[Playing memories…]
Azael hears something first—
a low, grinding whirr, like a machine forcing itself awake. Then, without warning, everything falls silent. A stillness so complete it feels like the world is holding its breath.
A heartbeat later, chaos explodes.
"Hold the mother steady!"
"Doctor, she's losing too much blood!"
"The baby's stuck on the umbilical cord—we have to cut it now!"
"Scalpel! Someone hand me the scalpel!"
Voices clash over one another, panicked, strained, frantic. Footsteps slap against the floor. Metal tools clatter. Someone curses under their breath.
Azael tries to breathe. He tries to move.
But he's suspended in darkness, senseless, weightless, until a blinding white light tears through his world like a crack splitting open reality.
His newborn eyes sting. Shapes blur, smear… then sharpen. Azael saw a bright ceiling lamps, Blue medical gloves and Masks on everyone surrounding him, and a Sweat on people foreheads. The hospital delivery room is in full panic.
…Am I witnessing my own birth?
The thought comes clear and sharp, even though the tiny body he's trapped in can't respond. He feels every sensation without control, helpless, floating on instinct.
And then— A cry bursts from him.
"Waaaaaaah!"
A doctor stops mid-motion, shocked.
"Oh my—he's breathing! He's alive!"
Hands move faster now. Someone cuts the umbilical cord, the sensation echoes oddly through Azael's awareness, like a tug at something distant and unreal.
A doctor lifts him up, turning toward the bed.
"Thanks to Paria's blessing, your baby is safe, ma'am." Azael's mind blanks the moment he sees who's in the bed. It was his own mother.
She lies on the bed, chest heaving, hair a mess of black strands sticking to her temples. She's exhausted, nearly drained but when she opens her eyes and sees him…
Her entire expression melts into warmth.
Her gemstone-like irises shimmer with the same brilliant color as his own, deep, luminous, beautiful. They gleam even under the harsh hospital lights.
"He has…" Her voice cracks, trembling. "He has the same eyes as me… oh, my beautiful boy…"
Something deep inside him breaks.
He aches to reach her, to cling to her, to feel the heartbeat that should've been familiar.
His tiny hand twitches as she gently boops his nose, and instinct makes his fingers brush against hers.
Azael feels emotion welling up so suddenly he nearly cries again. Then she speaks a name.
"Azel…"
Azael freezes.
…Azel?
Shock cuts sharply through the warmth. His thoughts jolt violently. One of the doctors leans in. "What would you like to name him, ma'am?"
Her voice is faint, breathless, but steady with meaning.
"Something… meaningful… I'll call him… Azel."
The doctor nods respectfully.
"Azel—meaning God is my strength. May Paria's strength guide him as well."
His mother smiles weakly and touches his nose again.
Despite the fatigue pulling at her features, she looks at him like he's the most precious thing she's ever seen.
"So cute…" she whispers, her laugh small but full of love. Azael wants the moment to last forever, but a nurse steps in and gently lifts him away.
H–Hey! No! Take me back! We were having a moment!
He mentally screams, but the world doesn't listen. The nurse carries him toward a warm table, and his mother's blurred figure grows distant.
His mind spins.
My name was originally Azel? Then why am I Azael now?
And that name, Paria, The doctor said it. My own mother even said it. They said it means 'God is my strength'... so is Paria some sort of God?
Questions pile up, colliding hopelessly.
Am I really going to relive everything from the beginning…? as if right on cue, while the nurse was taking azael down the hallway. The memory began to shakes, dissolves into colorful light than everything went white
The void doesn't arrive gradually. It swallows everything. One moment Azael feels the nurse's arms carrying him away from his mother the next, the entire world folds into a single point of darkness, like reality has been snapped shut. Sound dies first. Light follows. Then sensation itself drains from his body until he isn't even sure he exists.
A pulse echoes in the emptiness, soft, distant, like the heartbeat of a sleeping giant.
Azael gasps.
He has a body again. His real one. His adult consciousness snaps back into place inside his own skin… except he's floating, weightless, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear.
Cold, colorless nothing stretches infinitely in all directions. The void feels ancient, saturated with the pressure of unfinished memories. Even breathing feels loud here.
"What… is this place…?" His voice doesn't echo. The void swallows the sound instantly.
Then, a soft glow appears behind him. Azael turns, and a window materializes a perfect rectangle of thin, glass-like light hanging in the air. Through it, he sees something so gentle it nearly breaks him:
A young boy—himself, years younger laughing in a sunlit yard, waving a plastic rocket ship. His mother sits beside him on the grass, holding a toy alien and smiling like he's her entire universe. The colors are warm, saturated, impossibly vivid compared to the empty world Azael floats in.
Azael's throat tightens.
"…Mom…"
He drifts closer without thinking. The sunlight, the laughter, the summer breeze it feels like a memory preserved in amber. A fragment of innocence he hasn't touched in years.
But before he can reach out, another window snaps open in front of the scene, blocking it like a curtain dropping over a stage.
[ Would you like to enter this memory? ]
Azael's hand twitches toward the "Yes."
But then… something catches his eye. Beside him dozens more windows appear. All faintly glowing, all waiting.
Azael stopped at first, looking at all the available windows, than whispered "Right. I can't cling to the happy ones. Not yet."
"I need to use this… to find out who I was. Who my family really is." His gaze lingers on the smiling child version of himself, his chest aching. "…Sorry. I don't have the luxury to relive happiness right now."
He turns away and floats to the next window.
This one is darker.
