Zero sat in silence, his hands trembling slightly as he held the weathered chronicle open before him. The flickering torchlight made the ink shimmer faintly, the ancient words seeming to shift with every breath he took. He had read the same passage three times now, his eyes tracing the fortune teller's dire warning:
"Two humans carrying the blood and spirit of the heroes… the Devil King will fall by their hands."
He shut his eyes. The words wouldn't leave him, echoing louder than the silence of the chamber.
Xalvar's voice rose from the depths of memory, cruel and unyielding. "You were the reason they died, Zero. Because of you, their blood stained the cave floor."
For years, he had buried that voice, shoving it deep into the corner of his mind, convincing himself that Xalvar's words were nothing but poison meant to break him. But now—here, staring at the fate written in the chronicle—he couldn't escape the cruel truth that perhaps the devil hadn't been lying entirely.
