thief of fate-Chapter 54: Zenith House

There was no sound except his footsteps.

The gravel beneath his soles made a faint crackling amid the silence of the entangled forest, and the tall trees cast broken lines across his face, as if carving memories rather than guiding the path. The sun was setting, coloring the sky in red, touching the edges of ancient trees that had always preserved this place from being erased from the memory of the earth.

A hut.

Just a hut. It spoke of no glory, carried no scent of bustling communities or family tales. Its roof slightly slanted, its walls clad in dark wood, with ivy creeping up them like... no one knows. The sliding door had a torn part of white paper, fluttering with the wind.

Zenith stood before it without extending his hand. Staring alone was enough to feel the weight. The hut was light like a sickly body, but in his memory... it had been heavier than a mountain.

"Am I returning?" he asked himself in a low voice, not expecting an answer.

When he pushed the door to enter, it didn’t creak as he imagined, but slid open with strange ease. As if the place neither resisted his return nor welcomed it. It just... opened.

The inside was as he had left it. Or as he thought he had left it. A torn straw mat in the corner, a small low cabinet containing some old tea tools, a low table, and two cushions on the ground. One was flipped over, as if someone had sat and suddenly vanished.

The hut was silent... breathless.

He removed his shoes at the entrance, a step too late, but he did it. Instinct. A habit he couldn’t shake off. He walked cautiously, as if the ground beneath him might collapse.

He sat.

No sound. No movement. Even his heart seemed slower than usual.

He leaned back against the cold wall and closed his eyes.

"This is my home, isn’t it?" he whispered inside, but he didn’t feel a sense of belonging. The place was an echo. Everything in it reminded him that he hadn’t been here in a long time... and when he had been, he hadn’t been happy.

Minutes passed with the weight of stone, and all he did was stare at the wooden ceiling. Some cracks had crept in, and a spider had spun threads in the upper corner. Life had gone on... without him.

Then came the thought.

The Black Moon.

He breathed slowly, trying to expel that name from his head, but it crept back like smoke.

"How do I reach you? How... do I find you?"

He knew they left no trace. An organization that thrived on chaos, revealed only to those who deserve it or who are chosen.

But he could no longer endure the waiting. Not within these walls, nor among the doubts feeding on his silence.

He stood slowly and walked to the cabinet. He opened it. The aged wood groaned, and the scent of old papers mixed with the fragrance of a forgotten past hit his nose.

It was there that small piece of black silk, adorned with a silver crescent symbol.

"You won’t leave me, will you?"

He had once met someone strange, as if not belonging to this world who carried that same silk and told him, "When the time comes, you’ll understand. And when you understand, you’ll begin."

But is this the time? Is this what it means to arrive late at the beginning?

He returned to his place, sat down, placed the silk piece before him, and looked at it like someone staring at an old photo of a father who died in war before his son was born.

"I’m not like them..." he said, voice trembling. "I don’t have your cruelty, or your cunning... but I have one thing: desire."

He clenched his fist. The feeling of loneliness was suffocating, creeping like fog from beneath, but that desire... was an ember that wouldn’t extinguish.

"I will find you."

The hut didn’t reply. It simply remained silent, as if it pitied him or mocked him.

Then... The sound came.

It wasn’t an ordinary sound. It was like a vibration in his bones, like a muted tone only he could hear.

And suddenly, right in front of his eyes, a black screen burst into the void. It appeared without prelude no light, no magical shimmer. It just... was there.

Flat, yet pulsing. Still, yet alive.

He read the lines that formed:

[Name: Zenith Ragnarok]

[Rank: Sealed]

[Talent: Sealed]

[Skills:]

Edge of Nothingness (Within your zone, hit success rate is 100%)

Seal

"Sealed..."

He felt something heavy descend upon his chest. It wasn’t anger, nor frustration... but an old, familiar feeling: disappointment.

"Who are you... to decide I’m not worthy yet?" he said as he rose slowly, his eyes fixed on the screen.

But he wasn’t angry. It was a frozen calm the calm of someone who chose to break the chain, not with a scream, but by advancing.

The screen vanished as it came. No trace, no flicker.

