# Chapter 13: Echoes of a Golden Past

  The noble district was dead.

  Zack walked through the wide, immaculate streets, his footsteps echoing in the unnatural silence that enveloped the place. Elegant mansions rose on both sides, their dark windows like empty eyes watching his passage. Meticulously manicured gardens remained still, without the slightest breath of wind to stir their leaves.

  There were no people. No animals. Not even the distant sound of the city reached there. It was as if life itself had been drained from this place, leaving only empty shells of opulence.

  The contrast with the chaos and destruction of the Lower Quarter was disturbing. While there were bodies, blood, and ruins, here there was only... absence. An absence so complete that it seemed deliberate.

  Zack was more human now, the darkness in his eyes almost completely dissipated. But the weight he carried was immense. Each step towards the Violet King's castle seemed heavier than the last. The guilt for the dead in the Lower Quarter. The anger at the King's involvement. And something else, something he couldn't name – a growing sense that he was walking towards a long-delayed confrontation.

  Above the castle, the sky had a strange coloration – not exactly purple, nor exactly black, but something in between, as if reality was being subtly distorted. The Black Moon occasionally vibrated in its sheath, responding to something invisible in the air.

  It was then that he saw it – a crystal-clear fountain in the center of a small square. Zack frowned, confused. He knew this area well, had passed through here countless times before, but had never noticed this fountain. It was beautiful, carved from white marble with gold details, the water so clear it seemed made of liquid light.

  Something about it caught his attention, drawing him like a magnet. Zack approached slowly, almost against his will. The light from a nearby lamppost illuminated the water, creating hypnotic reflections that danced on the perfectly still surface.

  As he leaned over the edge of the fountain, Zack saw his own reflection. The contrast between light and shadow was dramatic, dividing his face into two halves – one illuminated, revealing human and familiar features; the other plunged into impenetrable shadows.

  For a moment, everything was perfectly still. The silence was absolute. Zack felt a strange loneliness, a sense of isolation so profound that it seemed physical, like a weight on his shoulders.

  Then, without any wind or movement, the fountain's water stirred. Zack's reflection distorted, rippling as if seen through molten glass. And when the water calmed again, the eyes in the reflection were no longer his – they were older, deeper, simultaneously familiar and strange.

  A sharp pain shot through his head like lightning. The Black Moon vibrated violently in its sheath, emitting a low hum that seemed to pierce his eardrums. Zack fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands, as fragments of memories began to invade his mind like shards of glass.

  *The Black Moon, embedded in a huge crystal rock, surrounded by absolute darkness.*

  *A child with a face covered in shadows, being lifted into the air, while distant laughter echoed like broken bells.*

  *A woman with golden hair and eyes of the same color, her smile radiant as the sunset, extending her hand to him.*

  The pain in his ears increased, turning into an unbearable hum that seemed to fill his entire skull. Fragmented visions exploded behind his closed eyes, too fast to be understood, too intense to be ignored.

  "STOP!" he cried to the empty sky, his voice echoing through the deserted streets. "STOP!"

  There was no one to hear his cries. No one to help. No one to witness when the pain reached an unbearable peak and then, suddenly, ceased.

  Zack's world seemed to dissolve, like ink in water. The streets, the mansions, the fountain – everything disappeared, giving way to a complete, vivid, and detailed memory that engulfed him like a wave.

  ---

  Zack opened his eyes.

  He was lying on a simple but comfortable bed, in a small, dark room. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair – shaved on the sides, leaving only a strip in the middle. His face was free of scars, his body younger, lighter. He wore a white tank top and military pants with boots.

  The Black Moon was not with him.

  He got up and walked to the window, opening the curtains with a fluid movement. Sunlight flooded the room, and with it, the sight of a city that should no longer exist.

  The Polyhedron Country stretched before him in all its glory – a majestic metropolis with modern Gothic architecture, buildings that seemed to touch the clouds, impressive bridges connecting different levels of the city. Gigantic trees, some over 20 meters tall, grew among the buildings, their canopies forming green awnings over the streets. Rivers snaked through the city, their crystal-clear waters reflecting the cloudless blue sky.