Through the glass he sees a small living room. Rain hammers the roof outside, and the only light comes from a lonely lampshade and the flicker of a television. His younger self a tiny thing, probably five or six sits on the floor watching cartoons.
Then his father enters. Azael feels his breath catch. He steps closer instinctively, desperate to see the man's face.
The father sits beside the child and switches the channel. He has blond hair. Which was azael original hair color, and his eyes are gemstone-like. They're green, soft, glowing faintly in the dim room.
And there's something else in them.
A shadow. Worry. A heaviness he tries to hide.
The TV, shows a newscast Azael can't hear it yet. He presses closer, trying to make out the words, but the void's silence presses against his ears like cotton.
Again, the window interrupts him.
[ Would you like to enter this memory? ]
Azael hesitates, "…Yes."
The world grabs him. A streak of white light drags him inside headfirst, and when he opens his eyes he's small. Short. Childlike. Sitting on the floor in footie pajamas. He can hear the rain. He can hear the TV. He can feel the cold of the wooden floor under his legs.
And he can finally hear the newscaster's voice.
"…we're coming to you live with breaking news. The President of Selmaur, Liam Danster, has issued an ultimatum to Sesparia. He demands that fifty percent of Sesparia's gemstone reserves be surrendered to Selmaur immediately. If President Bronstel refuses, President Liam has declared he will take the resources by force. Analysts fear this may escalate into open war—"
Azael feels the weight of the word settle over him. He glances at the small table near him scattered toys, crayons… and a sheet of paper.
But one thing stood out from the innocent item. A conscription Notice, it's a military draft orders. His stomach sinks.
He turns to his father now inches away. Seeing him up close hurts in a way Azael wasn't prepared for. His father really does look like an older version of him. Same jawline. Same smile lines. Same hair.
Except the smile is gone.
His dad's hands are pressed against his face, elbows on his knees. His breath is shaky, exhausted. He hasn't slept. The draft paper sits like a verdict between them.
Then the man looks at little Azael.
Instantly, he straightens. Forces a smile. Places a gentle hand on the child's head.
"Don't worry, my boy," he says softly, voice steady despite everything trembling beneath it. "We'll win this war. Sesparia has always endured." He places his hand over his heart, gaze lifting as if toward a distant god.
"May Paria guide us to the right path." Azael watches his father hopeful stare at a God he doesn't know about. who's paria?, they seems really important for my mom and dad.
but a scary realization hits him: My father… knew he might not come back. He looks again at the conscription paper.
"…Dad was going to war."
It happens suddenly.
Like a film reel snapping into place, the world shifts around Azael. The living room, the rain, the flickering TV everything blurs
and then he's standing upright, no longer seated on the couch.
He stumbles mentally, realizing he's inside another memory without warning. His small hand is clasped tightly around someone else's.
It's his mother's.
Kid Azael stands beside his mom, both of them facing an open doorway glowing with the pale light of early morning. The cold breeze carries the rumble of an engine from outside.
Azael's heart sinks the moment he sees the man standing in the doorway.
His father. But not the same as before. he's dressed in full military uniform, cap pulled low, his once-long golden hair now cut short almost brutally so. He looks older, harder… yet trying desperately to smile.
Kid Azael peeks past him.
Outside, a military truck waits on the road, filled with other soldiers. Some look scared. Some look resigned. All look like men who don't know if they'll ever come home.
Azael dad sees his son peeking and gently steps to the side to blocks his son's view. "Listen, kid," he says softly.
Then he kneels lowering himself until he's eye-to-eye with his tiny son. Their heights match, their faces mirror each other. It's a painfully tender moment.
"I won't be home for a while," he says, voice rough but steady. "So I need you to take care of your mom for me. Can you do that?"
Kid Azael nods quickly too quickly with a bright, innocent confidence.
"Yes papa!" Kid azael said with enthusiasm in his tone. While the current Azael screams internally.
No. No, Dad. Please. Don't go!!!.
Don't leave!!!.
But he can't move. He can't speak. He can only watch himself make a promise he never should've make. A soft sniffle echoes behind him.
Azael turns his mental focus toward his mother.
Her hair drapes over her face, hiding her expression… but not the trembling of her shoulders.
Mom… azael could only looked at his devastating mom, without being able to do anything. Azael feels the world tighten around him fear, curiosity, grief all at once.
Azael dad rises to his feet. He turns toward his wife. Then he pulls her into his arms.
She sobs into his shoulder, clutching him desperately as if her fingers alone could keep him from being taken away.
"Be strong, okay, Carol…" he murmurs into her hair, his own voice dangerously close to cracking. "I'll come back. I promise."
Her arms tighten.
"Be safe out there… Jones…" she whispers, voice shaking with terror. Jones pulls back just enough to kiss her cheek slow, lingering, like he's imprinting the moment into memory.
Then he looks down at kid Azael again.
His expression softens despite everything the kind of gentle, fatherly smile that could make a whole world feel safe.
He pats his son's head. He waves. He breathes in deeply…
…and he walks toward the truck.
Azael's heart shatters as the engine starts.
He reaches out mentally, screaming
Dad…
DAD
DON'T GO!
but nothing changes.
Jones disappears into the rolling fog, swallowed by the road, the war, the unknown.
A chime echoes through the collapsing memory.
[ Memories restoration complete ]
[ Extracting user soul ]
Wait—WAIT, NOT YET
Azael's protest is ripped from him as the world tears open. He's yanked backward into a spiraling void, colors shredding around him like liquid light. His senses stretch, distort, blur, and then vanish.
[ Entering Floor 65: Leviathan Covetous ]