Parallel Memory

Chapter 599: Shadows That Do Not Fade

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 name, 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 hammered wildly, a storm beneath fragile skin, and though his chest rose in sharp bursts, his eyes still hadn't opened. It was as though some unseen battle still claimed him.

At last, his lids parted.

For a fleeting heartbeat, I thought I recognized them—those tired gray eyes that had always seemed too quiet for the weight they carried. But what met me then was not the same gaze. His pupils seemed deeper, shadowed, like pools that had glimpsed something so vast and merciless no human soul should endure it. The moment they locked onto me, I froze—not out of fear, but from the instinctive knowledge that something profound had shifted within him.

"Lilith…" His voice was hoarse, cracked, yet the way he spoke my name 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 me."

He exhaled, a trembling breath, and shut his eyes again. I watched the muscles of his face twist—as if even now, memories 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 parchment still whispering with fragments 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 time 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 name 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 me. 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 me." 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 me, searching. For a moment, I feared my words had failed to reach him. Then he spoke, lower this time, almost as if confessing to himself:

"It felt real enough to break me all over again. And yet… something else was there. Someone."

That startled me.

"Someone?" I echoed.

"Yes." His eyes narrowed as if recalling a vision that still stung. "It was… me. No—not me as I am. Another me. He said things I didn't want to hear. That I hide, that I bury everything, that I'm letting guilt consume me. He was merciless. But…" His hand rose slightly, trembling, then fell back. "But he didn't let me fall. He dragged me back here."

I struggled to process it, my breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. Zero had always been an enigma, but the thought of him confronting a reflection of himself—perhaps even a fragment of his true soul—made me shiver.

He turned his face away, shame 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 seemed to lean closer, as if the devils themselves listened.

Finally, I said softly, "What matters is that you're here. With me. With us. You came back, Zero. Whatever tried to keep you, it failed."

He looked at me then, really looked, and I caught a glimpse of something I'd never seen before—resolve. Not the quiet determination he carried when fighting monsters or training, but something sharper, forged in anguish.

"Maybe," he murmured. "But this won't be the last time. They'll come for me 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 doomed to repeat the same 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 time. Because you're not the same boy who walked into that cave, and you're not carrying this alone anymore. Do you hear me?"

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 time 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 seemed heavier now, as though carrying the memory 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 me first.

And this time, I wouldn't let him face the darkness alone.