Jamal’s eyes shot open, his chest heaving as though he’d just been pulled from a drowning depth.

“Jordan!” he gasped, turning to see his friend sprawled on the floor beside him. “Jordan, Jordan, are you okay?”

Jordan stirred, groaning as he sat up. “What… what the hell? Didn’t we just… die?”

“Y-y-yeah, I guess so. But… but here we are. What’s happening?”

Both men stared at each other, their breaths ragged and shallow. Then they stared ahead of them.

The grandeur of the hall stretched out before them once again—gleaming marble, bustling servants, and the golden glow of the palace in its prime. It was exactly as it had been the first time they woke up.

No sign of the attackers. No sign of blood. No sign of panic.

They looked ahead. Aric was relaxed in his couch, the goblet of wine in his hand as the servant handing to him bowed faithfully.

The concubines excitedly walked in once again, giggling and chattering among themselves. Servants moved about as usual.

It was as though the massacre they’d just endured had never happened.

“No way,” Jamal muttered, his voice trembling as he shook his head. “This can’t be real. How the hell are we back here? And… and how are we not harmed?”

Jordan clutched his head. “I have no idea, bro. but I remember it. It’s like déjà vu on steroids. I remember everything—the attack, the screams—God, we were right there in it!”

“I know! I remember it too, with that monster hitting me with the spear and all. Yet I don’t feel a thing. This doesn’t make sense at all, dude. It just doesn’t…”

Jamal’s complaint was cut short as a door nearby creaked open, and the sound of small footsteps echoed in the vast hall. They turned, startled, as a young boy no older than ten appeared before them. He wore a simple white tunic that shimmered faintly under the golden light of the chandelier.

“Who’s that?” Jordan whispered, inching closer to Jamal.

“I don’t know, but I don’t trust it,” Jamal replied, backing away slightly. He pointed at the youngster. “Stay back! I’m warning you, stay back!”

The boy stopped a few feet away from them, his chubby face calm and composed as he could decipher the fear in them. “Please,” he spoke softly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

Jamal and Jordan exchanged wary glances but held their ground, still deeply skeptical.

“What’s going on?” Jordan asked, his voice shaking. “Where are we? Who are you?”

The boy sighed, as though he’d explained this countless times before. “I am a messenger from the great beyond. And I’ve been sent to help you, because both of you are in a very precarious situation right now. At this point, you have been caught up in the curse of Okron.”

The two looked at each other, then at the boy, visibly puzzled. “The curse of what now?” Jamal demanded, folding his arms.

“Okron,” the young boy repeated, his voice steady. “Okron was a sorcerer who served a great master, Kaelor the Crimson. This great king Kaelor was dearly beloved by the sorcerer, so when he was defeated by Aric the Valiant in a fierce battle at the Clash of Emberhollow, Okron was consumed with much grief and vengeance. As such, he placed a terrible curse on this palace when Aric’s enemies struck and killed him and all that dwelt with him. Okron’s evil magic ensured the final minutes of the attack would replay endlessly. The massacre, the bloodshed, the terror… it happens again and again, trapping all who are present within this loop.”

Jordan paled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wait a minute. Y-y-you’re saying… we’re stuck in a time loop?”

“L-l-l-like Groundhog Day kind of loop?” Jamal added. “That’s why everything’s back to where we first began?”

“Yes,” the young boy replied, nodding his head. “And it was your actions that triggered it. By reading the inscription on the wall in the ruins, you invoked Okron’s curse. His magic thus ensnared you and pulled you into this dimension in time.”

The duo stood silent for a moment, the memory of them mockingly reading that inscription at the ruins.

“Wait. You mean, that thing we read wasn’t a joke?” Jordan asked skeptically.

The boy shook his head. “This is the meaning of what you read: By the blood of the fallen, By the echoes of despair, Rise now, cursed fortress, Bind those who dare to dare. Whoever reads it out loud invokes the curse to bind them to the fate of the palace.”

