The light of the palace library was soft, filtered through high stained-glass windows that painted the marble floor in hues of violet and gold. The air was thick with dust and ink, the kind of silence that pressed down like velvet, heavy but sacred. The shelves stretched endlessly upward, filled with volumes that carried the weight of centuries.
Zero sat at the long oak table beside Lilith, the Chronicle of Edolas spread wide before them. Its leather binding groaned with age, and its pages smelled faintly of smoke and old parchment—as though the past had been scorched into it. The script was dark, etched in a hand so precise it seemed to still breathe with intent.
The silence between them was not uncomfortable—Lilith's presence never was—but it was laden with unspoken weight. The tale they had just finished lingered like a phantom in the room. Aamon. The prophecy of blood and spirit. The gem forged to seek out the chosen. A fate written long before their time.
Lilith's hand lingered on the corner of the parchment, her delicate fingers trembling ever so slightly. "Zero…" Her voice was barely audible, as though she feared the Chronicle itself might overhear. "This… this was not just a story. The way it was written… it feels like warning. Like something still breathing in the present."
Zero did not answer. His gaze clung stubbornly to the lines of text, though he had already memorized them. His lips moved soundlessly, repeating the fortune teller's warning in silence.
Blood and spirit… fated to stand against the Devil King.
The words coiled like chains around his heart. Something inside him stirred—an ache he had buried so deeply it had almost become part of him. His chest tightened, and his hands slowly curled into fists against the table.
Blood.Spirit.A gem that would glow when it drew near.
His breathing faltered. The words from the Chronicle blurred before his eyes, giving way to something else—something uninvited, something he had fought for years to forget.
A voice. Smooth, mocking, cruel.
The memory struck like a dagger between his ribs. Zero's breath caught, his mind dragged back to the cold stone of a cave where shadows had devoured light.
"It was you, Zero. You were the reason they had to die."
The devil's words clawed through his skull, dragging with them the screams of his childhood friends.
Zero's heart slammed in his chest, his throat locking. He tried to pull back, but the memory flooded mercilessly—his friends' laughter only moments before the betrayal, the warmth of camaraderie in their young faces. Then the turn. The horror. Screams so raw they shattered innocence. Blood spraying against the cave walls. Limbs torn, bodies broken. Lives ended in seconds.
His nails dug into the wood of the table until they carved shallow grooves. The Chronicle swam in his vision, the letters twisting into blood-red streaks, the parchment dripping with phantom gore. His shoulders shook, the dam he had built within himself cracking apart.
"Stop…" The word escaped him in a hoarse, strangled whisper. His whole body trembled, his breath ragged, shallow. "Stop… please…"
Lilith turned sharply, alarm in her violet eyes. "Zero—?"
But he couldn't hear her. The screams were louder now, echoing mercilessly in his ears. The devil's words repeated, twisted into a cruel mantra:
"You were the reason, Zero.""It was always you.""They died because of you."
Tears welled unbidden, sliding down his cheeks. Not the quiet tears of someone grieving—but the helpless, raw tears of a boy ripped open, stripped bare, left bleeding with no escape. His chest convulsed with every ragged breath as he clutched his head in both hands, fingers tangling in his hair as though he could rip the memories free.
"Why… why me…" His voice cracked, his words spilling between sobs that tore at his throat. "Why did they have to die because of me…?"
Lilith's chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as she rushed to his side. She reached out, hesitant for a heartbeat, then pressed her hand against his trembling shoulder. Her fingers were cool but steady.
She had seen Zero fight monsters with a calm face. She had seen him walk through storms, endure wounds that would have broken others. But this… this was different. This was him shattering, not in body but in soul.
"Zero, listen to me," she whispered urgently. "This isn't—"
But before she could finish, his body convulsed. His vision flickered red and black, the room spinning as the memories tore through him. The Chronicle's words dissolved completely, leaving only the shrieks of his dying friends. Their faces, their eyes wide with terror, flashed vividly in his mind one final time.
A sound tore from him—raw, anguished, almost inhuman. A cry that echoed through the quiet library, filling the vaulted ceilings with agony centuries old.
Zero collapsed forward, his body slumping against the table with a dull thud. His tears stained the wood, his face twisted in pain even as unconsciousness claimed him. His breathing came shallow but steady, as if his soul itself was caught between life and shadow.
"Zero!" Lilith's voice cracked, panic rising sharp in her throat. She caught him before he slid from the chair, pulling his limp frame against her. Her hand pressed against his cheek, frantic for warmth. Relief swept through her when she felt his faint breath against her skin, but the relief was drowned quickly by fear. Not for his body—his body was alive, still here—but for his mind, which was drowning in shadows far darker than anything written in books.
She turned toward the Chronicle. Its final page lay open, ink shimmering faintly as though mocking her.
Blood and spirit.The Devil King's fall.
And Zero, her Zero, weeping as if his very soul had been torn open. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
Lilith's grip tightened around him, pulling him close. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears fall. He needed her steady, not broken.
"You are not the reason, Zero," she whispered fiercely, her lips pressed near his ear though he could not hear her. "Not anymore. I won't let you carry this alone."
Her words dissolved into the silence of the library, fragile against the weight of prophecy and memory.
The Chronicle offered no comfort, no rebuttal. It had been written centuries before, its truths carved into history, indifferent to the suffering of those who read it.
But Lilith held him still, a silent promise etched in the curve of her arms. That whatever fate awaited them—whatever blood and spirit meant—he would not face it alone.
And Zero, slipping deeper into unconsciousness, descended into the abyss of his past. The cave rose before him again, vivid and cruel. His friends screamed, their voices echoing endlessly. Their blood stained his hands, their eyes accused him even in death.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
And for the first time in years, Zero did not fight it.