  The streets pulsed with life. People on horseback trotted alongside ornate carriages. Well-dressed citizens walked the sidewalks, chatting animatedly. Dogs ran between pedestrians' legs, while cats watched everything from sunny ledges. Colorful birds flew among the trees, filling the air with their songs.

  Geometric silver sculptures adorned every corner, every square, every bridge – mathematical works of art that captured and reflected sunlight in hypnotic ways. And in the center of the city, visible even from a distance, rose a 50-meter golden statue – the Queen of the Golden Eyes, with a golden dragon hatchling named Kobal beside her, its metallic scales shimmering under the sun.

  Zack smiled – a genuine, carefree smile, so different from the tense, rare smile of the current Zack. There was a lightness in his movements, an absence of the invisible weight he always seemed to carry.

  "Damn!" he muttered, looking at a clock on the wall. "Nanashi is waiting."

  He hurried out of the room and down the building's stairs, greeting neighbors, elders, and children with familiarity and affection. An elderly lady offered him a freshly baked bread, which he accepted with a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. A group of children ran around him, laughing and asking him to show "the trick," to which he responded by making a coin disappear and reappear behind a gaping boy's ear.

  At the building's door, a tall, thin man smoked a cigarette, leaning against the wall with a carefree posture. He had long, white hair that fell over his shoulders, skin as pale as porcelain, and eyes of such an intense blue that they seemed unreal. Tattoos covered every visible inch of his skin – colorful fish swimming across his neck, dogs running up his arms, and dragons coiled around his wrists.

  "You're late, idiot," the man said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the sky.

  "My bad," Zack replied, stopping beside him. Then, with a more animated tone: "Is it pose day today?"

  A slow smile spread across the tattooed face. "Yes, and also the most important day of my life." His expression lit up with genuine happiness. "I'm going to confess."

  "Finally, you horse-faced coward!" Zack exclaimed, lightly punching his friend's shoulder.

  "Look who's talking, you brainless sewer rat!" the other retorted, returning the punch with enough force to make Zack stumble.

  In seconds, they were exchanging increasingly creative insults, punches, and kicks that seemed violent but were clearly playful. The "fight" ended with both falling onto the sidewalk, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

  "Come on, Nanashi," Zack finally said, getting up and extending a hand to help his friend. "I don't want you to be late for the big moment."

  They began to walk through the sunny streets of the Polyhedron Country, passing colorful markets where vendors advertised their wares, squares where musicians played strange and beautiful instruments, and temples where colorfully robed priests performed complex rituals involving crystals and light.

  After a few minutes of walking, Nanashi broke the comfortable silence. "How is she?" he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

  Zack was visibly uncomfortable, his eyes fixed on the ground. "Well..." he simply replied, his voice almost inaudible.

  Nanashi placed his hand on Zack's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Relax, everything will be fine. I'm here." Then, with a quick movement, he pulled a small leather pouch from inside his coat. "Here, 20 silver coins."

  Zack looked at the pouch as if it were a venomous snake. "I don't need your charity," he said, pushing the pouch back against Nanashi's chest.

  "Shut up and take the money, you animal!" Nanashi shouted, laughing as he punched Zack in the face hard enough to knock him down.

  Zack fell onto the sidewalk, rubbing his chin. After a moment of tense silence, he took the coin pouch. "I won't pay," he warned, putting it in his pocket.

  Nanashi extended his hand to help him up, an ironic smile on his face. "But when did you ever pay?"

  ---

  The memory burst like a bubble, violently throwing Zack back to reality. He was again kneeling before the fountain in the noble district, screaming in pain as the Black Moon vibrated in its sheath like a wild animal trying to escape.

  For a moment, Zack seemed completely disoriented, his eyes moving frantically from side to side, as if he didn't know where he was or who he was. Fragments of the two realities mingled in his mind – the bright sun of the Polyhedron Country and the distorted sky above the Violet King's castle; Nanashi's smiling face and the empty streets of the noble district; the lightness he felt in that distant past and the overwhelming weight of the present.

  Slowly, painfully, he composed himself. His face hardened with renewed determination. He looked at the castle in the distance, now with a new, albeit incomplete, understanding. There were too many questions, too many fragmented memories. But one thing was clear – the path ahead.

