“Theo, you’re crying.”

  He didn’t move at first, but when he finally collected his thoughts, he touched his face and then looked at his hand.

  “I…am.”

  Ty looked away and picked up the book, feeling like she saw something she wasn’t supposed to. There was still a lump in her throat, but she no longer knew what to say.

  “Sorry, I-I’ve got to go back and help Cyril,” he continued quietly, wiping his face with the back of his hand and then turning away.

  Somehow, even though the words were no longer weighing on her chest, she felt like she had made a mistake. A great sense of shame washed over her.

  “Are…are you two okay?” asked Cyril awkwardly, the assignment now the farthest thing from his mind.

  “Yes,” responded Ty hastily, scrambling up and thinking about how to reverse all the damage she had done, what to do so that she didn’t say something else she’d end up regretting. “I…should go,” she uttered weakly as she hurriedly stuffed the book into her bag.

  Then, there was yelling.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m—I can’t believe you—” cried a voice.

  Thud.

  “Don’t you—don’t you think she—all of this isn’t just for—”

  “You had one job!”

  Crash.

  “Nate, do something! She was your—”

  Another crash, and then total silence.

  The door opened.

  “Hello, students,” sighed the Headmistress, clothed in all-black combat gear and rubbing the side of her neck as she walked in, doing a double take at Ty who stood at the entrance. “I’m afraid this study room was supposed to be out of bounds pending Academic review.”

  Cyril dropped his pencil. Theo sat up straighter.

  Ty didn’t move.

  The Headmistress, clearly holding back her annoyance, sighed deeply again before stepping to the side and gesturing to the door. “I must ask you all to come back another time when the study rooms are available again. Please leave any books you took off the shelf on the table, and I will reorganize them.”

  She couldn’t look at the Headmistress without seeing the report. A ‘clear’ stamp in a world where her classmates died.

  “Hi, Ty.” Her smile looked far too forced as usual.

  “Hello, Headmistress,” she replied automatically, meeting her stone-cold eyes with her own red, teary ones. Trying to search for some compassion, coming up short.

  “Anything you’d like to talk to me about?”

  “No, I’ve got to get back to my class,” Ty responded quietly, tearing her eyes away and rushing out the door.

  She got out only a few steps before she stopped, unable to help herself from surveying the chaos that had transpired outside while they were safe inside the study room.

  Where Halle’s desk had been was a whole pile of wood and paper, large stakes sticking out of books, torn covers and pages, shelves and study desks that were now no more. Anger. So much anger.

  In front of the pile sat a black-cloaked, unmistakable figure that must have been Nate. And laying on the ground, hands to her face, was the angelic Halle. Large, red gashes adorned her arms, the blood from her wounds dyeing her clothes an even darker shade of black.

  Ty surveyed the rest of the floor. No one else was around.

  “It hurts, it hurts so much,” sobbed Halle loudly from the other end of the library, “I can’t do this. I miss her so much. She was your—your tact—d-didn’t you—didn’t you—”

  Before the sentence could be finished, the dark figure stiffened and turned around to meet her eyes.

  Not waiting to be told, she bolted down the stairs and out of the library.

  * * *

  Out of breath, standing in the middle of a dark, empty common room, Ty hadn’t considered that she could have gone anywhere else. The common room was only place she could think of that she wanted to go, but now that it was empty, now that she could see that the hearth was cold, Faris wasn’t reading in his usual armchair, Korinna wasn’t studying with Selene by the desks in the back, Callie wasn’t stress-cooking snacks in the kitchen, she could see clearly again. She could have gone somewhere else where no one would be able to find her, where she could confront the truth without the constant, insistent reminder that there was an unshakeable—and now possibly explicable—kinship she felt between her and her classmates.

  What was she going to do? What was she thinking?

  She wanted to listen Elias complain about his classes yet excitedly analyze the newest gear, she wanted to hear Cyril lament about his parents constantly sending him messages about settling down, she wanted to hear Darius devoutly work on his speech with the ever-amicable Alex, she wanted to hear Theo eagerly agree to look at others’ assignments in return for sweets.

