The rain didn't stop.
It didn't pour either—it simply fell, steady, cold, and relentless, like time itself. Each droplet a reminder, every gust of wind a whisper of what had just transpired.
Akshay remained motionless in the alley behind the temple. The cat and the dragon—whether real or illusion—were gone. But something had been left behind. Not something physical. Something internal. As if a weight had shifted.
He hugged his knees tighter to his chest, feeling the raw sting of the wounds on his face, ribs, and legs. Blood had dried against his temple. The pain from the explosion still flared with each breath.
"Get out. You're no son of mine."
Those words rang louder than the blast. Louder than the silence that followed.
He had loved them once.
He had tried.
Tried to be the son who made them proud. The brother who smiled when insulted. The student who worked through bruises. The boy who gave his all to those he loved.
Even after the first time his power hurt someone.
Even after the beatings.
Even after Elizabeth...
Elizabeth.
His fingers trembled. His vision clouded—not from rain, but from memories. Her laughter. Her touch. Her promises.
"Forever," she had once whispered into his ear, on the rooftop of their school.
Forever had lasted three weeks.
Akshay shifted his weight and winced. He couldn't stay here. The demon had walked away, but the presence it left behind still clawed at his bones.
A noise from the far end of the alley made him freeze. Just a drunk stumbling past. He waited, counting his breaths, before slowly pulling himself to his feet.
Every movement hurt.
But he walked.
He didn't know where he was going—only that going back wasn't an option.
It was late, almost midnight, when he collapsed behind a dumpster. The cold metal and reeking trash were better than the warmth of his house had ever been.
As he lay there, drifting into the haze between exhaustion and sleep, the memory loop began again.
He was six.
It was raining.
His father's voice thundered down the hallway. "How many times have I told you not to touch the tools?"
"I just wanted to fix the clock," young Akshay whispered.
The back of his head struck the wall. A hand gripped his collar, shaking him.
"You broke it worse. You think magic can solve everything?!"
"I just wanted—"
A slap. Then silence.
Later, his mother brought him food.
She placed the plate on the floor, not looking him in the eye.
"Eat. Don't make it worse."
Then she left.
The food was cold.
And he was already full—from tears.
He awoke gasping.
But he wasn't in the alley anymore.
He was in his room.
His childhood room.
Again.
"No, no, no…" he whispered. "Not again."
The loop had started.
Again.
He tried everything. Punching walls. Screaming. Holding his breath until he passed out. But no matter what he did—he woke up the next day in that same bed, the same blue walls, the same goddamn rain tapping on the window.
He stopped fighting after the twelfth loop.
Stopped crying after the twentieth.
Stopped caring after the thirtieth.
But not all hope vanished at once.
In one cycle, he tried to be better.
Smarter.
He used his ability to heal a bird with a broken wing. Gave it back its flight. It chirped happily and flew off.
He smiled.
The next day, the bird was found dead. Strangled. Aryan claimed it brought disease.
In another loop, he defended a classmate from bullies. Fought them back. Took the beating.
Elizabeth patched him up afterward.
He almost thought maybe, just maybe, this version would be different.
But Aryan saw them.
That night, Elizabeth disappeared from his life.
She returned days later—holding Aryan's hand.
"Grow up," she had said, eyes cold. "You're too soft. That's not attractive."
Akshay didn't scream.
He didn't argue.
He just stood there.
Feeling something… crack.
Something small.
Insignificant.
But permanent.
In the fiftieth loop, he did nothing.
No resistance.
No effort.
No hope.
His parents ignored him. Aryan mocked him. Elizabeth never glanced his way.
But in the silence, something else happened.
He began to observe.
Really observe.
He noticed how power wasn't in the yelling.
It was in the quiet.
In the father's eyes when business failed.
In Aryan's panic when things didn't go his way.
In Elizabeth's forced smiles.
They were all pretending.
Every single one.
And he had spent his whole life trying to be real for them.
Fool.
The energy inside him—once chaotic—began to settle.
The more he observed, the more he understood.
Power wasn't just strength.
It was control.
Of the self.
Of time.
Of perception.
The loops changed him.
Not with rage.
Not with vengeance.
But with indifference.
It didn't happen in a moment. It happened in hundreds of them. Tears drying before they fell. Words staying unsaid. Love left unanswered.
Until the boy who once cried at night, who once dreamed of being accepted—
Stopped.
He still smiled sometimes.
Still laughed with classmates.
Still spoke politely.
But inside?
Stillness.
Not numbness.
Just… understanding.
A dragon once looked at him. A cat once bowed.
They had seen this path. They knew.
And now, so did he.
From this point on—
Nothing would shake him.
Not until he reached the peak.
Not until he shattered the world.
And remade it.
Silent.
Cold.
Free.