Darkness had swallowed the ruined streets of a once-prosperous city—a mocking charade of a history long forgotten. The defiant sun, carved from blood and suffering, had long since retreated into its Crimson Spire.
A blue light suddenly appeared at the corner of a building, feeble and shimmering; a will-o'-the-wisp dancing through the gloom. Its cold radiance was just enough to pierce the dark, casting shadows against the blackened walls like creeping phantoms stalking the six rugged figures below.
"I'll never get used to this," a soft whisper broke the tense silence.
One of them, a tall but spindly man, trembled as a sharp wind whipped through the ruins. He looked behind them, his knuckles white as he clenched the wooden handle of his spear. "The ruins are dangerous enough by day, but coming out at night—"
"Oh, for the Spell's sake!" a man in dusty leather armor hissed in an exasperated whisper. "Every time we come out, you say the same thing. It's getting repetitive, Ryan."
"Can you blame him Mat?" a grubby man with a short sword and a small buckler tied to his wrist defended his companion. "The Dark City is no place for a midnight stroll, and yet here we are."
A man with oily brown hair clicked his tongue, kicking a pebble in annoyance. A heavy claymore rested across his back. "It's the only way, you ladies. There are too many eyes during the day. One wrong move and his disappearance gets tied back to us."
At his mention, the group's eyes sharpened. But just as the man was about to continue, a grunting voice came from the front of the line.
"Shut it, you fools. We're not walking through a park."
Everyone flinched, falling into a wary silence. The man with the claymore muttered, "Sorry, Chief. It's just—"
The tall, muscular leader turned to look at his companion with an angry frown. His heavy armor and massive battle axe rattled with the movement. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were warning enough. With a click of his tongue, the man turned away and continued leading the group through the ruined streets.
Jeff didn't want to admit it in front of his underlings, but there was a strange tension coursing through the Ruins—something he couldn't quite explain that made him double-check every corner they crossed. It was a weird feeling, if he hadn't been focused enough it would have escaped him. But now that his attention was on it, it was extremelly evident.
It felt as if a predator was lurking nearby.
'It's all that bitch's fault,' Jeff thought trying to shake off his nervousness. Scowling, they crossed beneath a bridge that opened into a dark, mossy plaza. He fought the urge to spit as the tension tightened across his shoulders.
"Did you see the way those Outer Settlement rats dared to look at us?" a skinny, almost bald man said from the middle of the pack.
Jeff turned to look at him angrily. Truth be told, the man didn't look fit to be walking these streets at all. But after a second, Jeff decided to leave him alone. Even looking like that, the man's Aspect was the sole reason this party could function. So, he let him ramble.
"If only that gluttonous whore hadn't meddled, I could have taught those bastards a lesson." The group looked at their companion strangely, but none voiced their thoughts. "Why hasn't the Bright Lord released him? Just a command and is enough for H—"
"It's beneath him," Jeff answered immediately, his voice stern. It wasn't angry, but it was serious enough to signal that the conversation was over.
He pushed forward, acting as if the matter was closed, yet he couldn't stop repeating that last question in his mind. He actually knew the reason. Jeff wasn't high in the Guard's hierarchy, but he was aware that aside from Changing Star's entourage, another conflict demanded the Bright Lord's hidden blade's attention.
The Guards and the Hunters.
It had been three months since the skirmishes between the groups began, and the tension was at its breaking point. It had reached the stage where they couldn't even cross paths in the dining hall without things turning red. The only thing keeping the peace was the silent, hunched presence of the butcher, acting as a grim deterrent.
No one in the Castle dared to act out of place for fear of a midnight visit from Harus.
'That bitch Changing Star is becoming an annoyance to Lord Gunlaug,' Jeff mused. 'He needs the Host to remain strong if we want to stop her from growing in influence.'
He spat on the ground. He wasn't particularly annoyed by the girl; he was confident in Gunlaug's strength. No matter what she did, it would be for nothing. What was actually bothering him was something else.
'How can a single guy's presence cause such a conflict?' he thought vindictively. As a guard, Jeff knew exactly what had started it all.
He expelled the thoughts with a shake of his head, his armor clinking. Conflict was always the beginning of opportunity. That was why he was aiming for that dashing bastard's Memories. With them in his possession and the oncoming promise of blood, it was only a matter of time before he rose through the ranks.
An ugly, dangerous smile appeared on his bearded face.
