Zayn didn't sleep.
Even after the others in the barracks had drifted off, their breaths soft and even under the rickety wooden rafters, he sat there, alone in the darkness, staring at the thing that lay in front of him.
The book.
It hadn't moved since it fell from the Binding Arch's blackened skies.
Its leather was darker than night itself—black with an oily sheen, as if it had been stitched together from shadows. The silver threads binding its edges shimmered faintly, runes curling along its seams in symbols that seemed to squirm if he looked at them too long. But it wasn't just the cover that unsettled him. No, it was the chains.
Thick, cold iron links wrapped tightly around it, crisscrossing the grimoire like manacles on a prisoner. Where the others' Grimoires had shimmered open at their touch, glowing with elemental hues of fire, wind, and water, this one remained locked.
Silent. Cold. Heavy.
It sat on the floor like a stone, indifferent to his presence.
Zayn ran a hand through his tangled hair, frustration boiling inside him. Why had he been given this thing? Why was it his name that was called when everyone else was receiving radiant books, lush with power and promise?
He wasn't anyone important. He was an outcast.
The birthmark on his neck throbbed again. It had started the moment the book fell from the Arch, burning under his skin like molten ink. He reached up, fingertips grazing the curling shape behind his left ear, tracing it down to his collarbone where it disappeared beneath his shirt.
A sharp, sudden sting made him hiss softly.
"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "What the hell is this?"
His eyes drifted back to the book.
It hadn't opened. Not even a flicker.
Meanwhile, the other kids—commoners and low-borns alike—were already practicing their magic, some giggling in excitement as they sparked tiny flames in their palms or summoned little wisps of wind that spun playfully around their fingers.
Zayn's hands tightened into fists.
"You gonna open, or what?" he growled at the grimoire, his voice low and bitter. "Or are you just gonna sit there and mock me too?"
Of course, it didn't answer.
But just as his words faded into the dark, a faint click echoed in the room.
Zayn froze.
His breath caught in his throat as he watched—eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest—as the chains around the book began to move.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, they uncoiled themselves from the cover, slithering across the floor like serpents made of iron, leaving behind faint scratches on the wooden planks. Each link fell with a dull metallic thud, until the last one clattered away, leaving the book bare.
Zayn could hardly breathe.
The cover began to lift.
It opened—not with a flourish like the others—but with a slow, deliberate creak, revealing its contents.
Or rather, its lack of them.
There was only a single page inside.
One page, black as ink, with silver letters that shimmered faintly against the darkness. The letters moved—shifted—as if alive, writhing across the surface in slow, curling patterns.
Zayn's throat went dry.
Drawn by something he couldn't explain, he reached out and touched the page.
The moment his finger made contact, the letters froze.
Then, they began to arrange themselves—twisting and turning—forming words he couldn't quite understand, but somehow felt he had always known.
> The First Page of Zero.
Beneath it, more words bled into existence:
> The bearer of this Grimoire walks the line between nothingness and fate. Your page begins where others end.
Zayn's fingers trembled against the paper.
"The… First Page?" he whispered aloud, his voice barely more than a breath.
Suddenly, the room changed.
The flickering lantern in the corner snuffed out, plunging everything into darkness—except the book, which glowed with that strange, violet hue, bathing his face in ghostly light.
Zayn's heart pounded so loud he could hear it in his ears.
Then came the voice.
Not spoken aloud.
But inside.
"Turn the page."
He jolted back, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Wh-What?" he gasped, scanning the room wildly.
No one else stirred. The others were still asleep, snoring softly.
The voice came again, calm but firm, curling in his mind like smoke.
"Turn the page, Zayn."
He stared at the book, chest tightening.
Turn it? But there was no page to turn. It was the only one.
Still, his hands moved on their own.
Fingers trembling, he reached for the edge of the black parchment.
The moment he touched it, the birthmark on his neck burned fiercely—so hot he nearly cried out.
And before he could think twice, the page turned itself.
There was nothing on the other side.
Only more blackness.
But then…
Silver letters began to bleed across the page once more, forming shapes, then words, then something more.
It wasn't just magic.
It was a command.
Zayn's breath hitched as the words formed:
> Spell One: Whisper of the Void.
The moment the words finished forming, something inside him snapped.
It felt like the world around him twisted. The air thickened, his limbs grew heavier, and a strange chill filled the room as shadows crept toward him.
And then… he heard them.
Whispers.
Faint, distorted, endless voices muttering just beyond the edge of hearing, clawing at his mind.
Zayn fell back, clutching his head.
"N-No…! Stop…!"
But they didn't stop.
They welcomed him.
---
Far Across the Land…
In a faraway chamber, inside the Tower of the Thirteen, cloaked figures gathered under the ancient crest of the Mystic Legions.
One of them—a tall man with silver embroidery on his dark robes—spoke, his voice calm but laced with unease.
"It's begun again," he murmured, watching the flames in the scrying basin twist into violet.
A second figure, draped in gold and crimson, let out a low breath.
"Impossible. The Zero Page was sealed."
"It has returned," another rasped, their face hidden behind a dragon-shaped mask.
"And this time," the first added, "the bearer… is but a child."
Silence gripped the room, cold and absolute.
The council turned their gazes to the empty throne—its back carved with a circle enclosing a single blank page.
Unclaimed.
Until now.
---
Back In The Village...
Zayn sat in the darkness, drenched in cold sweat, staring at the book that now pulsed faintly on the floor.
His breath came in shaky gasps, but the whispers had faded.
For now.
The page in the book had turned black again, as if nothing had happened.
But the birthmark on his neck still glowed faintly, marking him with its strange, shifting ink.
His fate had begun.
And far beyond, unseen by his eyes, ancient forces began to stir—watching.
Waiting.
---
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading Chapter 2 of Zero Page! This chapter begins to slowly peel back the layers of mystery around Zayn's cursed grimoire and introduces the first hints of the dark forces watching from the shadows. The story will build gradually, focusing on suspense, magic systems, and deep character struggles before diving into larger battles and world-building.
Zayn's journey is just starting—and he doesn't even know what danger he's in yet.
Xoxo