Inside a bedroom, the floor was littered with books, pages splayed open, covers bent, a miniature battlefield of knowledge.
Not picture books, no. These were far stranger choices:
tomes on weapons and dragons, numbers and equations, angels, demons, and things no child should have been touching.
But then again… the one reading them wasn't exactly a normal child.
A small boy lay sprawled on the floor, wavy black hair falling into his pale face. A soft blanket clung to him like a second skin. Slowly, his violet eyes cracked open, hazy with sleep.
The blanket slid off, revealing his onesie, a cute thing covered in tiny animals. An outfit fit for an ordinary toddler. But nothing about him was ordinary.
"…hnnn." The boy let out a gravelly little hum, dragging his body forward until his small hand caught the nearest book.
Rubbing his eyes with one fist, he squinted at the cover.
"'Sing It, See It, Remember It!'" His voice, though high-pitched, carried a raspy curl at the end, as if mocking the title.
"Kekeke~ what a dumb name."
Still, he opened the book. The sleep melted off his face, replaced with a grin—sharp, eager, too big for his tiny frame. His little fingers flipped through the pages at a speed no toddler should manage.
Knowledge. That was what he loved more than anything.
Because of his desire to learn, he loves to read and learn new things. For that reason he regularly gets excited whenever he has the potential to learn anything she does not know about
Knowledge was food, and he was starving.
"Kekekeke~!" His giggle was playful, but faintly unsettling, a sound that would've fit better on a trickster than a child.
The book was about memory tricks, songs, rhymes, and drawings meant to help children recall things. The boy devoured it in minutes, tossing it aside like a gnawed bone.
"All done," he muttered with satisfaction. "Next one. Kekeke~."
He crawled to another book. "'Tools of Heroes,'" he read aloud, and his grin widened as he flipped it open. "Ooooh~ good stuff!" His violet eyes practically sparkled as he traced the drawings of swords, spears, and bows.
Because of his obsession with knowledge, this makes him mentally older than people his age.
However, due to his birth and the parental
Figures he was surrounded by still obtained his childish behavior.
This boy is a devour. Someone who can read books and absorb that information at an extremely rapid pace.
For reference, he can read books around 2 times faster than an average person.
Or in his case, an average toddler.
And so it went, one book after another. Fifteen minutes passed in a blur of pages and strange laughter.
When at last he was "full," he stood, swaying on small legs. "Bored now. Haaah… I hate being bored." He pouted. Then his stomach gave a little growl. "Tch… hungry. Where's Mommy?"
He wandered through the house, past the bathroom, the kitchen, even his mother's bedroom. No sign of her. His face scrunched up.
"…m-mama?" he whispered. Tears welled up, dripping down pale cheeks.
"Waaahhh! Wawawawa!" His voice cracked into a wail, clumsy and raw with need.
But just as quickly, he froze.
Click. The front door opened. Footsteps echoed across the floor.
And then, she appeared.
A woman with midnight hair flowing to her waist, violet eyes that mirrored his, and skin so flawless it was hard to guess her age.
Her figure was graceful, almost ageless, an "eternal" beauty.
She looked at the boy, shaking her head with an indulgent smile. "Honestly, every time I leave, you end up crying again." Her voice was warm, smooth, with a playful lilt.
Amon sniffled, wiping his eyes. "…Agnes?"
Her lips parted and then laughter burst out, loud and bright. "Pfft…hahaha! Did you just call your mother by her first name?! Hahahaha, oh my god, you're killing me! Hahaha~!"
"…sniff… Mom?"
"Ohhh, now you call me 'Mom'?" she teased, still laughing, wiping at her own eyes from amusement. "Why's my kid so funny, huh? Hahaha~ I swear, you're too much!"
This was Agnes. His mother. The woman who had abandoned him.
And yes. She was every bit as strange and complicated as the son who bore her blood.
"Sniff, sniff… mama!"
On shaky toddler legs, Amon ran as fast as he could. For someone his age, it wasn't much, more of a wobble than a sprint, but his determination made up for it.
He collided against her leg and clung to it tightly. Compared to his tiny frame, she towered above him, standing somewhere around 167 centimeters.
Agnes looked down, her violet eyes softening. A gentle smile bloomed on her lips.
"…Sigh. You're still like this, huh? Even when you were a baby, you couldn't stand it when I left you."
It was true. For as long as she could remember, her son had always been afraid of being alone. And as a mother, nothing hurt more than seeing him cry. So, she tried her best never to leave him for too long.
She brushed her hand lightly over his head. "Didn't I leave you some books to keep you entertained? What happened to them, hm?"
