Tak—!
The sound of a piece being placed echoed through the vast, church‑like hall.
The interior was breathtaking in its simplicity.
Polished white marble covered every surface, gleaming softly in the gentle light filtering through high, arched windows. The smooth, unadorned walls seemed to glow with an otherworldly purity.
Tak—!
The ceiling soared overhead, its vast white expanse broken only by subtle, intricate carvings—delicate touches of elegance that never clamored for attention.
Tak—!
At the center of the hall stood a perfectly round marble table, its surface polished to a sheen that caught the ambient light.
Tak—!
The air was cool and still, carrying only the faint scent of stone and silence. No pews, no altar, no statues—nothing to disturb the austere beauty of the marble.
Tak—!
Upon the table rested a chessboard. Two figures faced each other across it. Both resembled men, yet their forms were entirely black—pitch‑dark silhouettes, like shadows given shape.
Tak—! Tak—! Tak—!
Pieces slid onto the board one after another.
"I have detected his presence."
Tak—!
The shadow moving the black pieces broke the silence, his voice as flat and monotone as stone.
The other figure froze mid‑move, the white piece hovering in his hand.
"...Where?"
Though equally monotone, his voice carried something more—an edge.
Anger.
"France."
Tak—!
Finally setting his piece down, the white‑playing shadow snarled.
"France? What the hell is that traitor doing there?"
The other shook his head.
"I don't know. I barely caught his presence before it vanished. By the time I checked, he was gone. Even after... interrogating everyone nearby, I found nothing."
"Wasn't there a Grandmaster in France?"
"There was." A pause. "I had no trouble dealing with him."
Tak—!
"You've certainly grown stronger," the white‑playing shadow remarked coolly. "Don't let it get to your head."
"I know. You don't have to remind me."
Tak—!
"As for that traitor, ignore him for now."
"Really?"
Tak—!
"Yes. Continue as planned."
The black‑playing shadow shrugged and placed his piece.
"If you say so."
Tak—!
"Also," the white‑playing figure continued, "I won't be able to summon you here any longer. The seals on my power are growing unstable. It won't be long before I leave this detestable place for good."
"Very well," came the calm reply. "I will be eager to meet His Excellency face to face."
Tak—!
"You won't have to wait long."
Tak—!
"Checkmate. I win again."
"..."
"I'll be taking my leave now. I promise not to disappoint you."
The victorious shadow stood, gave a slight bow, and vanished into thin air.
Left alone, the other's hand twitched, his gaze lingering on the board.
"Even holding back, his improvement has been... remarkable," he muttered, rising from his chair.
"Now that he's revealed himself, it's time I got some answers."
His right hand flickered with a glow of white light.
And then—
A radiant arrow formed in his grasp, pure and blinding against his shadowy figure.
"This will delay my departure from this prison... but even I have my limits of patience."
His voice lowered, almost amused.
"I wonder... will you run like a coward again?"
Snap—!
The arrow shattered, its echo carrying through the empty hall before vanishing with the light.
"Apostle of Death."
*****
Two days had passed since Azriel reunited with his family.
After the first day, he had tried to learn more about his system. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten far.
Whenever he called out to it, all he received were the same messages that had flashed before his eyes when he first reunited with his sister.
It seemed his system was vastly different from the protagonist's—not that it surprised him. In fact, it would have been stranger if it wasn't.
As for the skill he had acquired, [Core Reaper], he was eager to test it. Just... not yet. For once in his life, he wanted to rest. A week of peace before diving back into chaos didn't sound unreasonable.
Tonight, unable to sleep, he sat on the cool grass of the Crimson Estate's backyard. The blades swayed gently with the wind, tickling his hands as he leaned back, dressed in nothing but a black t‑shirt and pajama bottoms.
He gazed blankly at the stars.
This wasn't new. Even back when he was Leo, he had been plagued by nightmares ever since his first family's death. And in this world, the nightmares had followed him like loyal hounds, nipping at his heels every time he closed his eyes.
Whenever he tried to sleep, the visions of that night returned.
'...Perhaps I deserve it.'
