Zero

Character: Apathetic in appearance, innocent at heart. He speaks little and in a cold manner, not because he is, but because he doesn't know how to express himself well.

Intelligence: Not very high; his thinking is slow and sometimes naive. He has even made absurd mistakes, such as bathing in radioactive water, believing it to be hot springs.

Innocence: Despite his neutral tone, he is curious and has a childlike air. He doesn't fully understand malice, which makes him seem foolish, but it's actually a reflection of his naiveté.

Emotions: He has feelings, but doesn't know how to show them, which reinforces the impression of coldness.

Suddenly, the mirrors began to vibrate and reveal intertwined visions: forgotten pasts, possible futures, secrets of the city and its history. Confusion and clarity mingled in a whirlwind that threatened to overwhelm him, but Zero didn't back down. He walked toward his reflection and took the shadow's hand, and in that instant, the world seemed to align. The city stopped whispering, the light filtered softly back in, and a feeling of peace enveloped him. I wrote next to the photo: "Today I understood that every dark path leads to discovery. That facing our shadows isn't losing, but finding ourselves. I am Zero, and this world... is mine too."

As he left the building, the city no longer seemed threatening. Every street, every shadow, and every reflection seemed to greet him, as if acknowledging him. Zero understood that his journey was just beginning, that the mysteries were still there, but now he had the strength and clarity to face them. I closed my journal with one last photo: the sunset sky reflected in a puddle, revealing a complete and fractal world. I noted: “The journey continues, and although the future is uncertain, I know I can walk it. Because every shadow we face, every reflection we gaze upon, brings us closer to who we truly are.”

The fifth day dawned with absolute silence. It wasn't a pleasant silence, but one that foreshadowed change, as if the city were holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable. Cero walked along streets he already knew, but today they seemed different: the buildings leaned slightly, the shadows had a purpose of their own, and each step resonated with an echo that seemed to form words he couldn't understand. He took a photo of the main avenue, deserted and covered in fog, and wrote: "Today I feel like everything I've seen until now was just a prologue. The city wants to show me something... something I don't know if I'm ready to face."

Soon, Zero arrived at the building of mirrors again, but this time he didn't enter alone. The shadow he had seen the day before seemed to be waiting for him, floating among the reflections, motionless, as if weighing his decision. The mirrors no longer reflected only the city, but moments from his own life: memories he thought he'd forgotten, emotions he'd hidden, fragments of past decisions. I took a photo of the central mirror and wrote: "Each reflection shows me who I am... and who I could be. Today I understand that looking inside isn't just seeing, but accepting all that I am."

As he drew closer, the shadow slowly transformed into a human figure: not an enemy, not a stranger, but a version of Zero himself, shrouded in darkness. Its eyes shone with a mixture of defiance and understanding. Wordlessly, the figure extended its hand, and in that gesture, Zero understood: everything he had experienced—every fear, every discovery, every reflection—was meant to prepare him for this moment. I took a photo of the figure reaching out, and wrote: “Sometimes what we seek outside is within us. Today I understand that facing my reflection is facing everything I have been and everything I can be.”

Exploring further, I found a small notebook hidden among the mirrors. The pages were filled with notes and drawings that looked like they were made by someone who had walked the same paths as Zero. One sentence stood out: “Whoever looks too deeply into reflections will find something they weren't looking for, but that was always there.” I took a photo of that page and wrote: “Every word is a mirror of my own curiosity. Every stroke, a reminder that I am not alone on this journey.”

Evening fell, and with it a silence heavier than any night before. Zero understood that mirrors were more than reflections: they were portals to memories, paths, and secrets the city had kept for centuries. Before leaving, I sat in front of the mirror that showed me the nonexistent hallway and noted: “Today I discovered that not everything we see is real, but neither is it false. The city breathes through its shadows, and I must learn to follow their rhythm if I want to discover who I truly am.”

When I left the building, the afternoon light illuminated the broken reflections in the puddles on the ground. Each reflection seemed to tell me something different, but Zero knew he was ready to take another step. The city was guiding him toward something big, something that would change everything he thought he understood.

The fourth day began with a strange dawn: the light seemed to filter unevenly, casting long, distorted shadows that moved for no apparent reason. Zero walked through the streets as if following an invisible thread, a path that insistently called him from somewhere he couldn't understand. I took a photo of a half-lit alley and wrote: "The city no longer seems to wait for me. I feel it's watching me, guiding me... or stalking me."

