It wasn't a scream.
Not his scream, at least.
It was a sound echoing in his mind, strange yet familiar in a way that stirred terror. The resonance was deep, as if it were an extension of an ancient voice, a voice that no longer belonged to him.
He opened his eyes suddenly, a cold gasp escaping his lips, his body jerking under the weight of shock. He was lying on the ground, his back pressed against cold, hard stones, the smell of ash filling his nostrils. Faint fires danced in the corners of a stone cell, casting long, twisting shadows that seemed like lurking ghosts.
Then came the whispers.
"Finally… it's Zero."
The words were spoken, but he wasn't sure… Was that his voice? Or was it the echo of something older?
He raised his hand slowly, his eyes focusing on his skin. On his left forearm, there it was—the number "0," glowing faintly red, warm to the touch, as if branded into his flesh.
And in that moment, the memories began to flood in.