  She had class tomorrow, a delivery to pick up, a class to lead, a final exam to finish before the semester break. She needed to post today’s report on the noticeboard beside the entrance. She needed to check in with Callie to see how lessons with Elias went, she needed to figure out the best way to bind spells into a single tome with Darius, and then finalize an equipment list to submit to the exam adjudicators.

  What was even the point?

  She would be gone two years from now. Her class would go on without her—students were either expelled or left their position willingly, there were never any exceptions. So why then did she have so many memories of her classmates, memories that felt old, that felt like they took place years from now yet were rooted in the past, as if she had all the time in the world?

  Hadn’t there been three crosses in the diagram?

  Standing still in the middle of the dark room, she knew that she would not need to check her belongings to know that the card had been forgotten in the study room. Tucked neatly between the two books sandwiching Cyril’s volume, so that when the Headmistress went to go reshelve it, she would know exactly where to find the rest. And who had taken one of the volumes.

  Levyarn—how had she acquired books in the first place? What was her connection to all this, and what did she gain in handing off the files to Ty? She had made it clear at the end of class that they would not be meeting again—but perhaps she could visit the head office during the semester break with her mother.

  Until then, all she could do was wait.

  Wait for the world to come to me?

  “Do I do nothing?” she asked the darkness.

  It did not answer.

  “Is this my fate?” she asked again.

  It still did not answer.

  “Why me?” she finally whispered.

  When she was again met with no answer, she walked up to the fireplace and lit it wordlessly, looking at the dancing flames for just a moment before she opened her notebook and ripped her page of today’s reports out. She walked to the front of the room and hung it in its place, messy among her previous notices. She put her notebook back in her pocket and opened the front door. Observed the silent courtyard, the cold darkness, the emptiness. Felt nothing. Went back in. Closed the door.

  She left the warm common room and returned to her own quiet, dark room. Set her bag down on her table. Unloaded the tomes in her pockets. Laid down in bed.

  Slept.

  * * *

  Darkness.

  In her dreams, there was only darkness.

  She stood alone at its center, unmoving, knowing there was no way out.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  * * *

  In the morning, she got up earlier than usual, ate her medicine, took a bath, and then completed some of her duties in her room before she went out to the common room.

  She nodded at Darius and Selene, who were getting ready to head over to breakfast, put up her newly made notice in lieu of her chicken scratch from the night before, and then headed to the library.

  Of course, she was not allowed past the barrier that had been erected overnight at the top of the stairs.

  The library space across the stairs was mostly restored, the heap of miscellaneous wood, paper, and fabric now reduced to nothingness. Where there had been desks and shelves of books was a vacant space, and there did not seem to be anyone around conducting the so-called “Academic Review”.

  She headed over to the lecture building’s administrative floor next, where she located several boxes with pin locks to them, and picked up a book wrapped in parchment. Not a single person asked for the card.

  After that, she visited Darius’s workshop, where she sat for the better part of an hour or two copying down her notes for equipment and what materials needed to be collected. They did not have their binding session. She did not engage in any small talk, and neither did he press her.

  While she was at the workshop, Korinna dropped off some Ancient seeds on behalf of Selene, who she had visited earlier that morning, and the tactician remembered to ask the mercurial chemist for a formal letter of apology. The request was met with a scoff, followed by a rant about unfair treatment, before finally reaching a promise to have it done by the end of the week.

  When she eventually left the workshop, she aimlessly returned to the Tactician’s courtyard, where she found a small corner to sit in to unwrap her Tactician’s tome.

  She spent the rest of the morning making markings in it, mumbling words, ripping up some scrap paper she brought along to flag pages she needed, and memorizing the places of most of the spells she needed for class practice later in the afternoon.

  At the afternoon bell, Ty finally looked up from her spot and saw that some other tacticians were also practicing and reading in the courtyard. None of them were recognizable and they didn’t seem to pay her any mind either, so she stayed in her corner, taking a break by thinking about absolutely nothing at all. Not about the report, not what was in the rest of the volumes, not about Halle, not about the Headmistress, not about how she’d explain everything to Cyril, not about Theo or the look of panic she had seen on his face, not about where she’d be a year, two years from now. There was absolutely nothing on her mind.

