What Does It Matter

The witch Cinderella. That was just a title, the name carried more meaning, though nobody would know it. The name that once belonged to his sister. Cendrine.

Like a fruit hanging low from a tree, Naren was finally able to grab what was just slightly out of his reach. Greedily biting into the fruit of knowledge.

Like a cyclone of recollections, his memories all spiraled back to him at once, sending him into a painful haze in the middle of Lastlight's town plaza.

Fae avoiding him, whispering about him, and giving him wierd looks as they walked by.

But Naren couldn't pay attention to any of that. Everything single bit of the lives Naren's lived through these loops were all flowing into his head. Each and every interaction layering over each other into dozens and dozens of divulged paths.

Now Naren's entire world began to cave into his head.

'H-how long? How long was I here?!'

Panic set in just as fast as the pain. Panic of just how much time he'd wasted. Of just what he'd done to himself.

He originally came here in search of his sister. In search of Cendrine, but now. Now what?

Naren threw up in the middle of the town plaza, holding onto his pulsating head.

It was all just too much. Too much to take in at once. Everything.

Over and over he died. Over and over he watched everyone die. And over and over he started once again. Not a clue as to what was truly happening.

He couldn't do this anymore. No more. He didn't want to go through this over and over again. Dying. Suffering. Ending up in the same place over and over and over again.

It was like he was being slowly erased. Slowly written into one chapter, not given the liberty to go to the next.

Then a thought propped into Naren's mind.

'Vera.'

He had to find Vera. Even beside the fact that he needed her to become a shaman, to avoid death. Something in him, something more meaningful than those reasons was nagging at him to go save her.

Naren tried to concentrate, but in between the pulsating pain in his head and the constant whispering of Fae, there was no way for him to pick out Vera's voice out of the crowd. No way he could at least.

For once, Naren regretted not trying harder.

He tossed through the crowd, trying to find somewhere far from them. Somewhere quieter.

His steps eventually leading him to the depths of Lastlight's alleys...An alley where a sudden voice reached out to him. A familiar one that he was coincidently drawn to.

The voice of a little girl spoke from through the corners of the alleys:

"Fine. I will abide by your wishes."

Naren's bare feet moved on their own, running amock through the dirty alleyways and corridors. Twisting and turning through corridors and stairs, all following that single sentence.

Then he finally saw them.

Vera pulled along by Theron and Dian.

Tired golden eyes Narrowed on the silver rings of Dian's hand holding Vera's.

With a thud, Dian pulled his hand away, as a figure appeared between him and Vera.

Locks of crimson curls tangled and shuffled into a mess resembling a birds nest more than human hair, were barely out of reach from two golden balls staring Vera directly in the eye.

Naren's breathing as erratic as it had been, had finally settled down.

He didn't have to go through all of this after all. He never had to do it to begin with. It was all just a means to an end. Just a way for him to become a shaman.

If Vera made him a shaman right now, then he could leave. He had the option to leave all of this behind and to do his own thing. After all, none of this had anything to do with him. Not Lastlight. Not Cairo or Yuna. Not even the Tomb of Atlas.

The only thing that mattered to him was finding Cendrine. The only thing that gave his fleeting invisible presence something to lean on.

Naren opened his mouth to speak. He hadn't chosen the words exactly. He just knew what it would entail.

'Get out of here. Make me a shaman. I'm done with this.'

Something along those lines should work.

"Make me—"

"I beg your pardon...Who are you?"

His mouth hung open as his entire being gave out. Three words that pushed him further than any death could.

And suddenly, just like that the world stopped making noise. Not like before where Naren was dying. But because for the first time...Naren didn't want to hear his own heartbeat.

He didn't want to hear the only thing that proved he was alive.

A warm familiar feeling spilled across his stomach as his tired eyes squeezed shut. A cold metal rod plunged through his abdomen.

There was a commotion at that. Sudden crying meshed with arguing.

But Naren didn't hear any of that.

—————————

His eyes fluttered open expecting to see the same streak of light hit his eyes. Except there wasn't. Nor was there the constant illegible whispering and the steps of Fae. Or the resounding stiffness in his shoulder.

Instead, he awoke to a ceiling cast in a bioluminescent blue glow and a sharp sting in his stomach. His hand instinctively shot to his abdomen, hoping to put back whatever guts had fallen.

But before they reached they were smacked away.

"Don't move."

Another sudden shot of pain branched through the left side of his abdomen, as a deep pressure pushed it down.

Naren grimaced, holding in his screams through gritted teeth. He slowly turned his gaze to his left.

A woman with dark blue almost black hair was looking down. Her pitch black eyes somehow seeming like there was an ounce of glint in it, betraying the deepness of it's monotone appearance.

Her hands were covered in some blue gloves as she pressed down with thick clothes. Switching them out periodically as if this was her average morning routine. A pile of blood-soaked predecessors giving a hint to how long she had been at this.

But the part that caught Naren's attention wasn't how meticulous or careful she was. It was her breathing and her heartbeat. Two completely contradicting pieces.

While her breathing was steady. Completely devoid of any foreign intervention. Her heart was beating rapidly. Almost as loud as his own.

"Your organs are reversed so nothing really hit...Aren't you lucky."

Naren scowled. Every memory he had of her was her talking down to him. Like she was some mature leader while he was just a child foot soldier.

"How...old are..."

"That's a great question."

A beat of silence followed without an answer from Yuna.

"Your...age?"

Naren grumbled out.

"No that's a great question, really."

Well Yuna was eighteen, but had no intentions of letting Naren know. And that ambiguity was really annoying Naren, even past his already soured mood.

As his thoughts rummaged, a sharp point suddenly pricked his stomach.

Several times, a thin pulling pinch began to echo in his stomach. His eyes widened as he watched a thin wire being wound around his gaping wound several times. Pulling it ever so close each time.

The fact he was still conscious was a miracle. The only reason he could think of was the amount of times he'd died already. Each and every death was something just as torturous and painful as the last. It was no wonder that his pain tolerance steadily increased.

"Sit up."

Naren complied. His body sending waves of protest as he lurched off the ground, which was softer than he thought.

"Raise your hands."

As he raised them, his gaze wandered to the ground below. A soft layer of cloth over a bed of leaves. Not too shabby.

Yuna smiled.

"What a good patient you are."

Looking down the ghastly wound was gone now. Instead covered by a fresh layer of gauze wrapped cleanly around his waist, better than any crude job he'd be capable of.

Naren's gaze lingered on his newly patched up abdomen. Remember all the times he was stabbed. Just how many times had it been?

His golden eyes wandered up, finally locking onto the pitch black gaze of Yuna. A purple petal from the flower in her ears brushing against her lashes.

He remembered all the loops. Yuna had to remember as well.

His eyes glowed as he spoke:

"...Do you remember me...?"

"No."

His gaze lingered for a second before diving back onto the ground. What was he expecting. Vera forget, despite how long she was with him. Despite how much she was depending on him. He wouldn't be surprised if Alice had forgotten as well.

Or even...

His thoughts cut short by Yuna's soft words.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it—"

"Have you done anything worth remembering you for?"

Naren was silent as Yuna continued, her pitch-black eyes full of vigor:

"Then how about you start now?...Find the murderer...That is the Werewolf."