I sat on the floor, leaning against the side of Zhan's bed, while he remained above me, back straight, the book resting in his hands like something sacred... something that did not belong to this world, yet somehow found its way back to him.
His fingers brushed over the pages slowly.
Not like someone reading.
Like someone remembering.
There was something in his eyes, something soft, something dangerously close to breaking...that he didn't even try to hide.
"You know," he said quietly, his voice almost blending into the silence, "this book was written by someone… very dear to me."
I lowered my gaze.
He wasn't talking to me.
Not really.
He was speaking to the past, to something only he could see between those pages.
His grip on the book tightened slightly.
"Where you found it, how you got there, why it ended up with you…" he continued, his tone growing distant, colder, "none of that concerns me."
A pause.
"What matters… is that I can finally read this."
His thumb traced the edge of the page.
"I'm thankful for that."
I let out a quiet breath. "Hmm…"
It felt like I was sitting beside him, yet miles away at the same time.
He blinked, as if suddenly realizing I was there.
"Sorry," he said, softer now. "I'm talking too much."
His eyes met mine for a brief second.
"Shall we begin?"
I nodded.
And he started reading.
His voice shifted as he spoke, deepening, carrying a weight that didn't belong to him alone.
"My Childhood…"
The room grew colder.
Not in temperature.
But in feeling.
"They said that the day I was born, our empire fell. The war was lost, and we were reduced to nothing, slaves beneath the LANA Empire, a force that ruled over half the northern lands without mercy."
His voice remained steady.
Unshaken.
"I was only a newborn, yet I was taken… claimed by Master Jing Li."
Zhan's fingers curled slightly at the name.
"The most callous man I have ever known."
A faint breath escaped him, almost unnoticeable.
"He was once a warrior, the left hand of King Lan himself. But what he taught me… was not how to fight."
His voice dropped.
"It was how to kill."
The silence in the room thickened.
"I was never raised to be a sword."
A pause.
"I was raised to be a bomb."
Each word landed heavier than the last.
"He told me we were the descendants of the God of Death. That our purpose was to liberate the unwanted flesh from this world… and return it to its divine origin."
Zhan's eyes darkened.
"And I believed him."
I felt my chest tighten.
"I believed killing ."
His voice didn't shake.
That made it worse.
"From the age of ten, he trained me in the harshest techniques, shaping my body, my mind… into something that could not hesitate."
A faint, bitter breath.
"I lived alone. No sunlight beyond the walls. No laughter. No childhood."
The words came slower now.
"He told me the world outside was an illusion. That happiness was nothing but a lie people used to protect themselves."
A pause.
"And I wondered… if I was special."
For the first time, there was something fragile in the voice.
"Was that why my parents never came for me?"
Silence.
"Or was I simply abandoned?"
My hands clenched without me realizing.
"All I knew… was killing."
His voice hardened again.
"Eliminating."
"Restoring peace."
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Then-
"One day, an order was announced. No one was to leave their homes."
Zhan's grip on the book tightened.
"But Master took me outside, for the first time."
His voice grew sharper.
"And suddenly… I was standing in the middle of a battlefield."
I could almost see it.
Blood.
Fire.
Chaos.
"A sword was placed in my hands."
A pause.
"And he told me… to show my art."
Zhan's eyes flickered. a wicked art...
"I was thirteen."
The air felt heavier.
"A man charged at me."
A breath.
"I drew my blade."
His voice dropped into something colder than before.
"And in less than a second… I split him in half."
Silence.
Thick.
Unmoving.
"When I looked back, Master was smiling."
Zhan's lips twitched slightly.
"And I liked it."
That line sent a chill through me.
"I smiled back."
His voice softened but not with warmth.
"With blood on my face."
"That was my first kill."
I swallowed hard.
"After that… there was no stopping."
His tone became distant, almost hollow.
"We carved through everyone who stood before us, until we were the only ones left standing… in a paradise made of blood."
The image lingered.
Too vivid.
"The rain began to fall."
His eyes lifted slightly, as if he could see it again.
"And I thought… the sky was cleansing me."
A faint, broken whisper.
"That it pitied the world… not me."
I couldn't breathe properly.
"I looked around… and for the first time, I saw the world without illusions."
A pause.
"And I thought…"
His voice almost softened into something hauntingly calm.
"Wasn't it beautiful?"
Zhan turned the page slowly.
"When we returned, Master handed me a sword."
His tone sharpened again.
"He called it divine."
"A bridge between heaven and hell."
His fingers tightened.
"And he said… it was now a part of me."
A pause.
"That I was now an Yòu."
The word lingered in the air.
Cold.
Unfamiliar.
"I took the sword."
His voice lowered into something quiet.
"And I left."
A breath.
"I looked up at the sky… and thought of my parents."
For a second-
Something human flickered.
"I wondered if they were happy."
Then-
It vanished.
"And I told them…"
His voice became a whisper.
"Let me send you some escorts."
Silence.
The room felt suffocating.
He closed the book.
"The end."
I didn't realize my hands were shaking until I tried to move them.
A chill ran down my spine, goosebumps rising across my skin.
Zhan didn't look at me.
He just stared at the cover.
Then, slowly, he handed the book back.
"What do you think of him?" he asked quietly.
A pause.
"Is he… a bad person?"
I opened my mouth.
But nothing came out.
Because I didn't know.
Because the answer didn't feel simple.
Because something about that story…
Felt too real.
Too close.
Zhan lowered his gaze.
"I'm tired," he said softly. "I'll sleep."
That was all.
I left him there.
And went to my own bed.
But sleep didn't come easily.
"What was that…?" I whispered to myself.
My chest felt heavy.
"And why does he feel… familiar?"
My thoughts blurred.
Darkness pulled me under.
And then-
A dream.
An old man stood before me, his face hidden in shadow, his presence overwhelming.
In his hands-
A sword.
Cold.
Ancient.
Alive.
He extended it toward me.
And the moment my fingers brushed against it&
I felt it.
Power.
Endless.
Terrifying.
As if time itself could shatter in my grasp.
And somewhere, far away-
A voice whispered.
"You remember… don't you?"