  Zack stood up, adjusted the Black Moon in its sheath, and continued his journey towards the castle, his steps firmer and more determined than before.

  The bridge connecting the city to the castle was an imposing structure – arches of white stone supported by columns carved with mythological figures, the parapet decorated with carvings of ancient battles. Like everything in the noble district, it was completely deserted. Each of Zack's steps echoed in the silence, as if he were walking between two worlds.

  As he approached the castle, Zack felt a growing pressure, as if the air was becoming denser. The Black Moon vibrated with increasing intensity, almost as if it were eager, recognizing something familiar.

  Small disturbing details began to catch his attention along the way – shadows that seemed to move incorrectly, as if they had a will of their own; distorted reflections in the castle windows that didn't correspond to what should be reflected; the occasional sound of whispers that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

  Zack fought the urge to unsheathe the Black Moon. Part of him – the part that was still human, the part that had healed the survivors in the Lower Quarter – wanted to enter the castle as the man he was now, not as the weapon the Void could turn him into. But another part, the part that had awakened in the bell tower, yearned for the power, for the liberation that came with complete surrender.

  Finally, he reached the castle gates – enormous 12-meter-high structures made of solid gold, decorated with complex carvings that seemed to tell ancient stories. Relief figures showed battles, coronations, executions, and strange rituals, all connected in a continuous narrative that surrounded the gates.

  With considerable effort, Zack pushed the gates, which slowly opened with a metallic groan that echoed through the empty castle. A gust of cold wind hit him, coming from nowhere, carrying distant and indistinct sounds – whispers, muffled laughter, occasionally what seemed to be a distant scream.

  The interior of the castle was of stunning opulence. Luxurious carpets covered the polished marble floor. Silver and gold objects adorned tables and shelves everywhere. White wooden stairs spiraled elegantly to the upper floors. Red carpets marked paths across the floor, all converging towards the center of the castle. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, illuminating everything with an almost supernatural light, too white, too cold to be natural.

  Zack followed the main red carpet, his senses on high alert. Each step took him deeper into the castle, closer to what he knew was waiting for him.

  Finally, he reached the main hall – an immense chamber with a vaulted ceiling, supported by black marble columns. Stained-glass windows filtered the strange light from outside, projecting complex patterns on the floor. And 30 meters from the entrance, on a raised platform, was an impressive armchair.

  It was not an ordinary throne. It was a grotesque and majestic structure, formed by melted crowns of various shapes and sizes, fused into a single piece. Gold, silver, platinum, and other rarer metals intertwined in chaotic patterns, with jewels of all colors embedded in the surface. Some of the crowns were still recognizable – a delicate tiara here, a heavy and ornate crown there – as if their original owners had been absorbed by the throne, their identities preserved only as trophies.

  And sitting on this throne, with his feet crossed and a relaxed posture that suggested boredom or satisfied expectation, was the Violet King.

  He wore black and red clothes of such fine fabric that it seemed to flow like water around his slender body. A simple crown, almost modest compared to his throne, rested on his night-black hair. His appearance was disturbingly beautiful – perfect, symmetrical features, as if he had been sculpted rather than born. Pale, immaculate skin like porcelain. And his eyes – intense, deep, hypnotic violet, that seemed to glow with their own light.

  Before the throne, a red upholstered chair and a low table with drinks and food were arranged, as if the King had been waiting for a guest for a long time.

  Zack's and the King's gazes met across the hall. There was a silent recognition between them, like old acquaintances reuniting after a long separation. The air between them seemed to carry electricity, dense with unresolved tension and shared secrets.

  The Black Moon vibrated with increasing intensity in Zack's sheath, as if recognizing an old enemy – or an old friend.

  The King smiled, a smile that didn't reach his violet eyes. It was a calculated, rehearsed gesture, like an actor who knows exactly what effect he wants to create.

  "Finally," he said, his voice melodious and terrible at the same time, echoing through the empty hall. "I thought you'd never come to visit me..." He paused deliberately, his violet eyes gleaming with something that could be amusement or malice. "...old friend."

