As the Night of the Holy Descent erupted, the Temple of Stillness at its epicenter was transformed into the battlefield upon which fate itself was decided. Countless demon hunters and fiends clashed beneath its sacred vaults, and in that single night of relentless fire, the thousand-year legacy of the Order of Demon Hunters was reduced to ashes. Once, it had stood with the same breathtaking grandeur as Saint Naro Cathedral. Now, it survived only within memory.
Lloyd walked slowly through the Temple of Stillness—or rather, through the Palace of Memory. Every corridor, every pillar, every stone was exactly as he remembered, for this place had not been built by hands, but by remembrance itself. He passed the Well of Ascension at the temple's heart, crossed beneath the Gate of Heaven that led toward the surface, and wandered through one familiar structure after another until he finally stopped before a solitary door.
His gaze drifted across the ancient stone walls surrounding him. Doors stretched endlessly into the distance. Wooden doors weathered by time. Heavy iron doors secured with rusted locks. Some resembled the entrance to an ordinary bedroom, while others looked as though unimaginable horrors clawed at them from the other side. Every door opened onto a different memory.
For a brief moment, Lloyd frowned in confusion. Then understanding dawned upon him.
This was not the material world, but the spiritual realm shaped by the architecture of his own mind. If books had become the symbol of memory for Herkri, then for Lloyd, memory had taken the form of doors—the countless doors he had opened throughout his life.
Like someone tracing forgotten years with trembling fingertips, he brushed one handle after another until his hand came to rest upon one that felt achingly familiar. His eyes slowly lifted.
It was the door to the room he had once called home.
He pushed against it with all his strength. The resistance felt less like opening a wooden door than forcing apart an ancient stone gate sealed for centuries. Dust trickled from the widening crack, and then a gentle breeze slipped through, carrying with it the warmth of sunlight.
"This one's surprisingly interesting."
It had been a rare day of rest. There were no drills, no prayers. Though they were forbidden from leaving the parish grounds, even such limited freedom was precious. Sitting quietly in the corner of the bedroom, 047 flipped through one of the books he had painstakingly copied by hand. Unfortunately, his handwriting was such an unforgivable mess that even he had to stop every few moments, knitting his brows as he struggled to decipher what he himself had written.
"Which one?"
Lying across his bed, 042 was wrestling with another of 047's handwritten copies. The task was no easier. The crooked, tangled script was enough to make anyone's head ache.
"The one from 016," 047 replied. "She calls it Henry V. It's about what she describes as an 'ideal king.'"
The conversation felt strangely familiar, as though it had already happened countless times.
"So..." 042 asked patiently, "do you want to become a king, 047?"
"A king? Sounds wonderful," 047 laughed. "Kings are impressive. But they must spend every day drowning in endless responsibilities. I'd much rather become a detective."
"A detective..."
042 murmured the word beneath his breath before lowering his eyes to the book in his hands. It told the adventures of a detective named Holmers.
"I've already started planning my retirement," 047 continued with complete sincerity. "I've even asked someone to help me find a route. I'll hide among the cargo shipments and let them carry me all the way to Old Dunling."
Then he looked over at 042.
"What about you? Have you figured out what you want to do one day?"
042 slowly shook his head.
"No... Maybe I'm just a boring person."
047 always dreamed in brilliant colors. His eyes were forever fixed upon a future overflowing with possibilities. 042 was nothing like him. The future held no grand aspirations, no shining ambitions—only emptiness. He was painfully ordinary. Quiet. Awkward. A child so average that nothing about him seemed worth remembering.
Standing silently beside the doorway, Lloyd watched the scene unfold. Nostalgia softened his expression, yet beneath it lingered an ache that refused to fade.
The question had haunted him for longer than he wished to admit.
042 had never existed.
He was nothing more than fiction.
Even what Lloyd witnessed now inside these memories might itself be another fabrication—something his subconscious had woven together simply to preserve the illusion of coherence. Perhaps, in the real past, there had only ever been 047 in this room.
Lloyd refused to accept that answer.