Jamal then threw his hands up in a sudden fit of frustration. “Great! Just great! So you mean to tell me the whole curse thingamajig wasn’t just a pile of steaming hot crap? And it’s actually real stuff we’re dealing with? Wonderful! Just wonderful!”

“Calm down, Jamal,” Jordan ordered, before turning to the boy. “This has got to be a joke, right? I mean, this is all just a hallucination, right?”

The young boy shook his head, a dark shade passing over his young face. “No. This is not a joke. This is not a hallucination. This is not a figment of your imagination. This is real. It is very real. And I came to warn you, because, worse still, the loop isn’t infinite for you in your current state.”

Both guys froze.

“W-w-what do you mean by that?” Jamal asked hesitantly.

“It means you have limited time to escape this. You have three attempts,” the boy stated solemnly. “Three chances to break the curse and escape. If you fail each time, you’ll return to where you are right now. And if you fail the third time…”

His voice trailed off, and he stared at them with a grim expression.

“What? I-i-if we fail, what? What happens then?” Jordan asked anxiously, dread pooling in his stomach. Whatever this boy was about to say did not sound good at all.

The boy’s gaze was unwavering, piercing through them. He then dropped the bombshell.

“After the final failure, you will be transformed into servants of Aric. Permanently. You will live and die in this loop for eternity, experiencing the massacre over and over, with no memory of who you once were.”

The words hit them like a hammer.

Jamal felt his knees go weak, and Jordan’s mouth went dry.

The horror of their situation could not be any more spine-chilling. This was a fate worse than death, and not just in the figurative sense. This quite literally was worse than the finality of death.

Swallowing hard, Jordan stuttered, “S-s-so… you mean that… we-we-we’ll never return to our real era? We-we-we… we’ll be s-s-stuck in this period of time, forever?”

The boy nodded, his expression dark and grave. “Forever.”

“This is insane,” Jamal stammered, shaking violently. “We’re not even supposed to be here. We don’t belong in this—this cursed palace! We don’t belong in these times!”

“And yet you are here, due to your own choices,” the boy responded solemnly. “You must act fast, and act wisely. Your every choice will determine your fate. The clock is already ticking.”

“But-but can’t you help us or something?” Jordan asked.

The boy’s eyes softened slightly. “I can only tell you what you need to do: you must look for a light blue vortex around the palace. It will appear in different places, so you must be sharp and quick about it. That is your only chance at escaping this palace.”

Jordan, grasping at any sliver of hope, leaned forward. “But can’t you do anything more for us? Anything at all?”

Jamal, still trembling, added, “Please, there must be something else you can do! Anything! Please!”

The boy shook his head, his gaze dropping momentarily before meeting theirs again with a resigned look. “I do not have the power to topple Okron’s curse. This advice is as good as it gets from me. You must understand, that I am but a guide in this twisted game. Your escape, your survival, hinges on your own actions now. I wish you the best.”

With that, the boy slipped back through the door, leaving Jamal and Jordan alone.

Jamal looked at his friend, the terror on his face as palpable as possible. “Broski! This can’t happen! This can’t happen! I can’t afford to be stuck here! I just can’t! I gotta get outta here!”

“Bruh, I know that!” Jordan responded. “We need to find that vortex right now–“

He stopped as he stared at Aric.

A servant stood beside him, carrying a platter full of grapes, while he held one, ready to eat it.

Jordan’s stomach sank within him.

That was what he had done mere seconds before the attack…

The ground rumbled again.

His heart pounding in his chest, he glanced at Jamal, who also felt the rumble.

“The massacre. It’s coming,” Jamal whispered in fright.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the doors burst open, the attackers swarming in with a bloodthirsty vengeance.

The hall turned into a hub of chaos and bloodshed once more, with swords swiping through servants and spears thrusting through concubines.

“Move! Move! Move! Now!” Jordan screamed.

The duo began to run…

… and were instantly downed as two attackers instantly cut them down with their swords.

Now this is crazy! They need to get out of this loop quickly, because that final fate sounds horrifying…