Chapter 10(2/2): A Fragment of the Past

Kei sat alone in the study, lit only by the faint, flickering glow of an old desk lamp. A strange sense of curiosity had led him to an unopened drawer beneath a shelf of outdated encyclopedias. Inside, beneath a cracked chessboard and a tangle of dusty cords, he found it—a small, leather-bound journal, worn soft with time.

The cover bore no title. Just a single sigil on the spine that looked eerily similar to the one stitched onto the living room rug—seven interlocking rings, each with a slit in the middle, like eyes half-shut in sleep.

Kei hesitated, then flipped it open.

The handwriting was elegant, flowing like ink in water. Feminine, but formal. Whoever had written this had cared about their words.

He read aloud softly, as if speaking would make it feel less surreal:

"We weren't always this. Not always Sin. Once… we were women with names. With homes. With blood. It's been so long now, even memory feels like fiction. But I still remember the cold."

Kei's throat tightened. He flipped through more pages. Some were journal entries. Some were poetry. Others read like confessions. Then, he found one that made him sit straighter:

"The world thinks we began with the myths. With the sermons. They say the Seven Sins were born from corruption—tools to warn mankind. But they forget the truth: we weren't born from sin. We became it. Not five hundred years ago. Not a thousand. We walked the earth when its bones were still soft with steam."

He stared at the page. "We walked the earth…" It wasn't metaphorical. This writer was saying they had lived—truly lived—as real people.

Heart racing, he turned the page—and something slipped out.

A photograph.

Faded, sepia-toned, its corners crumbling like burnt paper. Seven women stood side by side, dressed in old-fashioned garments—corsets, capes, battle robes, veils, and crowns. Each one bore a familiar glint in her eye. Not a perfect match to the demons he knew, but… close.

One woman stood with imperious pride, chin raised, her hand resting on a silver scepter—Aris, Pride.

Next to her, arms crossed, was a scarred warrior with stormy eyes and a confident smirk—Rika, Wrath.

Another leaned lazily on a column, nearly asleep despite the camera—Nebu, Sloth.

Vel, Mav, Aera, and Gluttony were there too. Different hair. Different posture. But unmistakably them.

They weren't just characters from Kei's strange new life—they had once been human women.

On the back of the photograph was a handwritten note:

"Before sin was eternal, we were sisters in pain. Time turned us into monsters—but memory is more stubborn than even we are."

Kei swallowed hard. His hands trembled slightly as he set the photo down. None of the Sins had ever talked about their past like this. Not seriously. Not as if it were real history. They always joked around it, danced away from the questions with sarcasm or deflection.

This wasn't fiction. This was evidence. A forgotten truth.

His breath caught as realization struck: they didn't just embody Sin. They lived it. Survived it. And buried it.

They had seen centuries pass. Empires fall. They had known things no history book ever recorded.

Kei looked up, the walls of the house suddenly feeling heavier. These women weren't just demons sharing his apartment. They were relics of a forgotten world.

And now, he needed to know why they'd chosen to forget.