Final, beginning: new skill.

— Let me remind you, you have another skill — "Written History". You've never used it. You have the memory of a fish.)
— Yep...
It was as if Marcus had woken up from a dream. He remembered: yes, he has something more than just a sword or magic — a word. A history written in advance, and only he can read it.
At this time, the students had already rushed forward, to the Crystal of Unity. Some ran headlong, some waited to the side. Only two remained, standing in the shadows: Marcus and one of the girls who came out last.
She looked fragile, like an ashen statue. Her hair was the color of soot after rain. Her eyes were blue, like a bottomless pool.
— Hey, aren't you coming? — Marcus asked, trying to somehow break the awkwardness.
— No.
The answer was short and cold, like a knife clicking on glass.
There was a pause. Five... ten seconds. Marcus scratched the back of his head.
"Well... maybe you'll tell me your name?"
"Why would a stranger know my name?"
"That's logical. Then let me go first. Marcus Kannet. And now we're not exactly strangers, are we?"
The girl snorted, perhaps from mild surprise, perhaps from fatigue.
"Kaltey Myrrin."
"An unusual name. Nice to meet you."
There was silence in response. But not hostile. Rather, observant. Marcus caught himself thinking: it was as if she were studying him like a text.
Meanwhile, the struggle was already raging at Crystal. Illia was whispering under her breath:
"We need to get through. At any cost."
Alric, as always, was straightforward:
"I'll be the first. And that's the point.
As if on cue, they both found themselves at the foot of the podium. And then — they bumped heads.
— Sorry, Alric, — Illia stepped forward. — But I have to.
— There is always a line between a dream and friendship. We both understand it. No offense.
— Of course.
Swing. Strike. Counter. Flesh and metal, emotion and discipline. They exchanged attacks like lines of poetry — tense, rhythmic.
— You are good... for a lady, — Alric muttered, retreating.
— If this is a compliment, then thank you, — Illia smiled reservedly.
— Then it's time to get serious.
"Flurry" is Alric's skill. A stream of blows, like the wind chopping down a forest. Illia could barely cope, but she parried every attack.
— And that's all? — she asked, out of breath.
— No. This is the beginning.
"Heavenly Blade" — he soared into the air, mana flowed to his sword. Swing — the air was cut.
Illia won't make it in time — but no. "Piercing Blade". She was like the tax office on payment day. Fast. Inexorable. She was behind him.
Alric didn't even turn around. Her blow to the neck turned him off instantly.
Victory. Illia walked towards the Crystal. Her steps were like the final lines of a letter.
At that moment, Marcus finally activated his forgotten skill.
"Written History":
[12:30 — Illia approaches the crystal. 12:40 — she is attacked. 12:50 — Illia becomes a demon. 12:55 — Alric wakes up. 12:55 — Illia kills one of the students. 13:00 — Alric kills Illia. No further data.]
Markus was dumbfounded.
— D-d-demonization?.. Illia?.. Why?..
His voice was shaking. Inside — fear and the inability to understand: how can she, proud and bright, become... darkness?
— Hey... system?.. I... I can do something? — he whispered.
> System: What only you can do.
— What?
> System: You are a writer. They are actors. Your time to shine.
And silence.
The words settled in his mind like dust on paper. Writer... actors... So they live in a story that he can rewrite?
30 minutes until her death. 20 — until the transformation. Destiny has already been written — but by whose hand? His?
He looked at Kaltey. She continued to watch silently, as if waiting for him to say something.
“I’m a writer,” he said quietly. “And that means… I have to write a different ending.”
And he stepped forward.