Sector "Zero" Headquarters. Mira's Office

  Mira sank heavily into her chair. The lights in the office were dimmed, only the blue shimmer of holograms illuminated her tired face.

  "Sit down, assistant," she said quietly, not looking at him. "System 'Yanu', initiate the highest clearance recording protocol. It is time to enter this into the archives before history finally turns to ash."

  The assistant froze with his tablet; Yanu responded with a short ready signal. Mira took a deep breath and began:

  "Aurora... If you had seen her four thousand years ago, you wouldn't just have not recognized her—you would have been blinded by terror. She is not one of those 'demon-like' creatures that roam our streets. She is a true Demon from another world. A creature born from primal human fears, living eternally and knowing no pity."

  Mira smiled bitterly for a moment.

  "It's not for nothing she was called the Demon of Oblivion. Two walking cases of Alzheimer's met, you see... But it was no laughing matter back then. She was incredibly powerful. She erased demigods like Arus and Torus from history itself. No one remembers them now—literally no one, she tore their names from the fabric of reality. Everyone feared her because they feared being forgotten. And only Zenhald was able to stop her. That's where it all started."

  Mira paused, her gaze clouded with memories.

  "He defeated her once—she returned. Defeated her a second time—and during that battle, something broke. Something happened between them in the very heart of chaos. The third time she returned, it wasn't for the world anymore, but for him. I remember how they used to argue... Gods, they argued like two capricious children over every little thing."

  A lone tear rolled down Mira's cheek.

  "But they spent an eternity together. In just a mere thousand years next to Zenhald, Aurora changed beyond recognition. She learned to feel. But life with my brother is a torture you wouldn't wish on an enemy. Zenhald's curse: every fifteen years—complete emptiness. The death of memory. And every fifteen years, Aurora lost him again and again."

  She glanced at the assistant, whose eyes widened in realization.

  "Yes, he has the Book of Oblivion. He records his life in there straight from his memory. But the price... the price is terrible. After every cycle, he reads it, and all the pain, all the love, all the fear and ecstasy of ten thousand years crash down on him in an instant. His head turns to bloody mush from the overload of emotions. And Aurora watched this happen every time. Her heart cracked with every scream of his, with every forgotten look from him. She loved him, but was afraid to confess it, because she knew—in fifteen years, he would look at her like a stranger again."

  Mira interlaced her fingers.

  "In the eleventh century, he simply disappeared. Without a word. Tired of the endless cycle, of the pain, of causing her suffering. He flew to the Moon. Literally. To the world, it looked like a flash, but he just wanted silence. There, in the soundlessness of space, he had his next oblivion. He was there for two whole hundred years, alone, not remembering who he was. Until he plummeted back to earth like a meteorite."

  "And Aurora found him?" the assistant asked quietly.

  "She felt him in her skin. She ran to the crash site, hoping to see the old Zen, but met only the empty eyes of a child. And they had to get acquainted all over again. Fall in love all over again. And so it goes—in a circle. It is terrifying when love is not mutual, but it is even more terrifying when it is mutual, but forgotten. Zenhald saw how she was tearing herself apart over him, and couldn't bear it. He begged her to stop looking for him."

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  Mira wiped her tears and suddenly gave a short laugh.

  "In one of the cycles, he committed the greatest foolishness. I almost killed him for it back then... He promised Aurora that he would marry her when he turned eighteen. She was on cloud nine. But look at him now, assistant. Zenhald will never grow up. He is stuck in the body of a teenager forever. He has long forgotten that promise, and she... she remembers every sound of his voice in that moment. They are made for each other, two broken gods in a mortal world, but life is merciless to them."

  Mira clapped her hands, dispelling the heavy atmosphere. The holograms went out.

  "That's the story, assistant."

  Chapter: The Book with No End

  (Aurora's POV)

  Mira relayed his words to me. She said that this time, Zenhald himself asked not to have his memory returned. He wants to remain "Arkgrim." He is afraid of that Book... and I understand him. The Book of Oblivion is a monster that devours you from the inside, forcing you to live thousands of lives in a single hour.

  I have asked Mira many times to burn it. To tear out the pages, scatter the ashes to the wind, so this nightmare would end. But every time I saw its leather binding, my hands would drop. In this Book is all that I have left. My pieces of a life with him. The only proof that all of this was real.

