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."