  Zack felt another wave of memories trying to emerge – fragments of conversations, shared laughter, ancient betrayals – but he suppressed them with effort. This was not the time to get lost in the past. There were more urgent matters in the present.

  Slowly, deliberately, he advanced towards the chair prepared for him, each step echoing in the silence of the hall.

  The King gestured to the chair with an elegant movement of his pale hand. "Sit," he invited, his voice soft as velvet and sharp as a blade. "We have much to discuss about the Void, about Skull..." His violet eyes gleamed with renewed intensity. "...and about the woman with golden eyes whom we both loved."

  When Kingdoms Fall

  Zack hesitated for a moment before approaching the chair prepared for him. His fingers lightly brushed the hilt of the Black Moon, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of betrayal.

  To his surprise, the Violet King rose from the throne of melted crowns with a fluid, graceful movement. There was no threat in his posture, no tension in his shoulders. He moved with the natural elegance of someone completely at ease in his own skin.

  "Please, sit," the King said, his melodious voice echoing through the empty hall. "It must have been a long journey to get here."

  Zack remained standing, his eyes never leaving the King's as he approached the table between them. With delicate gestures, the monarch lifted a crystal bottle containing a dark red liquid and poured two glasses.

  "Wine from the Mountain Country," he explained, offering one of the glasses to Zack. "Special vintage. They say the grapes grow on slopes so steep that the harvesters have to be tied to avoid falling to their deaths."

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  When Zack made no move to accept the drink, the King smiled softly and placed the glass on the table. Then, he began to serve food from golden platters – delicately sliced meats, exotic fruits, still-steaming breads.

  "How have you been, old friend?" the King asked, as if they were resuming a conversation recently interrupted. "Have the years been kind to you?"

  Zack felt his jaw clench. This was not what he expected. Where was the fight, the confrontation? Where were the accusations, the threats? Why was the Violet King – the man who was apparently behind the massacre in the Lower Quarter, who had some connection to Skull – treating him like an old friend at a casual dinner?

  "What is this?" Zack finally spoke, his voice hoarse with tension. "What kind of game are you playing?"

  The King seemed genuinely hurt. "Game? There is no game. Just two old acquaintances sharing a meal." He made a sweeping gesture towards the food and drink. "Please, help yourself."

  "It's poisoned," Zack said flatly.

  A sad smile touched the King's lips. Without a word, he picked up the glass he had offered Zack and took a long sip. Then, he generously served himself food and ate with evident pleasure.

  "See?" he said after swallowing. "No poison. Just good food and good wine."

  Zack remained motionless, his distrust only increasing with this demonstration. Finally, unable to bear this charade any longer, he made a move towards the Black Moon.

  "Ah," the King sighed, placing his fork delicately on the plate. "Does everything have to be resolved with violence?" His violet eyes met Zack's, laden with something that seemed almost... sadness. "I just wanted a day of peace."

  Zack's hand stopped halfway to the sword. "Peace?" he repeated, incredulously. "After what you did in the Lower Quarter? After Milos and his ritual? After all those deaths?"

  "Things are more complicated than they seem," the King replied, taking another sip of wine. "They always have been."

  "Then explain," Zack demanded, his voice filled with suppressed anger. "Explain why I'm here being treated as an honored guest instead of an enemy. Explain all this... theater."

  The King observed Zack for a long moment, his violet eyes unfathomable. Around them, the atmosphere of the hall seemed to subtly change – shadows lengthened like fingers trying to reach them, the light from the chandeliers flickered as if blown by a non-existent wind, and occasionally strange sounds echoed through the distant corridors – whispers, muffled laughter, what might be a very distant scream.

  "You really don't remember, do you?" the King finally asked, his voice softer. "Anything?"

  Before Zack could answer, a different question formed on his lips, one that had been bothering him since he entered the noble district.

  "Why is it so silent out there? Where are all the people?"

  The King stopped pouring wine, becoming completely still. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive like a shroud. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost casual.

  "I killed them. All of them."

  Zack felt his blood run cold. "What?"

  "The nobles, the servants, the guards," the King continued, as if discussing the weather. "All the inhabitants of the noble district. It wasn't violent, if that comforts you. It was a simple ritual. They simply... ceased to exist."