"Move faster, fools." He looked back at his group as they entered a residential area. "We're only halfway there. I have a feeling today is the day that goose finally lays his golden eggs."
His group laughed quietly, picking up the pace. Relieved of the heavy tension, Ryan said with a nervous smile, "Let's hope so, for his sake. This is no place for such a handsome man, after all."
"Then you must feel pretty safe, shouldn't you?"
A chill rippled through the group as a voice answered from above with a dry, mocking scoff. But these Guards hadn't survived the Forgotten Shore for years only to be paralyzed by shadows. Without a word, they snapped into formation, weapons leveled toward the sound. With a sharp whisper, the luminous Memory in Jeff's hand pulsed, its light swelling to finally reveal the speaker.
Perched on a shattered terrace above them was a lone figure. His left boot, encased in jet-black stone, dangled lazily over the edge, while his right leg was drawn up, his elbow resting casually on his knee. Even with the Memory's glow, the light couldn't quite reach his face; instead, a parade of shadows danced across his features, a tenebrous display that made Mat swallow hard beside Jeff.
What the pale light did reveal, however, was the staggering detail of his wargear—armor of deep, intricate black, and a regal mantle of dark blue that draped down to his shins.
Jeff steeled his nerves, staring up at the silhouette. "...Are you human?" He regretted the question the moment it left his lips. What would he even do if the answer was "no"?
An amused laugh drifted down, and the shadows on the stranger's face twisted into something Jeff barely recognized as a smile. "I guess so."
His frown deepened. 'I guess so? What kind of answer is that?' But seeing the figure was willing to talk, he leaned into his authority. "Come down," he commanded, his voice echoing in the quiet street.
A second of heavy silence passed. Jeff immediately regretted the demand—it was a gamble to use that tone with someone so calm in the middle of the night. But a moment later, the figure shrugged with a sigh. Placing a hand on the edge of the stone, he propelled himself outward. Despite the solid weight of the armor, the man landed before them without a single sound.
The stranger stood tall, and the sight did nothing to quiet Jeff's racing heart.
Up close, the armor was breathtaking. A suit of beautiful onyx plate radiated a sense of solemn, dark menace, clinging to his frame like a second skin. From the heavy boots to the greaves and the breastplate, every inch was etched with intricate patterns. Under the blue light of the Memory, the carvings seemed to pulse, making the stone feel almost alive.
Over the black plate lay that blue, regal mantle. It rested loosely over his shoulders, secured at his waist by an ornamental belt that breathed an air of sanctity. Jeff felt a lump form in his throat, and he knew his men were doing the same. These Memories were on a completely different level than anything they had ever seen.
Jeff's eyes trailed upward, finally reaching the man's face. He would have been handsome, perhaps, if not for the gruesome tapestry of scars occupying the left side of his head. The damage traveled from his forehead down to a hollow, empty socket, pulling his lip into a permanent, mocking grin. It was a complex ruin of flesh—brutal cuts and jagged burns that had long since healed into a mask of violence.
Despite the scars, the man was unnervingly clean. His black hair was combed back, leaving his face uncovered. His clothes and skin were spotless, as if the dust and grime of the ruins simply refused to touch him.
Jeff and his group took a collective step back. It wasn't the testimony of carnage on his face that made the Guards shudder, though the mere thought of what caused those wounds was enough to make one recoil. No—it was the single crimson eye studying them. It shone with a strange, predatory amusement that made Jeff's skin crawl. Even with only one eye, the stranger seemed to see too much.
'Perhaps... this was the origin of that strange sensation I've been feeling since we entered the ruins,' Jeff thought, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. He couldn't show weakness now.
But then he noticed the smell. It was something he hadn't registered through the initial shock: the unmistakable, heavy stench of blood. It wasn't fresh; it was raw, primal, and animalistic. Jeff scanned the man's spotless blue mantle for a stain, but found nothing.
Then he understood. The man had waded through so much bloodshed that the scent had become a part of him—it was etched into his very presence. Jeff had only smelled that specific "fragrance" a few times before.
He smelled just like his leader Tessai... he smelled like the Lieutenants. He smelled like a monster born of a thousand battles.
The realization hit Jeff like a physical blow. They were in the heart of the Dark City at night—a task that required a strong group to even attempt. Not even the Hunters or Changing Star's elite dared to wander these streets alone.
He had only heard of one person foolish enough to immerse himself in this darkness three months ago.
"...You're Zachary, aren't you?" Jeff asked, his voice thick with a complicated mix of dread and realization. His group looked at him surprised by his words before looking back at the now named stranger.
