Siffrin jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest, gasping for air as if he'd just escaped drowning. The world was different, though—no blood, no dying screams, no overwhelming sense of dread. He blinked, the familiar weight of exhaustion lingering in his bones. He had done it. The King was dead, the loop broken. Freedom was supposed to be his.

But as his vision cleared, the surroundings felt... wrong. Too quiet, too still. The sun, though it rose just as it always had, seemed slightly too dim, and the world’s edges felt like they were painted onto a canvas, fragile and easily torn. He stood, expecting to see the scorched ruins of his battle, the remnants of his struggle against the King, but all that greeted him was a familiar yet unsettling emptiness.

Then, he saw it. A silhouette, sitting in the distance. It was too still, too calm, and the figure appeared to be watching him. The air shifted, heavy with a presence that wasn’t there before. The silence seemed to stretch, pressing against him as he stood frozen, uncertain. His pulse quickened again, the realization slowly creeping in that this... wasn’t freedom. Not yet.

He stumbled back, his breath shallow. "No... no, this can't be happening. I— I broke the loop. I beat the King. I was—" His words caught in his throat. The figure remained still, unmoving, but the weight of their gaze felt as though it was seeping into his very soul. He couldn't tell if it was an ally or another cruel twist of fate, but one thing was certain: this wasn't over. Not yet.