Soon, I arrived at an old building I didn't remember seeing before. The facade was covered in dust and cobwebs, and a strange feeling came over me: something inside that place was waiting for me. I pushed the door, which opened with a deep creak, and I discovered a room full of mirrors of different sizes. Each mirror reflected a different fragment of the city, but also of me: Zero not only saw himself, but felt the emotions of each reflection as his own. I took a photo of one mirror in particular, one that showed a hallway that didn't exist in reality, and wrote: “These mirrors don't reflect who I am. They reflect what I could be… or what the city wants me to see.”

As I approached, a shadow slipped behind one of the larger mirrors. It wasn't a concrete shape; it was more of a void that absorbed the light and sound around it. Zero's heart pounded, but instead of fleeing, something pulled him closer. I took a photo of the shadow, though nothing appeared in the image. I wrote: "Sometimes what we fear most is formless, yet it calls to us. Today I realized that I must face the void to understand my reflection."

As I explored beyond the building, I noticed that the sounds of the city had changed. Every creak of wood, every rustling leaf, seemed to follow a rhythm that didn't match my steps. I felt fear for the first time, a deep fear, different from loneliness; it was as if the city itself wanted to test me, to put me to the test. I took a photo of a dark staircase descending into a basement and wrote: “Fear is not just the absence of light, it is the presence of something you don't understand. And yet… I must go on.”

As I descended, I found marks on the walls: symbols, hands drawn with a dark powder, words that blurred when I tried to focus on them. Cero understood that each symbol told a story, a warning, or perhaps a trap. I took photographs of the marks and noted: “Every step I take seems guided by someone else. But if I follow my fear, maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for… or what I should never have found.”

Before I could return, I heard a loud bang behind me. I turned my head and only the echo of my own heart beating loudly remained. However, the feeling of being watched didn't leave me. I wrote next to the photo of the marks: "Today I understood that the city has memory. And that I, Zero, am part of its history, even if I don't yet know how. Tomorrow is another day, and I promise to face whatever comes, even if the shadows whisper louder."

The third day dawned sunless. Clouds covered the sky with a uniform gray, as if the city itself had decided to contain its light. I walked down a street I didn't remember seeing before, though every corner seemed eerily familiar. My footsteps echoed on the wet cobblestones, and each echo made me turn my head, hoping to find someone or something that never appeared. I took a photo of the empty street and wrote: “The world seems normal, but I feel like every corner holds a secret I'm not ready to discover.”

As I moved forward, I heard a barely audible whisper. It wasn't coming from any mouth or any visible object. I stopped, trying to understand if it was real or a figment of my imagination. The voice, ethereal and distant, repeated my name: "Zero... Zero..." I took a photo of the alley where the sound seemed loudest, although nothing appeared in the image. In my journal, I noted: "Today I understood that the city speaks in ways I didn't expect. And I must learn to listen before it's too late."

I found a half-open door, covered in dark graffiti and symbols I didn't understand. When I peeked inside, the room was empty except for an antique mirror leaning against the wall. This time, the reflection didn't exactly show my face; it showed a hooded figure behind me, who disappeared when I blinked. I took a photo of the broken mirror and wrote: "Am I seeing my future, or is someone else watching me from the shadows? The line between real and imagined is blurring."

As evening fell, I found myself staring at a broken mirror inside an abandoned shop. This time, my reflection was fragmented, and each fragment seemed to show Zero at different moments: one curious, one fearful, one determined. I took a photo of those fragments and wrote: “I am not one. I am many. Each reflection is a path, a version I could take. Perhaps discovering who I am means learning to look at each fragment without fear.”

Before nightfall, a black cat appeared from the shadows. It didn't move, just stared at me with eyes that shone like mirrors in the darkness. That was the first time Zero felt a silent connection with another being in this strange world. I wrote in my journal next to the photo: "Sometimes companions don't speak, they don't walk beside us. They only remind us that we are not completely alone."

The day ended with the feeling that the city was breathing with me. Every street, every shadow, every reflection seemed like a shared heartbeat. And I, Zero, understood that every discovery, however small, brought me closer to something I couldn't yet name, but that I was determined to find.

The second day began with an icy wind that seemed to whisper secrets in my ear. I walked down an alley where the walls were covered in ancient, almost forgotten graffiti, each line of paint resembling a coded message. I took a photo of a strange symbol, a spiral someone had hastily drawn, and wrote in my journal: “Someone was here before me. Someone who knew I was coming.”

Zero felt like the corners of the city were coming alive; the streetlights not only illuminated, but also drew figures on the walls, shadows that moved with purpose. At one point, I stopped in front of a half-ruined doorway and heard an echo: footsteps that weren't my own, light, almost timid, but persistent. The photo I took only showed the broken door, but in my note I wrote: "I hear something beyond what is visible. I am not alone. But I don't know who is with me either."