The young man raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise, answering instantly.
"Noup."
Jeff's face contorted into an awkward mask at the unexpected denial, but a second look at the stranger revealed the way he was avoiding their eyes with a strange, almost pained expression. Jeff joined the dots instantly, recognizing the specific brand of deflection. His companions reached the same conclusion, and Ryan suddenly spat with venomous anger.
"You bastard! Because of you, Chow was killed!"
It wasn't just Ryan; the rest of the Guards began white-knuckling their weapons, their knuckles popping in the silence.
The stranger's frown turned genuinely awkward. "Who?"
Jeff was baffled by the man's careless answer, and it was all the confirmation he needed. This was Zachary. His heart began to hammer against his ribs with an angry rhythm. "You son of a—"
"You bastard, you don't even remember!" Mat interrupted his chief, his voice cracking with indignation. "Chow was the Guard you eluded when you entered the Castle months ago! When Tessai learned that a Guard let you enter and exit without raising the alarm, he killed Chow on the spot!"
The other Guards mirrored Mat's fury. Chow hadn't been a close friend, but he had been one of them, and his summary execution had been a jagged blow to the group's morale. Zachary's expression shifted into something unreadable at the news.
"Damn... that's really unfortunate," he said, and for a moment, they heard what sounded like genuine shame in his voice. The surprise lasted only until his next words. "But you can't really shift the blame to me, right? I mean, what kind of boss executes his minions for a single mistake?"
He shook his head, a small, awkward smile playing on his lips. "My, my. Those are some awful working conditions you have there... You should probably complain to your Union."
Jeff scowled at the absolute nonsense spilling out of Zachary's mouth. Was he insane, or just that arrogant? A second later, his scowl turned into a furious grin. The man's attitude was a complete reversal of the overwhelming pressure they had felt moments ago, and he had heard enough bullshit. Jeff turned to his men.
"Looks like we're in luck, fools. It seems that aside from that pretty boy's Memories, we'll be returning home with a much larger prize."
Understanding flashed through the group, followed quickly by the dark shimmer of greed. Tessai had made his obsession with this man's existence clear the moment he spilled Chow's blood. How would the Lieutenant react when his own Guards hand-delivered the source of his frustration?
'And also...' Jeff thought, his eyes lingering on the onyx plate of Zachary's armor. 'These Memories... they're not normal. They're on the same level as the ones the Host Lieutenants wear. Maybe higher.'
Since no one had seen a trace of Zachary in months, it was clear they were the first to find him. 'No one else knows he's out here, so no one will raise an objection if I "confiscate" these for myself. Right?'
"Let's finish this fast, boys," Jeff growled, swinging his heavy battle-axe down from his shoulder. "It wouldn't be right to keep our friend waiting alone in his hole."
The Guards mirrored his movement, but Zachary continued to speak with a terrifying, calm clarity.
"Oh right, thanks for bringing up the topic. I actually didn't know how to address it," he said with a soft, dry chuckle. "You guys have a map with you, don't you? I'd be very thankful if you'd kindly hand it over. Even after all this time, there're still some corners of this Ruins that I ignore."
Jeff tensed. The air in the plaza suddenly felt thin. Only the men present knew about the map, and none of them would have dared to speak of it. His grip tightened on the axe handle until the wood creaked. "How do you know about the map?"
Zachary's eye widened in surprise for an instant before his expression turned strange. He seemed to be thinking hard, searching for a clever answer, but after a few seconds, he merely exhaled in defeat and offered a small, sharp smile.
"Guess."
Jeff scowled, letting out a low, cold laugh. "Keep your secrets, then. You'll be singing them soon enough."
As he spoke, a familiar warmth spread at the back of Jeff's head—the signal that Tang's, the bald man Aspect was active and anchoring the group. They were ready.
Zachary noticed the shift immediately. But instead of drawing a weapon or backing away, he simply looked amused, utterly undisturbed by the five armed men closing in on him.
"Where did this sudden bravado come from?" he asked with a chuckle. "You were trembling just a minute ago."
Jeff scoffed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Mat, standing at his side, shrugged while uncoiling a black whip. "Simple, really. We're more."
Zachary smiled for one more second, and then the curve of his lips vanished as if it had never existed. A sudden, cold sense of unease pierced Jeff's heart, but he buried it under his own greed.