The guilt ate at him. A voice whispered that he had replaced his old family too easily, that he had never truly cared for them, that their deaths were his fault.
Another voice whispered the opposite—that it was time to let go, that it wasn't his fault.
Both voices made him sick.
"Are you going to keep watching me from the shadows, or do you plan to actually say hello?"
Azriel's words were quiet, his gaze still fixed on the stars.
The wind howled softly. For a moment, that was the only reply.
Then—
"How did you know I was here?"
That voice. Familiar.
Azriel's lips twitched.
"...Dad."
It felt strange, how easily the word left his mouth—as if, piece by piece, he was starting to accept this new life.
His chest warmed when Joaquin stepped into view and stood beside him, also staring at the stars. That warmth, though... it made Azriel hate himself even more.
He shook his head, trying to smother the storm inside.
"I didn't know. Just a guess."
"...Is that so?"
Joaquin clearly didn't believe him, but he let it slide.
"When I saw you come here, I thought you'd gone mad—finally back home, only to return to your old habits of training in the middle of the night. But..."
He gave Azriel a sidelong glance, concern etched in his features.
"It seems I was wrong."
Azriel didn't answer. He just kept staring at the stars, his throat tight.
"Tell me, Azriel," Joaquin said softly.
"Do you still love us?"
Azriel's head snapped toward him.
"Huh? What? Of course I do!"
His voice came out louder than he'd intended, echoing across the quiet lawn.
Joaquin only smiled at the outburst.
"Then why is it," he asked gently, "that whenever you look at us, I see something eating away at you?"
"That..."
Azriel froze. What could he possibly say? Telling him about Leo was impossible. But to lie would feel even worse.
"I just need... a little more time."
"Time for what?"
"...To accept."
Joaquin didn't miss a beat.
"Accept what?"
Of course he wasn't going to let Azriel off easy. He was a father—it was his job to dig where it hurt.
Ever since his return, his mother and sister had rarely left his side. Joaquin, too, had been watching him closely. And honestly...
The thought only deepened his guilt.
Finally, with a shaky breath, Azriel said,
"I wasn't always alone over there. Not for a while, at least. I met people in the Voidrealm. Grew close to them. Closer than I expected. I even... considered them family."
Joaquin listened quietly, his face unreadable.
"But... something happened. Because of me—my choices—they died. I basically killed them."
His throat burned.
"And now that I'm here, I—"
"Feel guilty," Joaquin finished for him.
Azriel looked up in shock. Joaquin was still smiling, but his eyes carried a deep, rare sadness.
"You feel guilty every time you remember them while you're with us. Like you're betraying them just by being here. Like they don't matter anymore. Like they were... replaceable."
The words cut through Azriel like a blade.
Joaquin turned his gaze back to the stars.
"I've met many people over the years. Some were like brothers, sisters. No blood between us, but the memories we shared were just as precious. But nothing lasts forever. Sometimes, we make choices the heart can't bear, and it shatters. The only way to rebuild it... is to let go."
Azriel tried to respond, but the words wouldn't come. His throat closed, and all he could do was clench his hands in his lap.
'Letting go... hurts.'
More than he wanted to admit.
He was terrified.
But Joaquin said nothing more. He simply kept watching the stars.
'I have no choice, do I? Clinging to the past... hurts even more.'
This world wouldn't wait for him to be ready.
Azriel let out a small, shaky laugh.
"You really are annoying, you know that? Always showing up when I least want to hear the truth."
Joaquin smirked faintly.
"That's my job."
Azriel smiled softly despite himself. Somehow, his chest felt a little lighter.
'I wonder when I'll finally be ready to let go.'
Perhaps never. Perhaps someday. Only time would tell.
He turned toward his father, ready to thank him, when he noticed Joaquin's expression harden. His eyes were fixed on the sky.
"What's wrong?" Azriel asked, standing quickly.
He followed his father's gaze, squinting.
At first, he saw nothing. But then—
A faint glow, like a tiny falling star, descending silently toward them.
It was small, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't dormant or awakened. But the moment Azriel's eyes locked onto it, his skin prickled with goosebumps.
Something was coming.