Parallel Memory

Mia Frostine’s POV (Continued)

Three days after the outpost was secured, the sky refused to brighten.

Every morning, I waited for the sun to rise like it used to before the devils came—clear, warm light breaking over the jagged ridges. Instead, we woke to the same dim gray light filtered through a perpetual haze. Even time felt uncertain here, as if the hours stretched too long and the shadows fell too early.

The corrupted fog hadn’t lifted. Not even the combined efforts of the Church’s purification teams and the specialized cleansing relics we brought from the capital had been enough to purge it. There was no visible enemy anymore, no howls from the woods or war cries echoing through the stone—but the unease remained. It seeped into the very bones of the outpost.

We had won a battle—not the war. That truth hung heavy in every breath I took.

Delta Outpost was breathing again, yes, but like a soldier on the edge of death. Shallow, rasping, uncertain. You could walk through the streets and see survivors returning to their duties, setting up temporary barracks and field hospitals, but there was little joy. Even the laughter of the younger recruits had a strained, hollow echo.

My boots had grown too familiar with the terrain. I could walk the perimeter with my eyes closed and still know when I passed the splintered barracks or the collapsed artillery platform. I learned to read the cracks in the stone, where mana had been overcharged and exploded. I knew which buildings smelled faintly of sulfur, where devils had been hiding before we reclaimed them.

Every hallway I walked echoed with silence. And in those silences, my thoughts drifted—always back to Zero.

It felt like a cruel joke. I had finally climbed high enough to stand beside him in battle, but now he was nowhere to be found. Every evening, I’d glance at the horizon, half-expecting to see a familiar figure approaching with that calm, unreadable expression he always wore.

But the horizon never changed.