"Look, fellas, I don't really want to do this," Zachary said, ruffling his dark hair before letting out a weary sigh. "Things will not end well for you, I assure you. So, how about you just hand the map over and I'll let you walk away into this wonderful night? How does that sound?"
A wave of mocking scoffs rippled through the Guards. From the back, Tang's voice drifted forward: "Oh, but we do want to do this."
In unison, the group tightened their formation, sharing some kind of supernatural understanding between them. They began to close the distance slowly, stalking toward the man standing in the center of the dark street. Zachary remained still, his carefree attitude finally beginning to gnaw at Jeff's confidence.
Zachary shook his head with a sad, final sigh. His voice broke the silence of the Dark City one last time. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
And then, he disappeared.
Jeff's eyes blew wide, but in that fraction of a second, the warmth on the back of his head pulsed with a sharp, stinging warning. He reacted on instinct, twisting his battle-axe in front of him just as a black-armored fist collided with the heavy steel. The impact arrived with overwhelming speed. Jeff paled as his Memory groaned, the metal bending under the sheer strain of the punch. He should have been propelled backward by the force, but Zachary's fingers snapped open, catching the handle of the axe and anchoring Jeff in place.
With a fluid, violent motion, Zachary twisted his body and yanked the axe toward him, forcing Jeff to exchange positions with him. Mid-stumble, Jeff watched the scarred man turn his predatory focus toward the rest of the group. Shaking off the shock, Jeff's thoughts roared through the mental link.
('Surround him!')
The warmth on his head shifted in response. That was Tang's Aspect—a mental nexus that bound those who shared a strong psychological bond. It didn't transmit entire sentences, but it allowed them to share a vague, instinctive understanding of each other's intent. When Jeff had lost sight of Zachary at the start, it was Ryan's heightened senses that had signaled the warning through Tang, allowing Jeff to block in time.
It wasn't a potent Aspect, and its reach was pitifully short, but in the chaos of the Dark City, it had saved their lives a dozen times over.
('Don't let him summon a Memory! Overwhelm him with numbers!')
Jeff caught his footing, ready to hunt, when he heard Zachary's voice drifting through the clatter of steel.
"You know, I remember it was said that fights between Awakened were complex, extremely dangerous things," Zachary said, appearing at Mat's side as if he'd simply stepped through a door. "You have to calculate Aspects, Memories, battle experience..."
Mat's whip whistled sharply, flicking toward the intruder's throat, but Zachary merely shifted his head an inch and kept moving.
"But the thing is... you're just Dormant humans. Which means most of those worries are," Zachary paused, delivering a punch into Mat's leather-clad chest, "null."
A fist shouldn't sound like that. It sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a side of beef.
Jeff and the others recoiled as a wave of phantom pain surged through the link, but they didn't stop. Gritting his teeth, Mat twisted the whip, his corded Memory wrapping tightly around Zachary's forearm. Before the stranger could pull away, Roy lunged from the shadows, his heavy claymore arcing toward Zachary's spine.
Despite the blind spot, Zachary moved as if he had eyes in the back of his head. He twisted sharply, delivering a thunderous back-kick that forced Roy to abort the slash and catch the blow on the flat of his blade.
"Look, man, while I respect your hobbies, I have to say I don't enjoy being whipped unless it's by a girl," Zachary quipped. He followed the movement with a heavy, casual punch to the center of Mat's forehead.
Mat groaned—perhaps from the impact, or perhaps from the terrible joke—but Jeff and Roy were already closing in again. With a sharp flick, Zachary freed his arm from the whip and slipped between the axe and the claymore with minimal, insulting movements. Instead of counter-attacking the heavies, his eye locked onto Tang and Alan, who was holding his short sword and buckler defensively.
Jeff felt a frantic alarm flare in his mind as he watched Zachary dash toward the duo with impossible, blurred speed.
'What is happening?' Jeff thought, a seed of dread finally taking root, but he swallowed his doubt instantly. He couldn't allow the rest to feel his growing uncertainity.
He had seen his fair share of fighters—the brutal strength of the Guards and the overwhelming might of the Lieutenants. But the man in front of them fought like nothing Jeff had ever witnessed. Even now, Zachary refused to even summon a weapon. He was playing with them.
('So be it, bastard,') Jeff spat, pursuing his prey. ('That arrogance will be your downfall. Don't let him breathe!')
