Liliths POV
When Zero's body jolted faintly in my arms, I nearly convinced myself I'd imagined it. For what felt like endless minutes, he had lain motionless, his breath shallow, his complexion pale, and his forehead damp with cold sweat. No amount of calling his na, shaking his shoulder, or even channeling faint mana to stabilize him had made any difference.
And then—just as despair began to coil around my chest—his eyelashes quivered, and a ragged gasp left his lips.
"Zero!" My voice cracked as I gripped his wrist. His pulse hamred wildly, a storm beneath fragile skin, and though his chest rose in sharp bursts, his eyes still hadn't opened. It was as though so unseen battle still claid him.
At last, his lids parted. The most update n0vels are published on n̷o̷v̷e̷l̷f̷i̷r̷e̷
For a fleeting heartbeat, I thought I recognized them—those tired gray eyes that had always seed too quiet for the weight they carried. But what t then was not the sa gaze. His pupils seed deeper, shadowed, like pools that had glimpsed sothing so vast and rciless no human soul should endure it. The mont they locked onto , I froze—not out of fear, but from the instinctive knowledge that sothing profound had shifted within him.
"Lilith…" His voice was hoarse, cracked, yet the way he spoke my na carried a gravity it hadn't before.
I pressed my lips together, unsure if asking what he had seen would help or shatter him further. My hand tightened around his as if to anchor him to this world.
"You're awake," I whispered. "You… scared ."
He exhaled, a trembling breath, and shut his eyes again. I watched the muscles of his face twist—as if even now, mories tore at him.
The silence pressed in, broken only by the faint flutter of torches in the library chamber. The chronicles lay scattered near us, the parchnt still whispering with fragnts of a past too heavy for either of us to bear. But Zero's collapse had cut through even the weight of ancient words. What haunted him wasn't just history—it was his history.
For years, I had seen his solitude. The way he hid his strength, the way he deflected questions, the way he stayed on the fringes even among comrades. But this—this felt like I was finally staring at the heart of that isolation.
His hand twitched beneath mine. He opened his eyes again, this ti less unfocused, though the shadows remained.
"I… saw them," he muttered, barely audible.
"Who?" I leaned closer, every nerve strained to catch his words.
"My friends," he said, and then stopped, as if the word itself was a knife. "The ones from before. When… when Xalvar tricked us."
A chill rippled down my spine. The na alone was enough to sour the air, but hearing him say it while trembling—that was worse.
"They were there," he continued, voice breaking. "Blaming . Asking why they had to die. I…" His throat closed, and he dragged in a shuddering breath. "I couldn't answer. I couldn't do anything."
I squeezed his hand hard enough to hurt. "Zero, listen to ." My voice rose despite myself. "That wasn't real. Do you understand? Whatever you saw—it was a dream, a trap. Xalvar may have left scars on your soul, but he doesn't get to rewrite what happened."
His gaze slid toward , searching. For a mont, I feared my words had failed to reach him. Then he spoke, lower this ti, almost as if confessing to himself:
"It felt real enough to break all over again. And yet… sothing else was there. Soone."
That startled .
"Soone?" I echoed.
"Yes." His eyes narrowed as if recalling a vision that still stung. "It was… . No—not as I am. Another . He said things I didn't want to hear. That I hide, that I bury everything, that I'm letting guilt consu . He was rciless. But…" His hand rose slightly, trembling, then fell back. "But he didn't let fall. He dragged back here."
I struggled to process it, my breath caught sowhere between disbelief and awe. Zero had always been an enigma, but the thought of him confronting a reflection of himself—perhaps even a fragnt of his true soul—made shiver.
He turned his face away, sha flickering in his features. "I don't know if I hate him… or if I need him."
For a while, neither of us spoke. The firelight painted long shadows against the walls, shadows that seed to lean closer, as if the devils themselves listened.
Finally, I said softly, "What matters is that you're here. With . With us. You ca back, Zero. Whatever tried to keep you, it failed."
He looked at then, really looked, and I caught a glimpse of sothing I'd never seen before—resolve. Not the quiet determination he carried when fighting monsters or training, but sothing sharper, forged in anguish.
"Maybe," he murmured. "But this won't be the last ti. They'll co for again. I know it now. And if I falter…" His jaw clenched. "People will die. Again."
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That he wasn't alone anymore, that he wasn't dood to repeat the sa tragedy. But the way his words cracked carried too much truth.
Instead, I brushed the damp strands of hair from his forehead. My hand lingered there, steady, as if I could will strength into him.
"You won't falter," I said firmly. "Not this ti. Because you're not the sa boy who walked into that cave, and you're not carrying this alone anymore. Do you hear ?"
His breathing steadied slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased, though the haunted look in his eyes didn't vanish. It probably never would.
Still, he nodded. And that, for now, was enough.
Later, after he drifted into a lighter sleep—this ti natural, not the eerie stillness that had seized him earlier—I sat beside him, staring at the chronicle we had been reading. My fingers brushed over the inked letters describing fates, shadows, and devils.
The fortune teller's warning to Aamon echoed faintly in my mind: To learn of the future is to be bound by it.
Had Zero glimpsed his own binding threads? Was that why he seed heavier now, as though carrying the mory of a truth too vast for his years?
I didn't know.
But as I watched him breathe, fragile yet alive, one thought burned bright through the uncertainty:
If the devils thought they could break him again, they would have to go through first.
And this ti, I wouldn't let him face the darkness alone.
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