He desperately wanted another clue. Another fragment of evidence proving that 042 had once been real... proving that he himself had once existed.
Yet the boy within these memories and the man called Lloyd could not have been more different.
They were opposites in every conceivable way.
One glance into 042's eyes revealed a timid child—a gentle lamb content to disappear into the crowd. Unlike the endlessly imaginative 047, his future promised no greatness, no extraordinary destiny. He was merely another drop swallowed by an endless sea.
How could such an insignificant child ever become the legendary Lloyd Holmers?
The memories continued to fracture around him.
Each fragment filled him with equal measures of joy and sorrow.
Quietly, he closed the door and continued deeper into the endless corridor. Countless unopened doors still waited ahead.
When he opened the next one, the air was immediately torn apart by hoarse shouts and the violent clash of steel.
"042! Faster!"
A priest barked the command at the young boy, his voice sharp with disappointment. Gritting his teeth, 042 tightened his grip and swung his training sword with renewed determination.
The blade had not yet been sharpened, yet in his hands it remained deadly enough to threaten life itself.
But it would never be enough.
The enemies awaiting them were not human.
They were monsters.
Steel collided with steel in relentless succession. Every impact sent agonizing pain racing through his wrists, as though invisible hammers were smashing directly against his bones. His fingers were beginning to lose their grip.
"Don't lose focus, 042."
His opponent spoke softly as their blades locked at close range.
042 gave the slightest nod, refusing to look away.
047 was astonishingly strong.
They were the same age. They endured the same brutal training day after day. Yet 047 stood far above every other child—stronger, faster, more gifted—and despite it all, utterly humble.
A pale flash of steel swept toward him once more.
The usually gentle 047 became someone entirely different whenever they trained. His eyes carried the savage intensity of a predator hunting its prey.
For a long time, 042 believed 047 simply loved fighting—that he enjoyed the thrill of overwhelming others.
But one late-night conversation had shattered that illusion.
"I just don't want anyone to die."
That was all he had said.
Death was terrifying.
Once it came, everything simply... ended.
There would be nothing left to see, nothing left to feel. The beautiful world would continue without you forever.
047 understood the fate awaiting all of them.
It was a destiny no one could escape.
The only thing he could do was become stronger. Strong enough to protect those around him. Strong enough that neither fate itself nor the demons lurking beyond humanity's reach could ever take his life.
As long as he remained alive, hope remained alive.
As long as he lived, the future still existed.
One day he would reach Old Dunling.
One day he would open the law office he had dreamed about for so long.
One day he would finally live the peaceful life he had imagined.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
042 understood exactly what he meant.
Demons were infinitely more terrifying than any human opponent. If he could not even withstand 047's sword, then when the day came to face true monsters, his death would be inevitable.
Summoning every ounce of strength left in his exhausted body, 042 raised his sword. At the very instant the descending blade crashed toward him, he managed to block it.
He had done it.
But the overwhelming force behind the strike hurled him backward. His legs had long since given out. Unable to recover his balance, he collapsed heavily onto the training ground, sending dust billowing into the air.
The priest watched him with unconcealed disappointment.
On a real battlefield...
042 would already be dead.
Turning away from the fallen boy, the priest looked toward 047 with unmistakable admiration.
"047... you possess extraordinary potential."
047 ignored the praise completely.
Instead, he reached down, grasped 042's arm, and pulled him back to his feet.
"I've got a feeling..." 042 muttered bitterly, "...that I'm going to die sooner rather than later."
He was not weak.
He simply could not compare with 047.
"Don't worry, 042."
047 smiled.
042 looked up at him.
"We'll never face the demons alone."
His smile grew warmer.
"We're like a pack of wolves."
"We hunt together."
"And no wolf is ever truly alone."
The memory froze upon that single moment.
Lloyd gently closed the door once more before turning back toward the endless passage, continuing his search for the one lost door he had yet to find.
Within the silent palace, countless doors stood in perfect order along an immeasurable corridor, stretching farther than sight could reach.
The vast emptiness held no footsteps but his own.