Amon sniffled, his little voice trembling. "…I, um… I read them all, Mommy. S-sorry." His eyes dropped as if ashamed.
For a second, Agnes blinked in surprise. Then—
"Pfft…hahaha! Of course you did!" Her laughter rang bright, playful, and warm. She crouched down so her eyes met his. "That's so you, Amon! Hahaha~!"
His head snapped up, violet eyes wide. "…Y-you're not mad?"
"Mad? Why would I be mad?" She shook her head, her smile still glowing. "If you wanna learn, then as your mom, I'll always cheer you on. I'll always have your back, even when you think I don't. That's what being a mother means."
Amon's eyes widened further. He leaned forward, hope flickering in his expression. "S-so… does that mean I can read about magic? Kekeke~?"
Agnes froze for a beat. Then she quickly formed an 'X' with her hands. "Nope! Big nope! Totally forbidden!"
"Ehhh?! But didn't you just say you'd support me?!"
"Of course I will," she said firmly, still smiling, "but there are some things you're just not ready for yet. Things I'll tell you when you're older."
Her tone softened, her eyes taking on a faintly wistful glow. "After all… since you're tied to me, and to my father, you'll probably have a lot of potential. Our lineage is… special."
"..."Amon tilted his head, confused. He didn't really understand her words, but to him, his mother's voice was law. If she said no, then it must be for his own good.
Agnes noticed his puzzled look and bent low enough to flick his forehead lightly with a grin. "Don't think too hard about it, my little crybaby. Hehe~"
Straightening, she stretched her arms and walked toward the kitchen. "C'mon, enough heavy talk. How about Mommy makes you something yummy to eat?"
She had every intention of telling him one day—the truth about herself, about him, about their bloodline and origins.
But that truth would come when the time was right. And for now?
That was a story for another time.
Sitting at a dinner table, on opposite sides, were two people. Both clapped their hands together in unison, almost as if in prayer.
"Thanks for the meal!"
"Thx for the food!"
Amon and Agnes shouted together, grinning wide. Before them sat a simple plate: soft bread stuffed with fresh tomato slices and gooey melted cheese.
A cheese and tomato sandwich.
The two picked up their food, opened their mouths.
Chomp!
"Mmm~! So good!"
"Sooo tasty!"
Their voices rang out in perfect sync again.
"So, Amon, how's it taste? If I remember right, this is your first sandwich, huh?" Agnes asked, violet eyes sparkling.
"It's super tasty!" Amon beamed as he devoured another bite.
"Hahaha~! I know, right?!"
The resemblance between the two was uncanny. Black hair, violet eyes, blunt honesty, and a complete inability to lie. Mother and son… or perhaps reflections of the same person.
"Hey, Mother. You got fat." Amon smirked mischievously, clearly looking to stir chaos.
Agnes didn't bristle. She just snorted, then burst into laughter. "Pfft…hahahah! Look how blunt you are! That's my son!"
Amon's grin softened into something warmer. Seeing his mother laugh so freely filled him with joy.
"Kekeke~!" he giggled in his strange, playful way.
"Hahaha!"
"Kekeke~!"
They laughed together, voices bouncing off the walls, until Amon closed his eyes in contentment. If there was one thing he cherished, it was seeing her happy.
But when he opened his eyes again…
He was no longer in their home.
Instead, he sat at a long dining table in an endless white void.
To his right, Amy, Sera, and Rex. They were smiling, laughing, and eating. Yet no sound reached his ears.
To his left, his mother, Agnes. Beside her sat two figures cloaked in darkness. One bore the shape of a woman. The other was tall… inhumanly tall, a man whose very presence felt unnatural.
Their features were hidden, but the words echoed in his mind:
Auntie.
Grandpa.
Why did he know these names, yet fail to recall their faces? If they were his family, why had he no memory of them?
Why… were they here?
He blinked again.
And the void was gone. Now there was only endless black, swallowing everything.
Amon stood in silence, a hollow expression shadowing his face.
"…What was that?"
Images of his toddler self, of his mother's smile, flickered in his mind like cruel fragments.
"Was it a dream? If so, why her?" His tone was calm, but the weight of his words was suffocating.
This wasn't the first time. Again and again, she appeared in his dreams. Normally, he woke and the memories slipped away. But this one lingered.
"Yes… my mother. The woman who abandoned me. Agnes." His eyes narrowed.
Why?
"Why do I still dream of her?"
"At one time, I loved her with all my heart. She was my world. Her smile, her laughter, they meant everything."
"I loved her…" His voice fell into a whisper.
"…Yet she abandoned me. What right does she have… to place value on another's life?"
Looking around, Amon found himself surrounded by nothing but darkness. No matter which way he turned, there was no end, no ground, no sky.
