The quiver beneath Zero's hand did not fade.Instead, it spread. The parchment trembled faintly, as if a heartbeat pulsed beneath the ink itself. He drew back instinctively, his breath catching in his throat, and the page began to turn on its own. Slow, deliberate, inevitable.
Lilith's soft gasp echoed faintly behind him, but she didn't stop it. She only whispered, almost reverently:"The records choose. They always choose."
The page rolled forward, parchment rasping like bone dragged across stone, and stopped at a place that felt predetermined. The ink darkened, lines thickening and reshaping, revealing fresh script that gleamed as though written only moments ago.
Zero's pulse quickened. He leaned in.
"Thus came the Seventh Night, when the braves and the King of Devils waged war beneath a sky choked of stars. Their strength was frayed, their bodies broken, yet still they endured."
