The silence did not last long.
As Zero's eyes remained fixed on the final words of the previous passage, the parchment beneath his fingers began to stir again. The faint heartbeat thrummed once more through the leather and binding, and the chronicle trembled, eager—almost demanding—to unveil more.
He did not resist.
The pages rolled forward with a whispering sound like rushing wind, carrying the scent of ash and iron. The words appeared before him again, sharp and alive, as if carved into the parchment by invisible hands.
("The gates opened, and the palace of the Devil King bared its maw. Within lay not silence, but the echo of a thousand screams, the remnants of souls devoured. Darkness draped every wall, thicker than stone, hungrier than fire. And into this abyss stepped the heroes, their boots ringing against black marble steeped in blood.")
Zero's breath caught. He leaned closer, his lips moving as he murmured the words aloud.
The five heroes had crossed the threshold.