  It had taken her far too long to realize that none of this was under her control, that she was a puppet of the Earth Mother’s designs, the Headmistress’s designs. In her small bubble, all she had were shadows of images, cherry-picked by her peers so that she always had only fragments of a world she could not understand, always returning to the burden of time, time, time. It was all simply easier to think of nothing at all, continue living her life like she had been taught, until it was time for her to be used, to fulfill whatever purpose her existence had. She would do it because she had nothing else. She was nothing.

  “Hey.”

  Nothing at all.

  “Ty.”

  Ty looked up from her corner.

  “Sulking, I see.”

  “I’m not sulking.”

  Cloaked in his usual black, the child professor observed her, an impassive look on his face. “Come on, get up.”

  “No.”

  He looked around at the empty courtyard before putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to force you to come.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I’d like to show you something,” he continued to say in a neutral tone. “It’s around the corner. Come.” Then, without waiting for her to respond, he started toward the end of the courtyard.

  Against her own word, Ty shut her notebook and got up from her spot, walking slowly out of the overhang and spotting the black, gold-lined cloak at the back of the courtyard, where there was a small field and a flower patch.

  “These flowers,” Nate spoke, staring at the flowers as she approached, “were planted by Halle this last spring. A long, long time ago.”

  He crouched down and poked a long, purple petal with his finger. “I don’t remember what used to be here. Maybe training equipment.” He rubbed it between his fingers. “Whatever it was, it was less important than the memory of someone very beloved to her. My tactician, my friend. It is her, who she misses.

  “Halle does not forgive me. She blames me for letting my tactician die. I have had a lot of time to think about my actions. Sometimes I wonder if I really did cause her death.”

  He let go of the flower and stood up, looking into the distance, at the small yard beyond the fence. “I remember a time when these were the only thoughts I had. Every day, I would wake up hating myself, and I would end the day doing the same. Every living, breathing moment was time I stole from her. And she will never return no matter how hard I try to repent.

  “I no longer have these thoughts. Halle reminds me sometimes when she talks about her, but even then, I feel nothing. I remember her death, but I do not mourn. I do not feel.”

  The professor exhaled. “It is nice to not feel. There is a certain reprieve to be found in it. But it is not always the answer.”

  He looked down at the flowers again, his shoes just shy of touching them. Unable to move forward, unable to trespass. “I wish I could remember how much I loved my tactician. I wish I could feel her warmth and kindness. Her charity and compassion. Remember her death as a reason to keep living, not as a fact.

  “It is nice to not feel. I feel no guilt. I feel no forlornness. I feel no yearning for someone who is gone.”

  Then, he finally turned to Ty, his face ever the same. Detached, jaded. “Everything is either black or white. There is no grey. There is no color. I do as I am told and tell it like it is without much thought. I am a monster.”

  He lifted an index finger and pointed at her square in the chest. “You can feel. You can love. You can see the world in color. You can tell right from wrong. You don’t follow everyone blindly. You are not a monster.

  “It is painful to feel,” he continued. “But it will hurt more to deny yourself the truth.”

  Here’s another life lesson, tactician: even when people admit they’re wrong, it doesn’t mean that they’ll always change.

  I want to change.

  “Why don’t I remember?”

  Nate did not avert his gaze. “Because you must be protected.”

  Something in her memory stirred. “Protected from what? The truth?”

  The tone in his voice sounded like the answer should have been obvious. “No. From yourself.”

  She remembered. “Does this have to do with one of the Circles?”

  For once, he faltered. He blinked a few times before giving his answer, delayed unlike all his other responses. “Yes, it does. The Thirteenth.”

  “Am I allowed to know what it means?” Before the words even left her mouth, she had a feeling she knew what the answer was. The answer she had dreaded hearing.

  “It means,” he started, pausing and looking back to the flower patch for a moment before returning to her. “It means that we have relived the same three years over again, fifteen times. This is the sixteenth time we have met for the first time, Tyche. It is why I know your name, why you feel like everything has happened before, why you have your dreams, why I know where to find you. That’s what you wanted to know, right? That’s the answer you think will make things clearer for you?”

  “No,” she replied in a whisper. “No.” She trusted him not to lie to her, but her mind refused to wrap her head around the truth.

  “You must have read the lost report, right?” he then asked, not even waiting for an answer before explaining, “Then you know Theo failed his objective. It’s the only reason why we’re here right now. Why I can talk to you.”