The command rippled through the group just as Zachary reached Alan. The thin man met the charge with a raised buckler and a desperate thrust of his short sword. Zachary's left arm blurred in a striking motion, but at the last millisecond, he flicked his wrist. Instead of meeting the edge, he slapped the flat of the blade, sending it wide. In one fluid, terrifying motion, Zachary hooked his fingers into the edge of the buckler and ripped the shield away, leaving Alan's chest completely exposed.
Raising his spear Ryan watched the fight unable to move, his Flaw suddenly active. It was quite simple, it always was solved by traveling in group, now it was assaulting his mind. The truth was that he couldn't move if he was feeling fear. And the nauseating feeling began tu surge inside him, instead his Aspect delivered the warning.
Ryan's Aspect allowed him to track a single objective with unerring focus; it was the only reason he'd been able to warn Jeff when Zachary first flickered out of sight. But focus meant nothing when the world turned into a blur of black onyx and pain. Three consecutive strikes—jaw, throat, sternum—detonated against him. If Alan hadn't summoned his helmet in a frantic heartbeat, his skull would have folded. As it was, the armored fist hit with enough force to make him see stars behind his visor.
The group didn't need the shared link to reach the same conclusion: Zachary hadn't summoned a weapon because his hands were already killing tools.
Forcing himself to stay upright, Alan reversed his grip on his short sword and tried to gut Zachary from the side. But Zachary, still gripping the captured buckler, used it as a pivot. He swung around the metal plate like an anchor, dodging the blade with insulting ease. An instant later, his elbow smashed into Alan's helmet, followed by a rhythmic cascade of punches that made the metal clang like a funeral bell.
With a sharp, violent twist of his waist, Zachary hurled Alan toward Ryan. Jeff recoiled as he continued to move, his stomach dropping as he saw the breastplate of Alan's armor caved in, perfectly molded to the shape of a human fist.
'Is he even the prey?' Jeff thought, the feeling of dread finally overflowing. 'Or... are we?'
But they were already committed. There was no retreating from a monster like this in the heart of the ruins. The only way out was through him.
Without his shield to protect him, Tang took a stumbling, fearful step back. He summoned a pale dagger, but his fingers trembled so violently he didn't even try to lunge. He was a navigator, not a butcher. Just as Zachary turned to finish the bald man, Mat's whip—now coated in a shimmering layer of water—lashed out from the darkness.
Zachary didn't even look. He flicked his head aside, the wet cord whistling past his ear as if he'd timed the heartbeat of the attack.
But that was the opening they needed. Roy and Jeff surged forward in a twin assault, claymore and battle-axe falling in a coordinated execution. Zachary moved instantly, dashing into Roy's guard. He snatched Roy's wrists before the greatsword could reach the apex of its arc and, to the horror of the group, used Roy's own trapped arms to parry Jeff's descending axe.
Zachary held the position for a heartbeat, his grip like iron manacles. Then, he twisted.
CRACK.
Jeff shuddered as a wave of white-hot phantom pain exploded through the mental link. He watched with mounting horror as Roy's arms were wrenched into unnatural angles, hanging limply from his shoulders, completely shattered. Two desperate slashes from Alan's short sword forced Zachary to move, his body flowing away like mist. His expression remained entirely carefree—a stark, terrifying reminder of who was actually in control.
"How! How do you always dodge?!" Alan roared, stepping over his broken comrade to mask his own terror. "What do you have, some kind of... danger sense?"
Zachary stopped in his tracks, tilting his head with an amused smile. "Ha. Funny you should say that. I actually—"
He was cut off by the whip again, but this time, a second consecutive flick followed, forcing Zachary to take a tactical step back. He raised an eyebrow, watching a scowling Mat wipe blood from his own forehead.
"Whipping and now lubricant?" Zachary mused, watching the group reel. "Man, I have to say, you're really not beating the allegations."
"Do you ever shut up?!" Mat spat, his fury bleeding into the collective consciousness of the group.
The link remained active, a tether keeping them functional, but the bond was beginning to rot. It was working against them now. Every shared thought, every tactical order, was being poisoned by the viral spread of fear.
('He's playing with us,') Jeff admitted, no longer able to filter his panic. ('We have to use that confidence. We just need one opening. If I can land a single hit, we win!')
The group responded to his desperate resolve, raising their weapons for one final, unified clash. Yet, even as he prepared to lung, Jeff couldn't shake the instinct of a man staring into the abyss. He refused to accept the mistake he'd made. He was going to see this through to the end, one way or another.