When he finally tilted his head upward, he spotted it—a sun. But it was pale, drained of color, like the ghost of a sun that had forgotten how to shine.
"I hate people like that most in this world…" Amon muttered, his voice low, each word dripping with contempt.
Images of his father's constant abuse flickered in his mind—flames pressing against his skin, cruel laughter ringing in his ears.
"People who take advantage of others. People who bully the weak. People who hurt for nothing but their own amusement."
His eyes hardened.
"I despise it all. Every last piece of it."
He clenched his fists, and with that movement, the scars revealed themselves.
Bands of pale, jagged tissue wrapped his forearms like cruel shackles, starting at the wrists and climbing up to the elbows. Burn scars—rough, uneven, broken up with faint cut marks that ran deeper where the fire had been pressed and carved into him. Long healed, yet forever etched into his flesh. Silent proof of what had been done.
"Thankfully…" his voice softened, carrying a sharp edge of relief, "Amy didn't notice when she grabbed my hand earlier."
But even now, even as anger burned in his chest, another thought gnawed at him.
"…Why can't I bring myself to hate you, mother?" His eyes trembled, conflicted. "You abandoned me. Because of you, I suffered for six months in hell. I should despise you. Hate you. But… I can't."
"Kekeke~! So you're finally asking the right question."
A voice—playful, teasing—cut through the darkness.
"!" Amon snapped his head forward. There, seated on a small throne of shadow, was a figure cloaked in darkness. A woman, judging from her voice and silhouette. But her features were distorted, veiled by the strange gloom that clung to her.
"Who the hell are you?" Amon's tone was sharp, his gaze piercing.
"Ohhh? Fiery~! And here I thought you'd just stay sulky forever." The woman tilted her head, resting her cheek lazily on her hand. "You can see me now, huh? Interesting. But why? You couldn't sense me before, so what changed~?"
"..." Amon narrowed his eyes but said nothing, only glaring.
Her laugh was light, almost mocking. "Hmm, maybe it's because of those people you've been hanging around with? Cute little influences, don'tcha think?"
His glare sharpened. "…You mean Sera and Amy?"
"Bingo~!" she sang, pointing a finger at him playfully. "But don't forget the grumpy one… what was his name? Ah, Rex! That's it!"
Amon's hostility flared. His body tensed, his violet eyes darkening as he glared at her with a heat that could kill. "…How do you know their names?"
"Woah, woah—" she raised both hands dramatically, like someone caught sneaking sweets. "Easy there, tiger~! I come in peace. I'm sooo not your enemy."
His gaze didn't soften.
She giggled, unfazed. "Ohhh, so protective~! Is it because of what happened when my sister abandoned you?"
Amon froze. His eyes widened a fraction. "…Sister?"
'Sister… does she mean Mother? If Mother had a sister, then why didn't she ever tell me?'
The woman grinned, though her features were still hidden in shadow. "Mhm~. That's right. Which makes me your aunt, sweetheart."
"…The same… aunt from the dinner table?" Amon muttered under his breath.
"Dinner table? I dunno what you mean by that," she said with a shrug. "But yes, I am your aunt."
Before Amon could press further, she leaned forward, pointing a finger straight at him. Her tone shifted, still playful but edged with weight.
"But enough about me. Today isn't my story." She smirked. "It's yours, Amon."
"…Mine?" He frowned, his voice low.
"Yup. You." She gave a short nod, her distorted face tugging into a smile. "You see, I've been watching you for a while now. For six whole months, to be exact."
"Because I've been watching you for so long," the woman said casually, her tone lilting with confidence, "I'd say I've got a pretty good grasp on your personality."
She gestured around them, spreading her arms wide to the endless dark. "For example…this place is your subconscious, it reflects your mind as well as yourself."
"..." Amon said nothing, his hair hiding most of his face. But the faint pulse of a vein on his forehead betrayed him.
'This woman… the way she talks, the way she moves. Everything about her feels like… Mother.'
"Not much of a talker, huh?" She chuckled softly, then crossed her legs on her shadowy throne, resting her chin on one hand. "That's fine. I'll do the talking."
Her voice slipped into something softer, almost sensual.
"Because of your past, you're a complicated one. On one hand, you're kind—someone who bonds quickly, who wants to spend time with people. Amy, Sera… it didn't take you long to let them in. You never pushed Amy away, never got angry at Sera's temper."
Her smile became wider. "And on the other hand… you are able to read and understand people on an emotional and personal level."
"You are the type to watch and analyze before acting. Your sharp awareness allows you to read people and situations with uncanny accuracy, giving you a maturity beyond his age."