  "Why?" The question exploded from Zack, filled with fury and horror. "Why would you do that to your own people?"

  The Violet King looked at Zack with an enigmatic expression – a sad smile that didn't reach his shining eyes.

  "It was just another kingdom's turn to fall," he replied simply.

  It was as if those words were a key turning in a forgotten lock within Zack's mind. A sharp pain shot through his head, making him stagger. The familiar hum returned, rapidly growing until it became deafening. The Black Moon vibrated violently in its sheath, as if eager to be unleashed.

  The King observed Zack's reaction with clinical interest. Then, slowly, his posture changed. He straightened up, growing a few centimeters, his shoulders subtly widening. His violet eyes began to glow with their own, supernatural light, like beacons in the darkness.

  When he spoke again, his voice had a different quality – deeper, more resonant, as if multiple voices were speaking in unison.

  "I am the apostle, mad, hungry!"

  The pain in Zack's head intensified, almost bringing him to his knees. Fragmented visions exploded in his mind – the Polyhedron Country in flames, buildings collapsing, people running and screaming in the streets.

  "I am the light, darkness or solution!"

  More fragments – the golden-eyed woman screaming his name, tears streaming down her perfect face, reaching out to him across a growing abyss.

  "I am freedom, the nail in the coffin!"

  Nanashi, his face contorted in agony, falling into a bottomless pit of absolute darkness, his tattoos glowing like fire before being swallowed by the darkness.

  "But I am not the Void..."

  The pain reached an unbearable peak. Zack felt his consciousness slipping away, as if something else was taking control of his body. He fought desperately to maintain control, but it was like trying to hold water with his hands – the harder he squeezed, the more it slipped through his fingers.

  For an instant, everything went black.

  When his consciousness partially returned, Zack found himself standing, the Black Moon unsheathed in his hand. The black blade pierced the Violet King's chest, going completely through him and embedding itself in the throne of melted crowns behind him.

  Horror and confusion flooded Zack. He didn't remember moving, unsheathing the sword, or attacking. It was as if his body had acted on its own, controlled by some external force.

  "NO!" he cried, his voice breaking. "What did I... why did I..."

  The Violet King, instead of showing pain or anger, seemed almost relieved. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his lips were curved in a soft smile. With gentle movements, he raised a trembling hand and caressed Zack's face with surprising tenderness.

  "It's alright," he whispered, his voice weak but clear.

  Tears streamed from the King's violet eyes, which slowly began to lose their supernatural glow. His expression was one of profound sadness, but also of a strange peace, like someone who finally finds rest after a long journey.

  "My friend," he said, each word clearly an effort, "Skull is coming. The Void... it has arrived." His fingers traced the outline of Zack's face with affection. "My friend, smile, for we have seen each other."

  Zack felt a sharp pain in his chest that had nothing to do with physical injuries, and an overwhelming sadness he couldn't explain. Something deep and ancient within him recognized the King as someone important, someone dear, despite his conscious mind not fully understanding.

  The Black Moon continued to tremble violently, even embedded in the King's body, as if it were hungry for more, unsatisfied with just one life.

  The King's eyes began to lose focus, the light in them dimming like a candle about to go out. His lips moved one last time, forming words Zack couldn't hear. Then, with a soft sigh, the Violet King became still.

  Zack remained paralyzed, his hand still on the hilt of the Black Moon, unable to fully process what had happened. The throne room, the castle, the King's body – everything began to dissolve like ink in water. Zack felt his own body growing heavy, his consciousness floating away, as if being pulled by an invisible current.

  ---

  Water. Cold, viscous, completely enveloping him.

  Zack "woke up" floating in a lake of black, oil-like waters. Above him, a strange night sky stretched infinitely, where constellations glowed red instead of white, forming patterns no astronomer had ever cataloged.

  The air was heavy with a strong, nauseating smell of burnt flesh. Around the lake, Zack could vaguely distinguish the outlines of gigantic trees, strange rock formations, and in the distance, lights that could be from a city – or something posing as one.

