Journey to Become the Zenith-Chapter 63: The Truth He Refused to Hear

The Truth He Refused to Hear

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Clara snapped, anger rising again.

Victor didn’t answer her.

Light danced in his gold-colored eyes as the trees swayed above. Through the high pines, air moved slow, bringing smells of wet ground mixed with a trace of iron, like rusted things left deep under dirt. Shadows shook across his skin, slicing bold edges down the side of his face.

He looked calm.

Too calm.

Victor made up his mind, then faced the boy straight on. Closing the distance slowly, he stopped just short of standing level with him.

The child trembled.

Soft came Victor’s words. A hush hung behind each one.

"Do you know that you’re already dead?"

A heavy silence followed. The phrase cut deeper than expected.

Lane gasped. The world swayed under her shoes, though she hardly ever showed surprise. Staring at him, Clara froze - shock sparking in her pale purple gaze.

Dead?

The boy - Soren - froze.

A hush passed through the trees, just for a breath. The woods held still.

Then -

"NO!" Soren screamed, voice cracking with terror. "I’m alive! I know it! Why are you saying that I’m dead?! I’m not! Why did you say that!?"

Fists tight, fingers curled too small for such force. Breath jagged, rising fast like it might escape him. Tears built slow, then sudden, mixing what he felt but could not name.

Victor didn’t flinch.

"Don’t you remember?" he asked softly. "What happened on the day you last saw your parents?"

He wasn’t certain. Every word was a gamble. A bluff built on instinct and Diana’s whisper.

But he trusted her.

And Soren’s earlier reaction—when he spoke of his parents—had not been normal.

The boy staggered back a step.

"I... I..."

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if forcing himself to see something. To remember.

But there was nothing.

The memory was a void.

"I can’t..." His voice broke. "Why can’t I remember?! I’m Soren! The son of... the son of..."

His face twisted in horror.

"Why? Why? Why can’t I remember?!"

The wind picked up sharply, whipping his thin clothes against his frame. He looked smaller now. Fragile. A child grasping at something that no longer existed.

Clara’s heart clenched painfully.

"Victor, stop—"

But Soren couldn’t take it anymore.

Confusion fractured into panic. Panic turned into pure survival instinct.

And then he ran.

He bolted toward the mountain path without another word, his small figure darting between trees with reckless speed.

Clara moved immediately.

"I have to—"

Victor’s hand shot out and caught her wrist.

"Why are you stopping me?" she demanded, eyes blazing.

"Why do you need to follow him?" Victor’s voice remained level. "You already know he’s dead, so why bother with him? Isn’t it better to figure out what is truly happening in the village? If we figure out what is going on, we might be able to help that boy."

Clara froze.

Her breath came heavy for a moment.

Lane remained still, but her dark eyes followed the direction Soren had fled. Her fingers twitched near her bowstring.

Clara slowly pulled her hand free.

"You could have said that without tearing his world apart," she said quietly.

Victor’s jaw tightened slightly.

Perhaps.

But kindness without truth would only make the blade dull.

After a long pause, Clara exhaled.

"I’ll accept what you’re saying," she said at last, though reluctance lingered in her tone. "After you tell me what you mean when you say Soren is dead."

She held his gaze steadily now.

No anger.

Just demand.

The forest hummed softly around them.

Victor’s golden eyes dimmed slightly, losing some of that sharp glint. He turned his attention toward the mountain slope where Soren had disappeared.

"His body is functioning," Victor began slowly. "He breathes. He speaks. He reacts."

Lane spoke quietly, finishing the thought. "But something inside him doesn’t."

Victor nodded once.

"When he tried to remember his parents, there was nothing. Not confusion. Not fragments. Just absence."

Clara crossed her arms, thinking.

"Trauma can erase memories," she countered.

"Yes," Victor agreed. "But not identity."

He glanced at her.

"He couldn’t remember their faces. Not even their names. But he remembered he should have them. That gap is wrong."

Lane lowered her gaze slightly.

"And when he mentioned ’them,’" she added, voice steady, "his fear wasn’t of something outside the village."

She looked up.

"It was of something inside it."

Clara fell silent.

Victor continued.

"And there’s more."

He didn’t mention Diana’s whisper aloud. Not yet.

"His movements were slightly stiff," Victor said. "Subtle. But not natural. Like someone wearing skin that fits almost perfectly—but not quite."

Clara’s stomach tightened.

"You’re saying..."

"Yes."

Victor’s gaze hardened.

"Whatever is on that mountain isn’t just killing mountain ogres."

The air seemed colder now.

"It’s altering people."

Lane’s eyes narrowed.

"Possession?" she asked.

Victor shook his head slowly.

"Not exactly."

He looked toward the village in the distance. Smoke rose gently from chimneys. From afar, it looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

"If it were simple possession, the mana signature would be obvious. But the villagers smelled of blood."

Clara’s breath caught.

"And the children too."

"Yes."

Victor’s expression darkened slightly.

"They weren’t frightened. They were calm."

Lane murmured, "Like livestock who don’t know they’re already slaughtered."

Clara shot her a look.

Lane didn’t retract the statement.

Victor continued, voice measured.

"Soren isn’t possessed. He isn’t fully alive either."

Clara swallowed.

"Then what is he?"

Victor paused.

The word formed slowly.

"An echo."

The forest seemed to lean closer, listening.

"Something killed him," Victor said. "But instead of letting him pass on... it left him moving."

Lane’s brows furrowed faintly.

"A puppet?"

"Not controlled," Victor corrected. "More like... unfinished."

Clara’s fists clenched at her sides.

"That’s worse."

Victor didn’t disagree.

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Clara lifted her chin.

"So what now?"

Victor’s lips curved faintly.

"Now we climb."

Lane stepped closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"We track him?"

"Yes."

Clara hesitated.

"He’s scared."

Victor’s voice softened slightly.

"So are we."

She studied him.

Quietly, she spoke: "You find pleasure in this.".

That truth slipped out without resistance. He let silence speak instead.

A trace of a grin showed up - edgy, barely there.

"If my guess is right," he murmured, "whatever’s up there is stronger than a mountain ogre."

Lane’s eyes sharpened.

Clara’s expression shifted.

"Stronger than the Void Tyrant Hydra?"

A small shift moved Victor’s head to one side.

"Different."

Out of nowhere, a gust breathed through. A pause, then leaves twitched under its touch.

Far up, hidden limbs groaned under a quiet sky.

"And that makes it more interesting."

Clara sighed.

"You’re impossible."

A look passed from Victor toward her.

"You’re still coming."

Her eyes held his without looking away.

"Of course I am."

Lane tilted his head just a bit. A quiet movement, almost unseen.

"Always."

A silence hung around them, just for a breath. What had come to light now pressed down, real and slow. Each stayed still, letting it take shape.

A village stretched out behind, its grin just a little too wide.

Ahead of them -

A peak that swallowed what it once held close.

Her fingers shifted along the edge of the shield.

Footsteps quiet, Lane studied the edge of the woods again.

Victor moved ahead before anyone else did.

"Let’s move."

Upward, the trail narrowed, nearly hidden beneath thick shrubs. With each stride, the air pressed down more.

And somewhere ahead—

A child who no longer remembered his own death ran toward something that had never truly let him go.