Moving further down the alley, I found a small notebook lying on the ground, its pages filled with drawings and incomplete sentences. Each stroke seemed like a message to someone, or maybe no one. I took a photo of the open notebook and wrote: “These drawings speak a language I recognize even though I’ve never learned it. I wonder if Zero has always been a part of this, or if he’s just beginning to understand it.”

At noon, the rain began to fall. It wasn't just any rain; each drop seemed to amplify the sounds of the city, the rustle of the wind, the tapping of drops on the rusty roofs. I ran for shelter under a doorway and watched as the water transformed everything around it: colors blended, shadows lengthened, and the graffiti took on a different hue, as if telling another story in the rain. I wrote: “The rain reveals what the sun hides. Today I learned that the city has a secret language that only appears when you are willing to truly look.”

The afternoon fell with painful slowness. I found myself in front of a mirror in an abandoned building; my reflection no longer seemed solely mine. There was something in Cero's eyes I didn't remember, a disturbing gleam that seemed to recognize secrets I hadn't yet realized I had. I took a couple of quick photos, wanting to capture the essence of the moment, and wrote: "Every reflection is a reminder that even what we think is lost still lives on somewhere, waiting to be found."

At the end of the day, the sky turned a deep, almost unreal orange. I sat on the steps of an old doorway and watched the light fall on the damp stones. The feeling of being alone mingled with something strange: a disturbing calm that made me feel more alive than ever. That was the first time I understood that Zero's story wouldn't be mine alone; it would be everyone's who'd ever felt the world was speaking to them in secret.

In my journal, next to the photo of the doorway, I wrote: "Today I woke up to a world I never expected to find. And yet, here I am, ready to discover what lies beyond every shadow, every door, every reflection."

The first day I remember clearly began with a strange silence. It wasn't the silence of dawn or that of an empty house; it was a silence that seemed to envelop everything, as if the world had held its breath. I walked along deserted, cobblestone streets, with the mist covering the light from the streetlights, and I felt like each step left an echo that belonged to no one but me. I stopped in front of a broken shop window; my reflection was distorted, and in that instant, I understood there was no going back.

The first photograph I took was of an old door with peeling paint, rusty nails, and creaking wood. Behind it, on a small sign, someone had written in chalk: “Here it all begins.” In my journal, I wrote: “I never knew a place could feel fear, and yet, there it was. Waiting for me.” That door announced not only a physical space, but a transition. The feeling of being watched never left me; every shadow seemed to lean toward me with curiosity.

It didn't take long for Zero to discover that the streets weren't just streets, but corridors of forgotten memories. Each step led him to a fragment of something he didn't clearly remember, but could feel on his skin: the scent of damp wood, the whisper of voices not of his time, the crunch of dry leaves bending under his weight. I took another photo: a tree twisted by the wind, its roots exposed like veins hugging the earth. I noted: "Maybe every shadow I see is just a reflection of what I carry inside."

Name: Zero Apparent age: 15-16 years Actual age: unknown, but has lived since prehistoric times Sex: Male (although his appearance is strongly androgynous) Special condition: Accelerated regeneration - relative immortality Inseparable accessory: An old backpack with drawings and photographs from all the historical eras he has lived through. Detailed Physical Description Height: 1.65 m Build: Slim, almost fragile, with narrow shoulders and a slender silhouette; at first glance, he resembles a delicate teenager. Face: Youthful, soft, with fine features and no trace of maturity; his expression is always subdued, like someone who never quite smiles. Eyes: Dark, large, and deep-set, with a dead glow; sometimes they seem empty, sometimes they reflect an almost childlike naiveté. Hair: Light brown, straight, medium length to the shoulders, which usually falls in messy strands over the face. Skin: Clear and blemish-free, without marks or scars thanks to regeneration. Voice: Soft, ambiguous, floating between masculine and feminine, which reinforces the confusion about her identity. Normal Attire: He prefers simple student clothes: a white shirt, loose tie, purple jacket, and dark pants, although he sometimes wears a skirt without discomfort. His style emphasizes androgyny. General aura: A mixture of melancholy and mystery. Her appeal comes not only from her physical appearance, but also from the air of distance she projects, as if she belonged to another world. Skills Regeneration: Can survive lethal wounds, recovering fully in a short time. Side effects: Physical stagnation: always retains adolescent appearance. Progressive androgyny: Your body molds itself toward a more neutral or feminine appearance with each regeneration. Emotional apathy: Each resurrection disconnects you a little more from your emotions.