  He tried to move his arms to swim, but found he couldn't. His body was completely paralyzed, as if his muscles had forgotten how to respond to his brain's commands. Slowly, inexorably, he began to sink into the black waters.

  Frantic thoughts raced through his mind as he sank – confusion about where he was, what had happened to the King, whether this was death or just another nightmare. The black water entered his mouth, his lungs, and he couldn't even cough to expel it.

  It was then that he heard – the sound of someone swimming vigorously, splashing the water forcefully, rapidly approaching where he was sinking. Young, strong hands grabbed him, pulling him to the surface just as he was about to lose consciousness.

  "Master! Master!" a familiar voice cried, but strangely higher-pitched than he remembered.

  Zack was dragged to the shore, coughing and expelling the black water from his lungs. When he finally managed to focus his vision, he was met with a face he knew intimately, but which was... wrong.

  It was Orpheus. But not the Orpheus he knew – this one was much younger, almost a boy, no more than 15 years old. His face didn't yet have the scars and lines of worry Zack knew so well. His eyes still shone with an innocence that had long been lost.

  "Master!! I'm here!" exclaimed the young Orpheus, his voice filled with concern and devotion.

  Zack remained completely still, his eyes wide in absolute shock. In his mind, only three words echoed like a desperate mantra: "My God!!!"

  The young Orpheus quickly took a towel from his bag and began to dry Zack, talking rapidly about how worried he was when he saw him in the lake.

  "You just disappeared from the camp," he said, vigorously rubbing Zack's arms with the towel. "I looked everywhere! What were you doing in the Lake of Shadows? Everyone knows it's dangerous to swim here, the waters have strange properties."

  Zack remained in absolute silence, still trying to process where he was and what was happening. His gaze swept the surroundings, absorbing details that confirmed his fears.

  Colossal 50-meter trees rose around them, their exposed red roots snaking through the soil like giant veins. The dense foliage in shades of orange and red created a canopy that partially blocked the strange sky. The earth beneath his feet was black and fertile, almost greasy to the touch. Large black stones were scattered across the landscape, some with ancient inscriptions in languages few mortals could read.

  And in the background, beyond the alien forest, the outlines of a gigantic city could be seen, its lights shining like fallen stars. A dense, palpable energy permeated everything, altering the very environment – the climate, the soil, even the few strange animals that moved in the shadows.

  There was no doubt. He was in the Red Continent – the most dangerous and feared place in the entire world.

  Noticing Zack's disturbed mental state, Orpheus tried to lighten the mood, changing the subject to something that clearly excited him.

  "Master, I practiced that technique you taught me," he said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "The rapid displacement with double rotation. I managed to execute it perfectly yesterday! Remember you promised that when I mastered this technique and turned 15, I could participate in my first hunt?" His smile widened, revealing perfectly aligned teeth that had not yet been broken and mended countless times. "And today is the day, Master! I'm finally 15!"

  Zack looked at the young man before him, trying to reconcile this version of Orpheus with the dark, tormented man he knew. This boy had not yet gone through the horrors that would shape his character, did not yet carry the weight of the countless lives he would take, did not yet know the true nature of the world and the Void.

  Slowly, Zack began to understand where he was – not in a dream or hallucination, but somehow transported not only in space, but in time. To a period when Orpheus was still his apprentice, before the events that separated them, before... everything.

  An internal conflict formed in Zack – should he reveal to Orpheus who he really was and what he knew of the future? Or should he pretend to be the Zack of this time, so as not to disturb events that had already occurred? And more importantly: what did his presence here mean? Was it a chance to change the past, or just another layer of torture elaborated by the Void?

  Before he could fully decide, Orpheus extended his hand, offering to help Zack up.

  "Come on, Master," he said, his young face lit with anticipation. "The hunt awaits us, and you promised it would be special."

  Zack accepted the outstretched hand, getting up with an effort that seemed both physical and mental. As he did so, he noticed something disturbing – his hand automatically went to his waist, where the Black Moon should be. But in its place, there was only an empty space. The sword had disappeared.

  His eyes rose to the horizon, where the lights of the distant city flickered like watchful eyes. A dark question formed in his mind, more disturbing than all the others:

  What exactly were they about to "hunt" in the Red Continent?