Zenith stood there for a few seconds, staring at the void, then closed his eyes.

Inside him, something stirred. As if someone had struck a deep drum buried in his heart.

"Alright..." he whispered.

He turned toward the door, took his rusty sword hanging on the wall not because it was effective, but because it was the one memory that hadn’t betrayed him.

He pushed the door.

And stepped out.

The outside was cold, and the damp air lashed his skin. But he didn’t hesitate. He walked toward the patch of dirt once used as a training ground for warriors in his village. There was no one there, as always no witnesses, no audience.

Only him... and his long shadow cast on the ground.

He drew his sword from its sheath, gripping it with his right hand.

His grip was firm.

"Edge of Nothingness..." he murmured, testing the weight of the words.

"In my zone, every strike lands, right?"

He curled his lips in a bitter smile.

"Let’s see then, how far I can extend this zone."

He struck the air.

Then struck again.

He moved as if dancing a dance no one else could perform. Every blow was sharp, not aiming at an enemy but at an idea.

He was dripping with sweat within minutes, but his gaze burned brighter than it had in years.

"I won’t wait for the seal to lift... I’ll make them lift it."

Every strike... was a promise.

Every move... was a challenge.

And every breath... was a step closer.

Not to an enemy but to the path.

The path of the Black Moon.

Darkness began to creep in slowly.

Zenith was still in the dirt field, sweat dripping, breath heaving, and his sword steeped. The air around him felt different... as if the earth was bracing for a new heartbeat not his own.

Then... he sensed it.

A smell.

Rotten, foul, like something forgotten in a pit had finally decided to breathe.

He raised his head slowly.

From between the trees, the creature appeared.

It wasn’t large; on the contrary, it looked thin and deformed. Its limbs twisted like charred branches, its skin gray like ash, and its eyes two, far too apart glowed with a vile green.

"It... smelled me." Zenith said coldly.

He wasn’t afraid. Fear had left him long ago.

The Korbut crawled slowly, moving on all fours like a hungry beast, its tongue drooping from its mouth, shifting its head as if tasting the air.

A low growl emerged not language, just hunger.

Zenith raised his sword, standing still.

"I needed something to test on... and you, you seem fitting."

The Korbut lunged suddenly.

Leaping.

Snarling.

But the moment it entered Zenith’s zone... all laws of chance ceased to exist.

His sword moved.

Not with speed but precision.

100%.

A single strike.

Through the body.

As if the air itself had split.

The creature froze in place, then began to crack not from the outside... but from within.

As if something had rejected its existence.

A scream... erupted not from its mouth, but its very essence.

And it crumbled.

No blood. No trace.

Turned to ash. And vanished.

But...

That wasn’t all.

Zenith’s eyes widened.

A strange shimmer appeared on his wrist, dark lines beginning to creep up his skin.

"What?" he muttered, staring.

Black threads, like ink injected into his veins, suddenly surfaced on his arm, reaching his shoulder then retreating. A searing pain, like fire in the bone’s core, surged for a second then vanished.

"The seal..." he said in a low voice. "Doesn’t like using what’s not mine yet."

He dropped to one knee, his breath ragged, while the earth around him gently trembled as if it had gasped at the moment of the event.

"This skill... isn’t free."

And from the trees, on a high branch, sat

Axel

His arms crossed, eyes observing Zenith without a word.

He seemed thoughtful, but didn’t move an inch.

Then in a faint voice, as if speaking to himself, he said:

"You’re not looking for me..."

"But for someone else."

He smiled a lopsided smile, void of warmth.

"But you’ll find me... before you find them."

The wind slipped gently between the branches, stirring them as if whispering secrets no one wanted to hear.

Axel still sat on the branch, his gaze fixed on Zenith below, who was slowly rising, wrapping his arm with a leather strap to hide the mark of the seal.

Silence.

Then Axel took a deep breath, as if his heart was heavier than it seemed.

"If only you knew what you’re truly looking for..." he whispered so faintly.

He cast one last look, his eyes red not with pity... nor with desire for confrontation.

Then, without dramatic motion or trace... he disappeared.

As if the air itself chose to hide him.

And all that remained was the echo of his words:

"I just hope... you stop searching for me."