The group moved in unison, a desperate, final surge of collective intent. Zachary didn't even drop into a stance; he simply raised his armored hand in a welcoming gesture, as if inviting them into his personal space.
He became a blur of onyx and royal blue, dancing through their formation with a predatory grace. His mantle shifted around him in a gentle display of absolute control, snapping like a banner one moment and flowing like water the next. Every desperate strike from the Guards was met with a flick of his wrist or a subtle shift of his weight. He didn't just dodge; he punished every opening with soul-shattering precision—kicks that cracked ribs and punches that left the Guards gasping for air they couldn't find.
In a last-ditch effort, Roy leaped forward, his massive frame occupying Zachary's entire field of vision. A straight punch detonated against Roy's chest, caving in the reinforced armor and sending a spray of blood from the man's lips.
But as Roy collapsed, the trap was sprung. Mat's whip lashed out from the shadows of Roy's falling body, coiling tightly around Zachary's left arm.
Zachary merely raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused. Behind Mat, the remaining shadows of the group—Alan, Tang, and Ryan—grabbed the length of the whip, digging their heels into the grit to anchor the "monster" in place.
This was it. The opening they had bled for.
Jeff appeared like a vengeful ghost, his massive battle-axe held high. The weapon was blurred, trembling with a high-frequency hum that promised to shred anything it touched. He swung with every ounce of his remaining strength, aiming to split Zachary in two like a rotted tree.
Jeff's heart soared for a single, ecstatic second. ('We got him!')
But the moment never came.
Zachary's free hand snapped up, his fingers closing around the vibrating edge of the axe as easily as one might catch a falling leaf. The overwhelming kinetic energy of the weapon died instantly against his palm.
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the plaza, broken only by Jeff's trembling voice. "A— Ascended Armor? Impossible..."
Zachary didn't look at Jeff. He just studied the trapped axe, feeling the frantic, useless hum against his onyx-clad fingers.
"A vibration Aspect," Zachary mused, his crimson eye flickering with a cold, dry light. "Man, the jokes really do write themselves."
That was the last thing Jeff heard before the world turned dark. As his mind faded, the last thing it registered was that the link between them was no longer in conflict, everyone was feeling the same thing.
Fear.
***
It was still night when Jeff woke with a violent start, his entire body screaming in protest. He immediately checked his condition: a fractured jaw, several broken ribs, and every muscle feeling as though it had been put through a thresher. But as the fog of pain cleared, a single thought made him bolt upright.
'I'm alive!'
He turned, glancing at his companions. They were slumped against the jagged remains of a collapsed wall. Each bore a gruesome collection of wounds, but they were undoubtedly breathing. Yet, none of them were looking at Jeff. Their eyes were locked on the space directly ahead of them.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake."
The voice was calm, but it made Jeff's blood turn to ice. He slowly turned his head toward the sound. Zachary was sitting on a pile of rubble, a dark jian resting across his lap. He was staring straight at them, his single crimson eye pinning them in place like insects on a board.
In that gaze, Jeff found a terrifying certainty. There was no way out. No clever trick, no desperate sprint. He was already dead.
And yet... he wasn't.
Jeff clung to that detail. Why wait for them to wake up if their execution was already decided? He studied Zachary further, looking for a lifeline. He saw the relaxed shoulders, the calm posture—and then he saw it. The hand holding the black sword was trembling. It was ever so slight, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Information Jeff had heard of the man in front of him flashed through his mind. Arrived last Solstice. Part of the Changing Star's original group. The Castle and the Artisans. A cold realization dawned on him, and he finally spoke through a trembling jaw.
"You... you haven't killed before, have you?"
The other Guards turned sharply toward Jeff, then back to Zachary. The scarred man didn't deny it. He only offered a sad, weary smile.
Jeff felt a surge of desperate hope. If he could talk his way out, if he could plead for mercy from a man who still had a conscience, they might walk away. As if reading those thoughts, Zachary rose from the rubble with a tired sigh. He drove the jian into the dirt and walked slowly toward them. The rhythmic crunch of his boots on the grit made the group shiver.
"I'll admit that the thought of killing brings some conflict to my heart," Zachary said quietly, stopping a few paces away. "But please, don't misunderstand. This conflict doesn't come from a moral dilemma... it's something else entirely."
He tilted his head toward Jeff. "You said I haven't killed before. Well, that's not completely true... I have killed once."