  “Theo, the Tactician.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I’m the Tactician.”

  “It is a title you both share.”

  “Was it because of something I did?”

  “I…believe so.” The uncertainty in his voice was stark.

  Her heart dropped. “But everything got reversed, so everything is back to normal, as if nothing happened.”

  “Yes.” This answer did not waver.

  She wracked her mind, trying to think of what made sense. “So, what happened to me before all this, before the fight in the Darkwoods?”

  “You left.”

  “I left?”

  He did not budge. “It makes sense after you know what happens if you stay.”

  The courtyard was silent. No birds chirped, no students passed by with their pitter-patter footsteps. The leaves of the surrounding trees did not rustle, the grass did not move. The flowers did not sway.

  She stared at death in the face.

  “You must make your own decision. When it comes, you will know.”

  All this time, she had known what her decision was. She had known it after reading the entry, after seeing Theo’s reaction to her apologies. She could not say why she knew it was the right answer, but had there ever been another option? Was this how she always felt, was it going to somehow change? When would it change? When was it going to be right to leave everyone behind?

  We can’t tell the future, but we can make some damn good guesses.

  “Do you and the Headmistress—all of you know what happened all the other times? Circles?”

  “Essentially.”

  “I let my classmates die?”

  “Well,” he stated matter-of-factly, “While there are always casualties in war, your classmates’ deaths are not all entirely your doing.”

  Her dreams had been right, after all. But were they a product of her leaving or staying? Was she really ready to protect everyone, or would she make another mistake to pile onto her many others? Everyone was right to try and protect her—she couldn’t take all of this. She grew up sheltered, with barely any contact with the outside world. Growing up in a bubble that reassured her of her own importance, how did she ever think that she could survive a normal life? The world was far bigger than she had ever expected it to be, and she was nothing if not a pawn in some else’s grand scheme.

  It was far easier to have stayed ignorant.

  “When…does the war start?”

  For once, Nate chuckled. It wasn’t an amused chuckle, or a playful, knowing one. It was dry, monotonous. Sarcastic. “It has been going on for a very long time now.”

  “What’s this all for, then?” she asked, feeling dumb. “Are we putting an end to it? With all these...these Circles? Do you need time to do something?”

  “We’ve gotten close, but all attempts have been reversed so far.”

  But she had seen it. She had read it, the uncertainty, the possibility of the world not being created again if there had been a bit less attachment. If there had been a little less selfishness.

  CLEAR.

  Which side really wanted the reversal?

  “What are we doing here then, learning when there’s a war going on?”

  Replying without even the slightest hesitation, she knew at once that it was something that she had asked before. “You are weak. There is nothing you can do right now but learn.”

  That was not what she wanted to hear.

  “You want me to do absolutely nothing, even after all you’ve just told me?”

  Nate nodded, even looked a bit more bored than usual.

  “Do I ask you the same thing every time? In this courtyard?” she asked in disbelief.

  His face reset. “This is not the first time you have come here to sulk, but it is the first time we are having this conversation.”

  She bit her cheek to prevent herself from letting go of another angry retort. “Was there something that was supposed to happen here if you didn’t come?”

  “Yes,” nodded Nate decisively. “The Thirteenth Circle, by far the worst one. It resulted in many lasting repercussions that we are still trying to right. It is why there is less time.”

  As she was about to assault him with yet another question, the child professor exhaled loudly, glanced at the purple-white flowers one last time, and then started walking away. “In case you learn something else you regret, you should probably refrain from asking me any more questions. I’ve got to go, anyway.”

  And just like that, without waiting for an answer, working on his own schedule—or perhaps the Headmistress’s—he left.

  Waiting by the flower patch, she wondered to herself what had just happened.

  He had been transparent with her, more than anyone else had ever been. Here she was, being told that she was reliving the same few years without even knowing it, without even remembering all of it. Snippets of a larger picture she couldn’t yet fathom.

  Not knowing the answers had made her despair, and the loneliness of not knowing anything had suffocated her, so why—why after she had been told the truth, after it had substantiated her suspicions—didn’t she feel more hope?

  Where had it all been before?

  She waited, counting the seconds.

  One, two. One, two.

  She ran to find her classmates.