The Boy Who Walks Beyond The End-Chapter 45: The Dark Fog

Darkness embraced Zen's mind as his body collapsed, unconscious

In his dream...

Zen found himself no longer as a teenager, but as a small child. A version of himself from years ago—just three years old—was giggling in the arms of his father, receiving warm kisses and loving pats on the head. His mother sat nearby, her voice soft and melodic, telling a bedtime story to a three-year-old Zen wrapped in a blanket. Her words were like a lullaby, peaceful and warm. Little Zen's eyes slowly fluttered shut as her voice carried him to sleep.

But then...

When three-year-old Zen opened his eyes, everything had changed.

He was alone.

The house was cold. Silent. Lifeless.

And there, before his innocent gaze—

His parents.

Their lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor, blood staining the ground.

Zen stood frozen.

His tiny fists clenched, his eyes widened in horror.

Tears streamed down his face as a raw, burning hatred ignited inside him.

A hatred for demons.

It grew—twisting inside his young heart, feeding on grief, rage, and loss.

Suddenly, that younger version of Zen disappeared, and his current self reappeared—floating in a dark, endless space.

There was no ground, no sky. Just black void.

Strange figures in unfamiliar, stood in the distance, murmuring and chanting. They called out to him, addressing him by names he didn't recognize. Their voices were muffled, eerie, and echoing.

"He returns... The one..."

Zen looked around, bewildered.

"Who are you?! Why are you calling me that?!"

Before he could move, a dark fog—thicker than shadow, deeper than night—emerged and crept toward him. It surged into his mouth like a storm, choking him, flowing through every vein in his body.

Pain.

A pain so deep, it burned through his soul.

Zen screamed.

And with that scream, he woke up—gasping.

---

Nighttime, Academy Infirmary

His breath was heavy. Sweat glistened on his forehead. It was night. A calm breeze came in through the slightly open window.

Then he noticed her.

Lyra.

She sat beside him on a wooden chair, her head resting gently on the edge of the bed. Her soft blue hair draped over her arms as she slept, her face calm yet tired.

Zen stared for a moment, guilt blooming in his heart. He knew she hadn't slept properly. She must've stayed at his bedside all this time.

"I can't let her sleep like that," he murmured.

He slowly reached out his hand, carefully brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Then, gently—without waking her—he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her.

Lyra murmured something in her sleep but didn't wake.

Zen laid her gently on the bed, pulling the blanket over her. She shifted slightly, then nestled into the pillow with a soft sigh. Her expression relaxed.

"Sleep well, Lyra..." he whispered.

---

Outside, Midnight Sky

The moon was full, silver and luminous. Stars sparkled like diamonds. Zen stepped outside into the cool night, his eyes lifting to the heavens.

He felt it.

That strange, flowing sensation. Like something moving through his entire body.

"The fog... it's still inside me," he muttered.

He recalled the duel.

The strange strength.

That power that helped him win.

Then his thoughts drifted to Delan and his Ice Bloom spell. The way the frost flower bloomed was... beautiful. Even though it hurt like hell.

He closed his eyes, visualizing it.

As if the memory itself summoned something...

Before Zen's eyes—

A tiny frost flower formed in the air.

It shimmered... and bloomed.

Zen jumped back. "What the—?! Who's there?!"

He scanned the area, alert. But no one was around.

"Did... I just create that?"

He focused again, thinking about the Ice Bloom.

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Another frost flower bloomed. This time, slower. More delicate.

Zen's eyes widened.

"I... used magic?"

He felt happiness—genuine excitement.

Then a chill ran down his spine.

"This power... it's from the fog. It's... mana? No, it's different."

He understood.

It was dark mana.

And dark mana wasn't natural.

"Is this... the same power demons use?" he whispered.

He clenched his fists.

"No. I don't want this. I hate demons!"

He looked to the sky, angrily.

"If you're the Demon God or whatever—keep your cursed blessing to yourself!" he shouted.

"Go to hell! I don't want your filthy power! I'm not your puppet!"

But even as he cursed, fear crept into his heart.

"...Am I becoming something I hate?"

---

"Zen!!! MOVE!!!"

A sudden scream.

Zen turned, startled.

A glowing ice flower was floating.

Lyra ran up and tackled Zen to the ground.

"OW! Wha—Lyra?!"

She landed on top of him, eyes wide with panic. "I thought someone was trying to kill you!"

Zen blinked. "You literally bodyslammed me!"

She blushed. "Tch—it's your fault for standing so calmly next to a murder flower!"

Zen burst out laughing. "Murder flower? Really?"

She puffed her cheeks. "I was worried, idiot!"

---

Zen explained everything.

About the dream. The fog. The power.

Lyra's face turned serious.

"Zen... you must never, ever tell anyone about this. Not even a whisper."

He looked at her, confused. "Why?"

"Because... if the world finds out... they'll hate you , execute you. Not even trial. Just death."

Zen's eyes widened.

He whispered, "Then... will you also hate me? Will you become my enemy?"

Lyra's eyes softened. She looked at him, serious yet gentle.

She punched his arm—hard.

"OW—what was that for?!"

"You dummy," she said softly, "if the entire world turns against you, I'll still be right here. Beside you. Always."

Zen stared at her, warmth blooming in his chest.

Lyra smiled. "Besides, someone has to keep you from turning into a murder flower guy."

"Stop calling it that!" Zen laughed.

They sat side by side on the stone bench outside the infirmary, looking up at the stars. Lyra explained more.

"Normally, mana is blue. Pure. Natural. Demons corrupt it into black. They take it in, then twist it through their mana core."

"Mana core?"

"Yeah. It's like... a little energy heart. Mana flows from it to the whole body."

Zen shook his head. "I don't feel a core. Just... fog. Flowing everywhere."

Lyra frowned. "That's... not normal. I don't know what's happening to you."

Zen groaned. "Great. I'm a walking fog machine."

Lyra giggled. "Mystery boy."

Zen smirked. "At least I'm not 'murder flower girl.'"

"Hey!" she nudged him.

They both laughed.

And they sat like that... under the stars.

Their laughter quieted as the night slowly faded. And as the sun began to rise, warm light brushing across the sky, they sat there in silence.

Two silhouettes watching the dawn.

Side by side.

Together.