Meliodas’s hand drifted to the hilt of the dragon-handle sword. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, little girl.”
The air grew heavy. Meliodas felt a phantom pain in his chest—not the curse of immortality, but something older. A memory he had locked away in a vault of rage and ale. nanatsu no taizai
She stood up slowly, dusting the gray powder from her tattered dress. “A collector of broken things. Broken lands. Broken knights.” She tilted her head. “Broken oaths.” Meliodas’s hand drifted to the hilt of the
Somewhere behind him, the crater seemed to breathe—a slow, patient exhale. The story was not over. The scales were still broken. And in a world balanced between gods and demons, the most dangerous thing of all was a child who had waited three thousand years for an apology that never came. A memory he had locked away in a vault of rage and ale
“Where are you going?” Meliodas called after her.
“I don’t remember you,” Meliodas admitted, and the words cut deeper than any sword. His curse of immortality came with a cost: he had died and been reborn so many times, his memories were a shattered mirror.