MEMORIES OF A LEGEND, PART 2.

"Just who in the world are you!?" Lucius demanded, his voice now laced not only with awe but with something else—an unmistakable thread of myth wrapped in breathless curiosity. He wasn't merely questioning a presence anymore. No. This figure before him—this being cloaked in shadow—was no longer some ethereal guide or godlike warden. He was something else entirely. Something that did not belong to this realm. Lucius was sure of it now. Absolutely sure.

The being let out a soft chuckle, one that didn't quite match the smouldering ruin that surrounded them. It wasn't mocking—it was distracted, distant, as though memories heavier than the sky pressed down on his shoulders. As their eyes locked once more, the being finally answered, his voice smooth and almost irritatingly casual.

"I'm your Guardian Demon, Lucius... or should I address you as... The Little One?"

There was sarcasm. Unapologetic, unreal sarcasm. In a moment like this.

Then, without warning, the veil of darkness that had cloaked the man began to recede, folding in on itself like water collapsing into a whirlpool, unravelling its weight in silence. Bit by bit, he emerged from the shroud, the shape of a man taking form. His frame was only slightly taller than Lucius's, around six feet, but that was where the resemblance to anything "human" ended.

Hair flowed down his back—long, pristine, and impossibly white, so white it made fresh snow look dirty in comparison. His eyes were something else entirely: not blue, not grey, but purple—two shades of it. The darker hue curled along the edges of his irises, framing a lighter violet at the core, focused, piercing, and maddeningly intense. His skin was pale—deathly pale—yet unmarred, untouched by scars or blemish. His physique was lean but cut, the kind of body forged not by vanity but by centuries of war. His facial structure was razor-sharp—more blade than bone, more sculpture than flesh. And his Adam's apple? Split—edged and protruding like the carved tip of a twin-forked spear. It was unnatural. Unsettling. Yet... somehow elegant.

As Lucius stared, half-mesmerised, vibrant robes began to flow and settle around the figure—deep reds and golds that shimmered with a life of their own, wrapping around him like loyal spirits. The garments didn't just clothe him; they announced him. Each thread screamed power, each colour dared the world to kneel.

But Lucius didn't focus on his clothes. He felt the mana.

No—he saw it.

The aura around the man didn't just emanate. It danced. It orbited him, spiralling with terrifying grace. He had seen something similar before—those same sparkles, that same texture. The beast that had killed him wore a fragment of this power. But compared to this… it was like a candle flickering beside the sun. This was not a presence you "felt." It was a presence that dominated the atmosphere itself.

Lucius's mind screamed the answer before his mouth could form it.

He had read about this. Studied the stories. Cross-referenced records. The figures who shaped Verdun—the ones who didn't just lead or protect it, but changed the fate of entire civilisation.

Which is why, the moment the realisation hit, Lucius moved.

"Yo—You're—I mean—"

His voice caught, trembling. His stance faltered. Then, without thinking, he bowed. No, that wasn't enough. Standing—even bowing—was too tall a posture to maintain in front of him.

Lucius fell to his knees, trembling before the man who had never tasted defeat. The slayer of great demons, the one who had dared the unthinkable.

The whispers being whispered of in every shadowed corner of Verdun's blood-stained history.

Emperor Zero Dawn.

***

"Would you look at that? Since I'm also partially in control over this domain, I can finally let go of that damned appearance you had so open-heartedly given me!" Zero Dawn spoke with unmistakable amusement, his voice now lighter, freer—almost enjoying the moment.

Lucius glanced up, confused, then pointed a hesitant finger at himself.

"Me?" he asked, his tone innocent, like a child being accused of some unthinkable crime.

Zero Dawn raised a single brow—slowly, deliberately. The look on his face said it all, clear as day: Obviously.

"You were perceiving me as an enemy. Or maybe... something you couldn't trust," he continued, not blaming, but stating a truth Lucius hadn't yet admitted to himself. "It was fair. Understandable, even. That fear you've been carrying—it warped your perception. You imagined me as a Wraith. Like the one you fought. The one that nearly killed you... The one that blew off your eye when it couldn't finish the job."

Lucius flinched—not from pain, but memory. The words hit harder than they should've. Because they were true.

That grim reaper form. That cloaked monstrosity of shadow and blue fire. That hadn't been Zero Dawn at all. That had been his own fear, wrapped in uncertainty, cloaked in self-doubt, and then projected onto the very being who'd saved him. No wonder it felt suffocating. It was a nightmare of his own making.