A heavy knot formed in Jeff's throat. There was something magnetic in the way Zachary spoke, a gravity that forced them to listen despite their terror. After a short silence, Zachary continued, his hand playing absently with the intricate carvings on his gauntlet.
"It was back when I was younger. I was running late for coll—erm, running late for the Academy." He coughed lightly, his crimson eye focusing on the distance as if seeing a ghost. "My parents had left early for work, and I rushed out of the house. That's when I noticed something curled against the wheel of my scooter... a dove."
'The bird?' Jeff thought, not daring to breathe.
"I looked at it for a second, curious why it hadn't flown away. Then I saw its wing was broken." Zachary shook his head. "Maybe it hit a building, or a stray animal got to it. I don't know. I just know it looked up at me."
He went silent for a heartbeat, licking his dry lips. "No matter what I say, I tend to be a pragmatic person. I knew I didn't have the time or the money to take a bird most consider a plague to a vet. I was honest with myself—I wasn't going to save it. And I was running late for class."
Zachary bit his lip, his face returning to that eerie calm. "But I couldn't leave it there to suffer. It was a fact that it would die slowly if I did nothing... So, I did the only thing I could think of."
He raised his hands, cupping them as if holding something fragile. The delicacy of the gesture made Jeff see the animal in his mind's eye. "I picked it up. It didn't fight me. It just kept looking at me, even as I took its neck in my hand... and twisted."
Jeff flinched as Zachary mimicked the motion with his trembling hands.
"It trembled... a lot. Even after it died, the body kept flinching. It wasn't a good experience. I threw the body in the trash and went to the Academy in silence. I thought I'd left those feelings behind, but..." He looked at his shaking fingers and let out a dark, jagged chuckle. "It seems not."
The group remained in a suffocating silence. Zachary sighed and continued, his voice dropping an octave.
"Years later, I was already living alone. I had a studio apartment near... well, you know." He offered a wry, fleeting grin. "It was a ten-minute walk to wherever I needed to go. I could have taken the scooter, but it felt like a waste."
He chuckled softly, a sound that felt alien in the dark ruins. "I turned that ten-minute walk into twenty every morning. I'd put on my headphones, buy something from a convenience store, take the long way around. Every day was a bit different."
His smile faded into something hollow. "And every day, I'd see this homeless guy. I never asked his name. Better that way, I suppose. I would have forgotten it by now anyway."
Zachary's voice carried a trace of pain that Jeff actually managed to catch. "He'd stand in the street, helping with traffic. I don't know where he got the whistle, but he'd blow it and wave the PTVs through. He always greeted me, and I'd greet him back. It was... nice, seeing him there."
He kicked a pebble into the dark. "The neighbors liked him too. The shopkeepers saved lunch for him. He'd nod at me, or make this peculiar wave of his hand. Sometimes he'd have heated debates with himself about nothing at all." He laughed softly at the words.
Zachary exhaled deeply. "Some days, I'd share a cigarette with him. He asked me for one once—he made this sign, hand on his shoulder, cutting down across his chest while whistling." Zachary mimicked the sign, a ghostly laugh escaping him. "I didn't know the sign, but I understood it perfectly... It amused me."
"So, from then on, he'd make the sign, and I'd share a smoke. We did that for a long time."
A small, subconscious smile touched the lips of the Guards as they listened to the mundane tale. Then, Zachary spoke in a neutral, dead tone.
"He froze to death one winter."
The street went silent. Zachary opened his mouth as if to add more, then simply shook his head.
"It wasn't surprising. That's the fate of people in his position," he rationalized. "I started taking the scooter the very next day. Walking wasn't enjoyable anymore."
Jeff looked at Zachary's back. The blue mantle drifted in the wind, the black lightning embroidery shimmering in the pale light. He couldn't fathom why the man was sharing this, but a heavy, strange feeling had nested in his chest. Zachary turned back to them, the resolute glow returning to his crimson eye.
"The reason I'm telling you this is to explain that, despite how I act, I am actually a very emotional person." He scoffed at his own words. "And I'm no stranger to death. I've seen its mundane face. I react to it. I feel the weight of a life ending."
He stepped closer, lowering himself to their eye level. He winced once, a flicker of humanity crossing his face, before it was replaced by an emotionless veil that made Jeff's heart stop.
"So... you can understand why it troubles me that I don't feel a single thing at the thought of killing you."
'What?' Jeff's mind stuttered.
"It scares me, honestly," Zachary whispered, looking at the group through his spread fingers as if they were images on a screen. "Not because I'm a monster, but because no matter what I've been through, I cannot stop looking at you as..."
