Devourer of Sins

The Lower World rarely welcomed strangers. Its air was too still, its silence too ancient. And in the village nestled between two forgotten mountains, visitors were often either spirits lost on the way to the After, or monsters wearing human skin.

But this one?

This one didn't belong to either.

He came barefoot.

Cloaked in layered robes stitched with constellations not found in any known sky.

No scent. No heartbeat. No shadow.

The moment he stepped into the village, the air thickened like syrup, and those who met his gaze forgot his face the instant they looked away.

But the old ones remembered.

Their eyes widened.

Some dropped to their knees in fear.

Others fled to their temples to burn incense and whisper names that hadn't been spoken in thousands of years.

Because they recognized something—

Not who he was.

But what he carried.

The scent of the Forgotten Realm.

And only one being had ever returned from that place.

Inside the quiet home by the hills, the former Demon King paused mid-step.

His head turned slightly. Not from surprise. From recognition.

He felt it.

The shape in the world had shifted.

Not an attack.

Not a celestial decree.

But something... older.

He opened the door before the knock landed.

The man stood there.

Barefoot.

Calm.

Impossible.

He smiled politely, as if they were neighbors meeting for tea.

"You've built yourself quite a pleasant life," the stranger said.

"I know who you are," the demon replied.

"I would hope so."

Silence lingered between them like a drawn blade.

Then—

"Why are you here?" he asked.

The visitor's smile faded.

"To remind you of what's coming."

The two sat beneath the tree behind the house. The children were off training, and his wife watched from the window, hand resting near the drawer that held a blade forged from his very bones.

The visitor noticed.

"She doesn't trust me."

"She trusts her instincts."

"She's right to."

He said nothing.

The visitor picked a fallen leaf from the ground, held it up to the light, and watched as it turned to dust between his fingers.

"There were supposed to be Twelve Truths," he said.

The former Demon King narrowed his eyes. "And?"

"Two have awakened," the stranger said, glancing toward the village horizon. "Guilt and Rage. They've chosen their vessels. Your children."

A pause.

"And they won't be the only ones."

He already knew that, but hearing it spoken aloud made something in his chest twist.

"Why now?" he asked.

The visitor smiled faintly.

"Because you were never supposed to fall asleep. You were meant to devour the sins of this world until nothing remained. But instead, you chose peace."

"Are you saying peace was a mistake?"

"I'm saying peace gave the other forces time to grow teeth."

Far to the north, in a valley sealed for centuries, a seal pulsed once.

Then twice.

Then shattered.

A blind woman awoke from her sleep and opened eyes that hadn't worked in generations.

Around her, time began to bleed.

She smiled.

"Another truth wakes."

Back beneath the tree, the visitor placed something on the ground.

A stone.

Smooth, round, and utterly featureless.

Until it pulsed.

Once. Twice.

And then a symbol carved itself into its surface.

The mark of Memory.

"The next truth," the visitor said.

"Who's the vessel?" the demon asked.

"Not who. Where."

He frowned. "A place?"

"A buried city. Swallowed by the Lower World. Its ruins house the remnants of the concept."

He looked up, face unreadable. "Then why bring this to me?"

"Because the seal has weakened. And you're the only one who can keep it from breaking."

"What happens if it breaks?"

The visitor's expression changed—something sharp flashing beneath the calm.

"Then the past remembers itself. And when Memory awakens fully, it will rebuild the sins you tried to erase."

Inside the house, his wife tensed.

Her eyes met the daughter's.

The girl was staring toward the tree, face pale.

"Do you feel it?" the mother asked.

The girl nodded.

"It's like someone just remembered every war that ever happened," she whispered. "All at once."

Elsewhere in the house, the boy dropped his training blade.

Fire crackled around his feet, unbidden.

He didn't even know why.

But his soul was reacting to something.

To a return.

And deep inside him, the flame of Rage whispered:

"The Third approaches."

Back beneath the tree, the demon stared at the memory stone.

It pulsed again.

Steady.

Unstoppable.

He reached out, and the moment his fingers brushed the surface, his mind split.

He saw it all:

A city carved from ivory, drowned beneath black sand.

People frozen in time, screaming in silence.

Scribes with mouths sewn shut, scratching truths into endless scrolls.

And a tower at the center.

In its heart, a mirror.

Not Aethrin.

Older.

Wilder.

Reflecting not what is, but what was meant to be.

He pulled back, breath ragged.

"You brought this here to warn me?"

The visitor stood, robes swirling.

"No. I brought it here because the others will come looking for it. And when they do, they'll come here."

The demon's gaze darkened.

"They'll come for my family."

"Yes."

He rose to his feet, expression shifting into something ancient.

"Then I'll remind them why I was feared."

The visitor paused before leaving.

"Do you still dream?" he asked softly.

The demon hesitated. "Sometimes."

"What do you dream of?"

He looked toward the hills, where his children played in the distance.

"Peace," he said.

The visitor smiled.

"Then let's hope you can keep it."

He turned, and with a step, vanished into nothingness.

Only the stone remained.

And the rising tremor of a third truth—

Memory.