"Then... what about those eyes?" Lucius asked, still kneeling. He hadn't dared to rise. Not before this man. "Why did you have those deep blue eyes?"

He asked it quietly, almost unsure he wanted the answer.

Zero Dawn tilted his head, amused again. "Hmm, good question," he muttered as his hand reached up, fingers running back through that impossibly white hair as if reaching for the right words—or maybe pretending he hadn't already prepared them.

"Maybe because those disgusting creatures had no face. No eyes. Nothing for your mind to grab on to. So you unknowingly gave me a set of eyes that meant something to you—eyes you recognised. Eyes that stirred something visceral in you... hatred, maybe. Or loathing." He smirked, but didn't laugh. "Probably that Chimaera who just kicked your ass all over that damped battlefield."

He said it bluntly, with that same dry sarcasm, yet Lucius didn't argue. Not because he agreed, but because that wasn't who he'd seen, and Zero Dawn knew it.

Zero Dawn's voice had hinted at the truth, but hadn't voiced it. That those deep blue eyes weren't born from hate toward a beast. They hadn't come from rage. They had come from fear. Pure, paralysing fear and uncertainty. Fear of a man.

'That guy named Goodman, huh?' Zero Dawn mused inwardly, his expression unreadable now.

Of course, he knew. He saw deeper than surface-level emotions. He'd seen it from the moment Lucius entered this domain, his memories. That beneath the arrogance, the restraint, the quiet fury—there lived a festering wound carved by a name Lucius could never forget:

Mr. Goodman, of the Adventurers Guild...

"...How are you still alive?" Lucius finally asked, the question slipping from his lips the moment Zero Dawn motioned for him to rise. The former Emperor's gesture had been casual—almost dismissive but something about it carried weight. A quiet dislike, perhaps even discomfort, toward Lucius kneeling before him.

Zero Dawn chuckled softly, not missing a beat. His reply came with almost too much ease.

"The same way you're alive right now."

Lucius froze. The words sank in fast, too fast. A chill swept down his spine, not from the cold, but from the truth laced in that simple sentence. For a moment, he had almost forgotten how close he'd been to death, forgotten the blood. The cold. The fading world. He had been one breath away from never waking up again.

But before those dark thoughts could spiral, before Lucius could fall into the pit of dread and guilt and unfulfilled promise, Zero Dawn stepped in—just as effortlessly as before—his voice shifting the weight of the moment. Diverting Lucius's focus like a master conductor of emotion.

The question itself, blunt as it was, hadn't offended him. If anything, it was welcomed.

'That's how men talk.'

Direct. Honest. No fear of cutting too deep.

After all, this land they stood upon—whether memory or illusion—was the place history remembered as the final battlefield. The very ground where two emperors clashed in a cataclysmic end. One had died protecting his people. The other? Trying to burn the world to ashes.

"My final battle against Acronis—the Demon King, I mean—it wounded me like never before," Zero Dawn began, his voice calm, reflective. "But that's not what really happe—"

He suddenly gasped, as if struck by an invisible force mid-sentence. His body jolted. Lucius watched in alarm as Zero Dawn's hand flew to his throat, clutching it tightly.

His breath came in intervals now—sharp, broken, strained. His voice fractured between bursts of pain.

Lucius rushed forward instinctively, reaching to steady him, only for his hands to pass straight through Zero Dawn's body.

Just like with the Wraith.

Lucius's breath caught in his chest as the realisation struck—not instantly, but a beat too late. This wasn't real. Or at least, not physically.

This was a realm of the mind. A conjuration born in the final flickers of a dying consciousness. Somehow, his mind had shaped this space, pulled in a memory, or maybe something deeper—a resonance. That's why he couldn't touch him. Couldn't hold him up.

Because Zero Dawn wasn't truly here.

Lucius staggered back, unable to do anything but watch. Watch as something unseen continued to constrict the Emperor's throat.

Then, without warning, lightning exploded from Zero Dawn's chest, fierce and furious, a brilliant blue halo of energy that screamed against the silence. Arcs of raw mana lashed out and circled his neck, wrapping it like a barrier of divine will.

The invisible force shattered under the backlash.

The pain faded. The lightning withdrew. And once again, he stood tall—his expression steady.

But in that fleeting moment of weakness, Lucius had seen it, that there was something capable of restraining 'The Godly One.'