He trailed off. The words were there, but they were too painful to speak. But Jeff didn't care about his executioner's feelings anymore. Panic took hold.
"Eddard, Nephis, Cassie... the people at the Castle," Zachary listed, walking back to retrieve his sword. "I'm scared that this feeling—this lack of it—is going to diminish the relationships I've built."
'No, no, no!' Jeff screamed internally. He tried to move, but his broken body refused to obey. He looked at his companions, but they were already gone, tears streaming down their faces in quiet, broken acceptance.
A footstep sounded directly in front of him. Jeff looked up to see the scarred man standing over him, the dark blade raised. He searched Zachary's eye for pity, for anger, for anything. He found only detachment.
"Thanks for listening, friend," Zachary said softly. Jeff could hear the man was still searching for a reason to stop, but finding none. With a sad, final sigh, he raised the blade. "Now, take it to your grave."
Jeff's heart thundered against his cracked ribs. He couldn't die like this. Not here!
"Wait! I—"
***
[You have slain Dreamer Jeff.]
The contemptuous voice of the Spell announced the final kill, echoing in the hollow silence of his Mind. Zachary felt the familiar, violent surge of soul fragments rushing into his Core. After three months of slaughter in the ruins, the vessel was finally saturated, shimmering with the weight of a hundred deaths.
But then, something impossible happened.
Despite his Core reaching its absolute limit, the remaining soul fragments from Jeff's life didn't dissipate. Instead, they forced their way in, seeping past the boundaries of his Soul Sea and nesting within the very structure of his physical Body. They integrated into his flesh and bone as if he had absorbed them through his own particular, soul-devouring digestion.
It was a staggering discovery—a breach of the Spell's established logic—and yet Zachary didn't have the spirit to investigate it.
He lowered his gaze to the cooling body at his feet. He reached into his own heart and mind, searching for a spark of grief, a flicker of guilt, or even a shiver of revulsion. He found nothing. Only the nameless void that had been growing since he first set foot in the Dark City.
Now, finally, that feeling had a name.
"Detachment," Zachary whispered to the night.
It was the byproduct of the blurring line between "person" and "character." No matter how much he bled for the people of this world, no matter how many jokes he shared or how many bonds he forged, he couldn't strip the label away. To his mind, they were still the ink and pixels he had read on a glowing screen back in his studio apartment.
Zachary clenched his teeth, then released the tension with a weary, jagged sigh.
'Nephis... Cassie... Effie... Harper,' he thought. 'I enjoy their company... I can even call them friends. But I can't forget that they were just letters on my phone before I fell into this nightmare.'
That wasn't what truly chilled his heart, though.
'But Eddard... Lester, Mauro, and Arlo. If I feel this hollow toward "named" characters, what does that make the people who don't even have a face in the story?'
The question scraped against something raw deep inside him. He was willing to fight for them, to suffer for them, and to bleed just to see a different ending to their tragedy. And yet, he couldn't see them as real.
It was a staggering contradiction.
"Do I contradict myself?" Zachary questioned the wind, his voice a dry rasp. "Very well then, I contradict myself. For I am large... and I contain multitudes."
His quote was answered only by the indifferent silence of the ruins. A soft, bitter chuckle escaped his lips as Ender's Solace dissolved from his hand into a shimmer of dark sparks.
'Perhaps this detachment is a mercy,' he mused, his mind drifting toward the description of [The Fool] etched into his soul. 'I'm going to have to keep fighting humans in the future. If I saw them as real, I'd have broken a long time ago.'
He knelt beside Jeff's body, his fingers steady as he searched the Guard's pockets for the map.
'Is this what "growing into the world" actually means?' he wondered. 'Is the goal of Fate to force me to accept this world and its inhabitants as my own?'
He scoffed at the thought, pulling a crumpled piece of parchment from the dead man's tunic. 'The same Fate that tried to punish me for trying to save those very same inhabitants? No.'
Zachary shook his head. He had a lifetime to untangle his feelings. Right now, the gears were finally turning. The long isolation was over, and the end of the Forgotten Shore was finally in sight.
"It's showtime, folks."
With one last look at the bodies—knowing a stray Nightmare Creature would soon arrive to tidy up the mess—Zachary turned away. He took a determined step into the dark street, his eyes fixed on the map and the path ahead.
A dashing archer was waiting for him, and the story was calling.