  I am the Demon of Oblivion. What irony... I, who am supposed to erase worlds, hoard every second spent with him as the greatest treasure.

  I remember that day. The sky was golden, and he, laughing, promised me that he would always be by my side. That his feelings would never cool, that time holds no sway over us... Thousands of promises. Thousands of vows he made in different centuries, in different guises. And every time he refused the Book, unable to bear the weight of what he had lived.

  And that promise about turning eighteen?.. I remember how seriously he looked into my eyes, squeezing my hands: "When I turn eighteen, Aurora, I will marry you. We will build a house by the sea and forget about all these wars."

  I was incredibly happy in that moment, but deep inside my heart was bleeding. I knew. I knew what he didn't: that day will never come. His body is frozen in time, he is locked in the age of a teenager forever. He will never grow up, never become the man who can keep that promise. But I smiled at him through my tears, because in that moment, he truly believed it.

  To see him fall in love with me again every time is bliss. But to see how in one instant, in one snap of fate, he forgets everything... It is unbearable. All the words, all the confessions he whispered to me at night, turn to dust. I become a random passerby to him, a "childhood friend," the girl from the next street over.

  The love wasn't always mutual. There were cycles when I tried to pull away. I watched from afar as he lived his life, as he laughed with others, as he was happy in the arms of women who didn't know about his curse. It tore me apart, burned my soul to ashes... But I realized: I cannot breathe without him. Even if he doesn't remember my name, I need to be near. Just to know that he is breathing.

  But my every appearance in his life is a new scar. For him—because I bring with me shadows that he cannot explain. For me—because I voluntarily go to the execution block every fifteen years. My entire soul is slashed by these scars, there is no uninjured spot left on me from the pain.

  But I still love him. Yesterday, today, and ten thousand years from now. I still remember his every word. Every promise. And I will wait. Even if I have to hear his polite "Excuse me, do we know each other?" a million more times.

  Because to me, he is not Subject Zero. He is my Zen. And I will never betray him.

  (Aurora's POV)

  I remember him kneeling before me. The Great Zenhald, before whom gods trembled, was crying, clutching my hands. He begged me for only one thing: to stop loving him.

  "Aurora, leave!" he cried, and there was so much despair in his voice that the sky above us began to darken. "You are destroying yourself next to me! It hurts me to watch your soul tear to pieces in every cycle of mine! Find another... Someone who can grow old with you. Someone who will make you happy, instead of being an eternal scar on your heart!"

  But I didn't need "another." I only needed him—my unbearable, kind, and endlessly wounded Zen.

  Life is a cruel thing, but Zenhald's fate is even worse. People see him as a savior, a shining hero who will always come to the rescue. But they don't know the price of his every heroic deed. I remember the day he devoured the Demon of Death. Now, every time he uses his powers, he can fly off the handle and become the most terrifying monster.

  Now, every time he uses his true power, that poison spreads through his veins, scorching his soul. He doesn't just fight—he slowly dies in every battle, but can never die completely. It is unbearable to watch. There were moments when, maddened by this internal agony, he asked me to kill him. He begged for final oblivion, from which there is no return. But in the next second, he would become terrified of his loneliness and beg me never to leave him.

  I remember everything. Every moment.

  I remember reading him fairytales at night when he was tormented by nightmares of past wars. I remember stroking his hair—he always quieted down, becoming like an ordinary child. How he loved that... In those minutes, the poison in his cores seemed to quiet down.

  I remember our long conversations. He told me about his darkest thoughts, which made the blood run cold, and about the brightest dreams, which will never come true. I remember one cycle when we managed to run away from everyone. We lived in a small village, pretending to be ordinary rural children. Those days were the happiest... the smell of hay, the taste of fresh milk, and his laugh, in which there was no pain.

  I know all his desires, every "I love" and "I hate." I remember his stories about his sister—the only person he loved as much as me, and whom he lost in the abyss of time.

  And for all this, we were always given only a pitiful fifteen years.

  Fifteen years is a grain of sand in the ocean of eternity that we have lived. But for me, these years are a whole universe. And now, looking at Arkgrim, who has once again forgotten all this, I feel the scars on my soul beginning to bleed with renewed vigor. Fifteen years... The clock is already ticking, Zen. And I am here again. Even if in the end you will ask again: "And who are you?"