— "God does not live in a place like this. But devils love to rent." —
South Hill was not a friendly hill.
Aeon realized that as soon as he began climbing. The path leading upward was not made of ordinary stone or dirt, but of a grayish ash that felt soft under the soles of his shoes. Every step produced a small crunching sound, like walking on dry bones.
"Maybe they really are bones," Aeon thought flatly. "But it doesn't matter."
The sky above the hill was different from the sky in the city. In Veriditas, the night sky was deep blue with bright stars. Here, the sky looked bruised—blackish-purple with faint red streaks like whip marks. The clouds moved too quickly, as if something were chasing them from beyond the horizon.
Aeon kept walking.
The Hollow Tome in his hand vibrated again. He opened it without stopping. The page wrote:
"Distance to target: 300 meters. Number of enemies inside the church: 7 people. 2 outside, 5 inside. All armed. Magical abilities unknown. Suggestion: Proceed with caution."
"Seven people," Aeon thought. "Against one unarmed man who doesn't know how to fight. Survival chance drops to 23%."
He closed the book.
"Still high enough."
The Old Church came into view as he approached the top of the hill.
The building might once have been grand. Now, it was merely a skeleton. Cracked gray stone walls overgrown with black moss that flowed like water. The roof had almost completely collapsed, leaving only a curved wooden frame that resembled the ribs of a giant. The once-colorful stained-glass windows were now dark holes resembling blind eyes.
In front of the main door—a pair of wooden doors with carvings worn beyond recognition—stood two figures.
They were the men in black robes the boy had described. Their robes reached the ground, with hoods covering their faces so Aeon couldn't see their features. But he could see something else: on the chest of each robe, a symbol was stitched with silver thread. The symbol was a circle with lines radiating from the center—like a sun, but with an eye in the middle.
"An eye," Aeon thought. "An eye symbol."
One of the men noticed Aeon approaching.
"Stop," he said. His voice didn't sound human—there was a vibration in it, like a voice coming from inside a cave. "This area is off-limits to the public. Return to the city."
Aeon stopped about twenty meters away from them.
"I'm looking for someone," he said. His voice was flat, toneless.
"Who?"
"A little girl. Her name is Lilia. Six years old. Blond hair, blue eyes. She was brought here a few hours ago."
The two men fell silent. Aeon could sense them exchanging glances beneath their hoods.
"There is no little girl here," the first man said at last. "Now leave before we use unpleasant methods."
"You're lying," Aeon said. It wasn't an accusation. Just a statement of fact. "I know she's here."
The second man stepped forward. His hand emerged from his robe—pale skin with long black nails—and drew a dagger. The blade didn't gleam like ordinary metal. It was dark, like obsidian, and carvings on its surface seemed to writhe.
"We gave you a warning," the second man said. "Now you will—"
He never finished the sentence.
Because Aeon had already moved.
Not because Aeon had a plan. Not because he had suddenly become a skilled fighter. Aeon moved because The Hollow Tome in his hand vibrated so violently that he nearly dropped it, and reflexively he raised the book in front of him.
And something happened.
The pages of The Hollow Tome opened by themselves. The white sheets spun in the air, forming a thin shield in front of Aeon. From those pages, liquid silver ink flowed out—not as writing, but as… something else.
A hand.
A giant hand made of silver ink emerged from the book, shot forward, and slapped the man in the black robe.
It wasn't a powerful blow. More like a humiliating slap. But the force behind it was enough to send the man flying several meters backward. He landed hard on the ground, his robe soaked with silver ink.
"Wha—" the first man was shocked. He stepped back, stretched out his hand, and blue fire ignited in his palm.
Aeon stared at his own hand. The silver ink had already returned to the book, and the pages had closed again.
"So the book can do that," he thought. "Note: Never hold it carelessly."
"I don't want to fight," Aeon said to the man still standing. "I just want the girl."
"It's too late to not want to fight!" the man shouted. He hurled a blue fireball at Aeon.
Aeon didn't dodge. Not because he was brave. But because his legs felt stiff and he wasn't sure he could dodge in time.
Fortunately, The Hollow Tome moved on its own.
The book flew from his hand—Aeon hadn't released it; the book truly flew by itself—and opened in the air. Its pages spun like a fan, and silver ink flowed out again, this time forming a thin wall in front of Aeon.
The blue fire struck the ink wall. There was a hissing sound like water hitting hot coals. White smoke billowed everywhere, and when the smoke cleared, Aeon was still standing in the same spot, completely unharmed.
The Hollow Tome fell to the ground with a soft thud.
"The book is protecting me," Aeon thought. "But why?"
The man in the black robe didn't give him time to think. He drew his own dagger and charged at Aeon with inhuman speed.
Aeon picked up the book from the ground. He opened it. The pages were blank. But this time, he didn't wait for the book to act on its own.
"This book can write reality," he remembered. "Every word I write will become truth—but only if I truly understand the reality I'm writing."
He had no pen. But when he moved his finger across the page, silver ink followed his movement, forming letters.
He wrote one word:
"FALL."
The man was running. Two more steps and he would reach Aeon.