She leaned closer, her voice playful again. "…but it also keeps you distant. You don't let people close enough to see the vulnerable self you keep hidden away."
"..." Amon remained silent, but a second vein pulsed on his forehead.
Her grin widened like a cat toying with a mouse. 'Good. He's cracking. For all his smarts, he's still just a child. And when it comes to pulling strings… I'll always be better.'
She knew him too well. He said he wanted to grow strong so no one could hurt him again. But deep down, strength was just the mask. At his core, he wanted to protect the weak, protect others from suffering like he had.
"But there's something I don't get." Her eyes gleamed. "Why do you call yourself Amon of Nothingness?"
"..."
"You said you were pathetic. That you were worth nothing. That you had no emotions. But… you lied, didn't you?" Her tone sharpened, though the playfulness never left. "You told Amy and Sera you felt nothing. So tell me… why lie to them?"
"..."
"I thought they were your friends. What happened?"
"…Shut up."
"Or maybe…" she pressed on, tilting her head. "You don't really care about them. Or is it that you'd rather bear the pain yourself than let them suffer?"
"I said… SHUT UP!!!"
Fwoooosh!
A dark aura exploded from Amon's body, his hair rising as if gravity itself bent away from him. His voice roared with fury.
"You… know NOTHING about me!" His words echoed through the void. "You talk like you understand—like you've lived through what I have—but you haven't! You don't know what I felt, what I endured! You haven't seen a fraction of my hell!"
The aura thickened, pressing down on the world itself. With every word, the darkness pulsed, heavier, sharper, thicker.
For a moment, the memory of Rex beheading his father flashed through his mind.
'I'm glad you died, you hypocrite… Because your death meant I could live!'
Step.
The ground shook beneath him as Amon strode forward.
Step.
Each movement sent quakes through the void.
"You don't know what I am! The world I lived in! The pain I bled through!" His aura erupted outward, a violent shockwave rippling in every direction.
"I… AM HOLLOW!!!"
BOOOOM!
The blast hurled shadow and darkness away in every direction. The throne splintered, the void itself trembling.
'What a monster…' the woman thought, floating high in the air to avoid the shockwave. Even now, her smile lingered, though her eyes were serious. 'Even at this age, he possesses such magical pressure. He truly is her son.' The woman thought, referring to her sister, Agnes.
"Haa… haa…" Amon panted, his aura slowly dissipating, his hair falling back into place. His breaths came heavy, strained.
"When… was the last time I lost control like that?" he muttered. "The last time I let myself get angry…"
His chest heaved. He hadn't even realized the aura was his.
Suddenly, his body felt heavy, sluggish. His knees buckled, sending him crashing to the floor.
"Wha… what's happening… to me…"
The woman's eyes widened briefly. Then, her lips curled in amusement. "Oh? Looks like you're waking up. I wonder what choice you'll make… when you see what state your little friends are in."
"You… what are you—urgh!" His words broke off as he collapsed, face-first into the strange liquid-like floor. It wasn't solid. It wasn't air. It felt like water… dark water pulling him under.
He fought to push back, but the more he struggled, the weaker he became. His vision blurred.
'Damn it… I'm sinking…'
The shadows lapped at his waist, then his chest.
"N-no… we're not done… not yet…"
He had questions. Who was she really? How did she know so much? What was her connection to his mother?
But the darkness was swallowing him.
"Stand tall and march, my legion~ or you'll face my wrath~"
The woman began to sing softly, her voice haunting, echoing across the void.
"Can't hide those broken pieces~ some strings are all that's left~"
Her voice was familiar—achingly familiar.
"Fall apart and fall~" she sang gently, almost like a lullaby. "You'll rise again, my dear…"
"..."
The shadows consumed him whole.
"You'll rise again, my dear…"
Her gaze drifted toward a glimmer in the darkness. Not far from where Amon lay, a pendant floated. A teardrop-shaped violet crystal, wrapped in silver spirals etched with green runes, bound in golden chains that bound it still.
It was the same good luck charm he would place over his neck. Except, here, numerous golden chains were warped around it.
"You're such a handful…" she sighed, closing her eyes.
"…little brother Amon."
Yes, she was his aunt, the sister of Agnes.
So why did she call him little brother?
That was a story for another time.
Author's Note:
Just to clarify, the dream sequence with Amon and his mother isn't "made up." It's a real memory from his past—something that happened earlier in his life, even if I haven't given a specific age. I wanted it to feel more like a hazy recollection, something slipping through his subconscious rather than a clean flashback. That's why it's fragmented and dreamlike.
Over time, more of these memories will surface, each showing pieces of who Amon was before everything changed.
Chapter.
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