An unfamiliar system window suddenly appeared. This one was different from the usual sickening blue windows he had seen all this time; it had a golden frame all around it, unlike anything before.

Archael stared at the golden-framed window, half obstructed by the knife hovering dangerously close to his left eye for what felt like an eternity. But it couldn’t have been that long—if it were, he’d be dead by now. 

The blade was just inches away, too close for comfort.

He wanted to raise his right hand, but the tendon had been butchered badly by the blade. It hurt so much, yet it was numb at the same time. His left hand still clung to Seoyin's head, holding her tightly against his chest, unable to let go even as death loomed over them both. 

Seoyin needed to survive.

Please. If there is a God.

Yeah, right. He knew better. Those Gods were playing with him and this entire world right now. Why would they help him? Why would they help anyone?

But he couldn’t just let Seoyin die here. He couldn’t watch another person die in front of him.

I’ve had enough.

Why did he have to repeat these actions over and over?
Why did these people have to suffer again and again?
Why did he need to do the system’s bidding when all it led to was more pain and loss?

He was tired, heartbroken. He didn’t want to save anyone anymore. He didn’t want to be part of the system, the quests, or the world that seemed destined to fall into the same cycle of suffering. 

But he also didn’t want to die. 

He was a guide created by the Norns system which managed all these gates and abilities.

And yet… he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to cease to exist.

Not after meeting these people.

The window stayed there, its golden frame taunting him as he stared at the Accept button.

Goddammit. Move. Please move. My hand, move!!!

Archael used every ounce of energy he had left, forcing his mangled right hand toward the button. The pain was excruciating as the torn tendons and muscles strained with each tiny movement. Blood gushed from his wrist, flowing faster as each ripped piece of flesh pulled and stretched. His veins throbbed violently, pumping out dark, viscous streams that stained his skin and the ground beneath him.

His nerves screamed, raw and exposed, sending jolts of agony up his arm with every twitch. The joints in his fingers felt like they were grinding against shards of glass, every movement a battle between sheer willpower and the overwhelming urge to stop. 

But he couldn’t stop. 

Not now. 

His vision blurred, dark spots flickering at the edges as his blood pressure dropped, but he kept going. 

The button was right there—just one more push.