Then his feet left the ground—not jumping, but as if an invisible hand had yanked him upward. The man screamed as he was hurled backward, his body spinning in the air, and crashed hard onto the ground, his head striking a rock.
He didn't move again.
Aeon stared at the word he had written. "FALL." It had worked.
But he could feel something strange afterward. As if a small part of him had been drained. Not physical energy—something deeper. Like memory. Like emotion. Like small pieces of his soul used as fuel.
"Every word has a price," he thought. "Note: Don't write too often."
The first man who had been slapped earlier had gotten back up. He clutched his head, his robe soaked with silver ink, and stared at Aeon with eyes now visible—his hood had slipped slightly. His eyes were red, with vertical pupils like a snake's.
"You… what are you?" he whispered.
"Tired," Aeon answered honestly. "Now, where is the girl?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he shouted toward the church.
"INTRUDER! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"
From inside the church came the sound of footsteps. Many footsteps.
Aeon sighed. It was the most unenthusiastic sigh he had ever let out.
"Five people inside," he remembered. "Now they're all coming out."
The church door creaked open with a long groan. Five figures in black robes emerged, all with hoods covering their faces. The one in front was taller than the others, his robe adorned with gold thread alongside the silver. In his hand, he held a staff—a black staff with a red gem at the tip that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"An intruder," the tall man said. His voice was deep and authoritative, like a leader's. "Just one person?"
"He… he's strange, my lord," said the man who had been slapped. "He has a book… the book can—"
"Silence." The tall man raised his hand. The slapped man instantly fell silent, his mouth sealed shut even as his jaw moved as if trying to speak.
The tall man stared at Aeon. Behind his hood, Aeon could see two points of red light—his eyes, perhaps.
"You," the tall man said. "Give me your name."
"Aeon."
"Not your full name. Your true name."
"I don't have a true name. Or maybe I forgot it."
The tall man fell silent. Perhaps he wasn't used to such answers.
"You came to this holy place, injured my men, and disrupted our ritual," the tall man said. "Do you know the punishment for that?"
"No."
"Death. A slow and painful death."
"Okay."
The tall man blinked—or at least made a motion resembling blinking. "Okay? That's it?"
"You already said it. I don't need to add anything."
"You…" The tall man shook his head. "You are a strange man. But it doesn't matter. Dead or alive, you will still become material for our ritual."
He raised his staff. The red gem at its tip pulsed faster, and the air around Aeon suddenly grew heavy. It felt like invisible hands pressing down on his shoulders, trying to force him to the ground.
Aeon fell to his knees. Not because the pressure was too strong, but because he had already been tired even before all this began.
The Hollow Tome fell from his hand and lay open on the ground.
Aeon looked at the pages. They were still blank. But he could feel something—whispers in his head. Not clear voices, more like the hiss of wind carrying words.
"Write," something whispered. "Write and you will survive."
With difficulty, Aeon reached for the book. His trembling fingers touched the page.
"But writing has a price," he thought. "What should I write?"
The tall man laughed. "Look at him squirming. Like a worm on the ground. No one can save you now, intruder."
Aeon ignored him. He closed his eyes.
"I could write 'die' and this man would die. But that requires understanding death. I understand death well enough—I've experienced it. But do I want to pay the price?"
"I could write 'run' and escape. But Lilia would still be here."
"I could write 'help' and something might come. But what?"
He opened his eyes.
He looked toward the church. Through the open door, he could see inside. On the damaged altar, there was a stone table. On that table, a little girl lay unconscious. Her hair was messy blond, her face pale, and around her burned a circle of black candles with green flames.
Lilia.
Aeon didn't feel pity. But he felt something else. Something resembling… recognition.
The girl looked like someone he once knew. Someone from his old world. Someone whose face had blurred but whose loss still lingered.
"I couldn't save that person," Aeon thought. "But maybe I can save this girl."
He sighed again.
Then he wrote.
Not with his finger. But with his mind. He discovered that The Hollow Tome didn't need physical contact—only intention. As long as he truly wanted something and truly understood it, the book would write his words.
Aeon wanted one thing:
"I WANT TO READ EVERYTHING."
It wasn't a command to defeat the enemies. It wasn't a spell to escape. It was simply the sincere desire of a tired man—the desire to understand, to know, to read the end of the story without having to struggle.
And The Hollow Tome responded.
Silver ink poured out of the book in a quantity never seen before. It didn't form hands or walls. It formed… eyes.
Hundreds of eyes. Thousands of eyes. Small eyes made of silver ink floating in the air, staring in every direction—staring at the men in black robes, staring at Aeon himself, staring at the church, staring at the sky, staring at the ground.
And Aeon saw.
He saw everything.
He saw that these men in black robes were not ordinary humans. They were Hollowed—humans whose souls had been emptied and replaced by parasitic consciousness from beings called The Unseen. The parasite nested in their brains, granting them superhuman strength but also devouring what remained of their humanity.
He saw that their leader—the tall man—was not the true leader. He was merely a puppet. Behind him was something much larger. An organization called The Eye of Obsidian. They operated in the shadows, kidnapping children with "potential abilities" to use as experimental material or offerings.
