiffened by exhaustion.
For a long moment, he just breathed, letting awareness settle over him.
The rocky mountain path stretched ahead, its jagged edges looming against the pale light of dawn. To his right, the sheer cliff face stood like an impassable wall, ancient and indifferent. To his left, nothing but black abyss, the depths hidden beneath mist and darkness.
The chain creaked as the caravan stirred—slaves waking, shifting, adjusting their iron bindings, each movement punctuated by the low murmurs of suffering.
And then, the soldier appeared.
The young horseman approached, his pristine armor seeming out of place against the bleakness of the caravan. His expression carried something unfamiliar—concern, faint but present.
"Bear with it a little more, child. We will stop for the night soon. For now, here, drink some water."
Sunny reached for the flask—
Then froze.
Future Sunny felt it instantly.
A hesitation. A pause.
A shift in fate.
In his first life, Sunny had taken the flask without thought.
Now—his fingers twitched, instinct recoiling from the offered water, as if some invisible force whispered: No.
Future Sunny's pulse quickened.
That was him.
That was his influence.
Past Sunny frowned, hand hovering over the flask.
Why did he suddenly feel wrong about this?
He was thirsty. The soldier was offering kindness. There was no reason to refuse.
And yet—his body wouldn't move forward.
Future Sunny watched closely, every second stretching unbearably long.
This wasn't control.
This wasn't dominance over time.
This was doubt, planted in the cracks of fate.
Past Sunny withdrew his hand.
"I'm fine."
The words left his lips before he even fully understood them.
The young soldier hesitated, surprised.
"Are you sure?"
Sunny didn't answer. He simply turned away, the unease lingering, inexplicable.
Future Sunny felt his mind reel.
He had changed something.
He had pushed fate—just barely.
But was it enough?
The older soldier arrived.
The whip cracked.
The moment shattered.
Past Sunny barely had time to brace himself before pain split through his back, dragging him back into the suffocating rhythm of survival.
Future Sunny clenched his teeth.
Despite everything—despite altering fate, despite seeing proof of his influence—he was still trapped.
Still helpless.
The world had shifted.
And yet—nothing had truly changed.
****
"Stop the caravan! Prepare to camp!"
Following the head soldier's order, the slaves collapsed to the ground, shivering and exhausted. The small clearing where the road widened offered some shelter from the wind, but the cold was still merciless.
Soldiers herded them into a tight circle, forcing bodies together to share warmth, then lit a large bonfire in the centre—though, of course, only after tending to their horses first. The heavy wagon carrying food, water, and supplies was pushed forward, creating a windbreak.
Future Sunny watched the scene unfold with a familiar weight pressing into his mind.
This was where it happened.
This was where the bones had been.
This was where the massacre began.
The young soldier from before stood apart, his gaze locked onto the mountain with a complicated expression.
"What a weirdo," Past Sunny thought.
Future Sunny absorbed the moment, locking onto the soldier's face. This boy—this supposed heroic figure—had once seemed so insignificant. But now, after years of studying every detail of this past, Future Sunny knew better.
His presence mattered. His choices mattered.
The soldier had played a role.
But Future Sunny still didn't know if it had been a good one, or a terrible one.
The bonfire blazed.
The stronger slaves forced their way closer, soaking up what little warmth they could steal. The weaker ones—including Sunny—were left at the outer edge, backs exposed to the freezing wind.
Future Sunny remembered this moment too well.
The distribution of food—tiny portions, barely edible.
The quiet resentment in the slaves' eyes.
The exhaustion woven into every movement.
It had been miserable before.
It was miserable again.
Nothing had changed.
The shifty slave who had walked behind Sunny looked around in anguish.
"By all the gods, they used to feed me better even in the dungeons!"
Future Sunny exhaled.
These words.
He had heard them before.
Every event was lining up, following the script—except for the flask, except for that small hesitation.
Had he truly altered fate? Or had he just delayed the inevitable?
The gentle-voiced scholar spoke, warning against the blood-red berries growing near the rocks.
"Bloodbane," he called them.
Future Sunny felt his stomach coil.
A sign of slaughter.
A reminder of where they were headed.
In his first life, he hadn't understood the weight of those berries. He had barely listened.
But now—he knew what they meant.
And he knew that soon, this mountain would be painted in red again.
Future Sunny stared at the darkening sky, his pulse steady despite the growing tension in his mind.
If nothing had changed…
If fate refused to break…
Then that meant the massacre was coming.
And he was going to have to watch it happen. Again.
A thundering noise rang from above.
Future Sunny didn't flinch.
It was starting.
The stones crashed down. Ice shattered. The chaos erupted.
Future Sunny watched it unfold, his mind racing through thousands of possibilities, thousands of attempts to change something—anything.
But there was no way to stop it.
The slaves screamed.
The chain tightened.
The monster fell from the sky.
And just like before—
Hell broke loose.