He saw that the ritual on the altar was not meant to kill Lilia. It was meant to unlock something inside her. Lilia possessed a latent talent—something called Soul Weaving, the ability to weave souls into reality. It was rare. Extremely rare. And The Eye of Obsidian wanted to exploit it.
He saw that this church was not just an old church. Beneath it lay a vast underground chamber. In that chamber, dozens of other children were imprisoned. And on the walls of that underground chamber were carvings that told the true history of this world—the history of the seven layers of reality, of the war between the gods, of the weary First One, of the bored Second One, of the angry Third One.
He saw too much.
Too fast.
His brain felt like it was about to explode. The silver ink eyes began to shatter one by one, and each fragment brought waves of information that made Aeon want to scream.
But he didn't scream. He couldn't. His mouth felt sewn shut.
And then, everything stopped.
The eyes vanished. The silver ink returned to the book. The pages of The Hollow Tome closed by themselves.
And Aeon stood up.
Not falling. Not kneeling. Standing straight, with eyes that now looked slightly different. Not in color, but in depth. As if something behind them had not been there before.
The men in black robes stepped back. Even their tall leader looked hesitant.
"What… what did you just do?" the leader asked.
Aeon stared at him.
"I read you," he said. His voice was still flat, but there was a new tone in it—one that sent a chill down the leader's spine. "I read everything you were hiding. About The Unseen. About The Eye of Obsidian. About your ritual. About the underground chamber beneath this church. About the children you imprisoned."
The men fell silent. Their faces beneath the hoods turned pale—Aeon could see it now, because he could "read" their fear.
"You… you couldn't possibly know all that," the leader whispered. "It's impossible."
"I didn't know," Aeon said. "I read."
He stepped forward.
The men stepped back again.
"I don't want to kill you," Aeon said. "I don't like killing. Not because I'm good. But because killing is troublesome. There's a lot of cleanup afterward."
"What do you want?" the leader asked. His voice was now trembling.
"The girl," Aeon said, pointing toward Lilia on the altar. "And all the children beneath this church. Release them. After that, you leave. Never return to this city."
"You… you think you can order us?"
"I'm not ordering. I'm just stating the consequences. If you don't do it, I will write in this book again. And this time, I won't write 'fall' or 'read'. I will write something more… permanent."
The leader stared at The Hollow Tome in Aeon's hand. He could feel the power from the book—a power he could not oppose.
"You don't know what you're doing," the leader said, but his tone had already surrendered. "Our organization will not let this go. You have created an enemy you cannot defeat alone."
"Enemy," Aeon repeated. "An interesting word. I've already died once. Dying again doesn't matter."
The leader fell silent. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.
"Release them," he ordered his subordinates. "Release all the children."
"But my lord—"
"RELEASE THEM!"
His men scrambled into the church. Some went to the altar to wake Lilia, others disappeared into a hole in the floor that turned out to be the entrance to the underground chamber.
Aeon stood where he was, observing.
Within minutes, the children began to emerge from the church. They were in bad condition—thin, pale, with empty eyes. But they were still alive. They could still be saved.
A little girl with messy blond hair—Lilia—was carried out by one of the men in black robes. Her eyes were still closed, but her chest rose and fell. She was alive.
"Put her here," Aeon said, pointing to the ground in front of him.
The man obeyed. He laid Lilia down carefully, then quickly stepped back to join the others.
The leader stepped forward. From inside his robe, he took out an object—a silver coin with the same eye symbol on both sides. He tossed the coin onto the ground in front of Aeon.
"This is a mark," the leader said. "We will remember your face, Aeon. The next time we meet, there will be no negotiation."
"I'll be waiting."
The leader snorted. Then he and his men disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving Aeon alone with Lilia and the other children.
Aeon stood still for a few moments.
Then he knelt beside Lilia.
The girl opened her eyes.
Her eyes were pale blue—just like her older brother who was dying in the dark alley in the city.
"Big brother…?" Lilia whispered. Her voice was weak.
"I'm not your brother," Aeon said. "But your brother sent me. He's in the alley near the market. You need to go to him quickly."
"Big brother… Leo… he's hurt…"
"I know. But you can't help him by crying here. You need to stand up and walk."
Lilia tried to get up. Her hands trembled. Her legs were weak.
Aeon sighed. He picked her up—an awkward movement because he had never carried children before. Lilia was light. Too light. Like a bag of bones wrapped in skin.
"I'll take you there," Aeon said. "But after that, your business with me is finished. I'm not a babysitter."
Lilia didn't answer. She simply hugged Aeon's neck and cried softly.
Aeon walked down the hill, carrying Lilia in his arms, with the other children following behind him like ducklings who had lost their mother.
In his other hand, The Hollow Tome was slightly open. The page wrote:
"First mission: Completed. Casualties: 0 (enemy side not counted). Reward: Information about The Eye of Obsidian, The Unseen, and Soul Weaving. Price: 1 remaining childhood memory. Note: This world will not let you rest. From now on, you are a target."
Aeon read it.
Then he sighed again.
"I just wanted to read books," he thought. "But it seems this world wants me to write it."