The room was simple—no windows, just old, weathered stone walls cracked and worn as if abandoned for millennia. Dust coated every surface, lingering in the air like a memory of decay. And yet, against one wall, stood a bed.
Unlike the room, the bed looked almost new, comfortable, even modern. On it lay a boy with obsidian-black hair, asleep.
Beside the bed, a man sat in a wooden chair, his right leg resting on his left, arms crossed. His hair was the same pitch-black as the boy's, his eyes onyx, unblinking, fixed solely on the sleeping figure. His expression was unreadable. Only the faint glow of wall torches lit the room, casting shadows that, unnervingly, didn't flicker as they should. It was as if time itself held still.
A quiet creak sounded from the worn door behind the man as it opened. Jasmine entered, sighing softly at the sight of her father, then closed the door, approaching him.
"…Dad. Everyone outside is confused. They don't know whether to explore the sunken islands and try to claim them, or to retreat. They're lost without you—without your reassurance."
Her voice carried a thread of concern.
Joaquin hummed in acknowledgment but didn't turn. His eyes remained locked on Azriel.
Jasmine's lips twitched slightly at his silence. She glanced at her little brother, noticing for the first time the ominous armor he wore, even as he lay on the bed.
Her brows knit as she observed the sweat on his brow, the strained expression on his face, his shallow breaths.
"He's having a nightmare," Joaquin murmured, anticipating her question. Jasmine's concern deepened.
"Shouldn't we wake him?"
Joaquin shook his head.
"He needs rest. He's been pushing his body hard, straining his mana core over and over. If he doesn't recover, this won't end well."
She bit her lip, glancing at Azriel's pale face, worry shadowing her features.
'What are you even doing?'
Not finding an answer, she turned back to Joaquin.
"…You should eat something, at least. We brought enough food for you and your men."
He shook his head again.
"Give it to the soldiers. I don't need it."
"How long are we going to be here, Dad?"
Joaquin glanced at her briefly.
"We'll leave as soon as your little brother wakes."
She blinked in surprise.
'He's coming too? And just like that, the islands are left unexplored?'
Hesitating, she asked,
"Are you… going to sit here the whole time, just watching Azriel?"
His response was immediate, leaving her unsettled. She shook her head, struggling to understand him.
"Dad, instead of watching him sleep, maybe it's better if you finish things up out there…"
Silence filled the room for several seconds. She thought he wouldn't answer her. She could never understand him—her own father. He was a mystery, a wall she could never scale.
Then, unexpectedly, he spoke, his voice low.
"It's rare for so many void rifts to appear at once. Unexpected… horrible. Some people got pulled in, some ran and were trampled, others fought and died. But your little brother… he simply stood still. Not out of fear. Just… watching."
Jasmine's breath caught. He'd never spoken of that day—never explained how it all happened.
And Joaquin had always maintained that Azriel wasn't dead, despite the day he was supposed to have been lost to them forever.
"I was there, and that should've been enough for him," Joaquin continued, his voice tightening.
"I made sure to keep him safe, even as I fought. Azriel kept watching me, and I was proud. But then… I stopped watching him, just for a moment. A single second."
He fell silent, his gaze still locked on Azriel.
"That's when he vanished," he murmured.
"One second, he was there, and the next… he was gone. Like he'd been erased from existence."
A chill gripped Jasmine as she listened. She found no words to comfort him, feeling the bitterness still lodged in her own heart. Their family had shattered long ago. She, her mother, and Joaquin—all of them had fractured in different ways. Only Azriel's return had given them a sliver of hope, a chance to piece things back together.
Joaquin's eyes narrowed.
"But there was never a void rift. If there had been, I would have known. I would have felt the shift in mana, seen the signs. There was nothing. Azriel simply… vanished."
Joaquin's face hardened, his tone sharpened.
"So yes, Jasmine, I'm going to keep watching him. This time, I won't look away. Not for a second. Not in this place… especially not here, where anything could happen."
A shiver crawled down Jasmine's spine as the room's shadows seemed to deepen, the torches' flames flickering wildly as if they were finally freed from an invisible hold. For a moment, it felt like a hundred unseen eyes were upon her. Then, as quickly as it started, the strange tension eased.
Joaquin let out a low, dark chuckle.
"It seems I'm contradicting myself more these days."
Jasmine watched him, her expression troubled. She sighed once more, her thoughts swirling.
'Crazy… everyone around me is insane. Why couldn't I just have a normal family?'
She looked at Azriel, his face still twisted as if trapped in some terrible dream. Her expression softened. She wanted to wake him, to free him from whatever haunted his sleep, but she couldn't defy her father.
As she turned to leave, she froze, her ears catching a faint whisper.
"I… feel sick… it hurts… please… make it stop…"
Jasmine's eyes widened as she saw a tear slip down Azriel's face.
Her voice was laced with urgency as she clenched her fists, her heart aching.
'To hell with it. I'm waking him up!'
She took a step toward the bed, but something made her pause. An eerie silence had settled over the room, an unnatural chill brushing against her skin. Frowning, she turned back to Joaquin.
But her blood ran cold.
He sat motionless, his eyes fixed on Azriel, his face unchanged—except for one difference.
A black arrow protruded from his back, its head piercing his chest, blood trickling down from the wound.
'I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. It's a lie. No, it's all a lie. It can't be true—this is a joke, a cruel joke. It hurts, it hurts—no, it doesn't. I'm lying. No, it's not I—it's me. Yes, it isn't I. I was never lying. They aren't dead. I didn't kill them. It was me—not I—it was me. Yes…they died in a car accident. I didn't kill them. Only me… Ah, I really feel sick. It hurts—but it doesn't.
I feel sick, I feel sick, I feel sick, I feel sick. It's all I feel. Sick. Sick. Sick. It's all around me. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick…'
Azriel's mind swam, disoriented and hollow. His thoughts blurred, fractured. He tried to remember where he was, why his limbs felt like lead, but nothing came. Only flashes of white light, burning his eyes every time he tried to blink—if he was blinking at all.
he wondered, but it felt like he hadn't moved at all. His body was sluggish, numb, yet there was a faint ache, like he'd been stretched thin and left to dry out.
Then a thought struck him, sharp and cold.
He couldn't control his body.
He would've screamed if he could. His lips were sealed, his tongue dead weight. The only thing still moving was his vision, dragged along as his head turned. He was locked inside, like a puppet watching through its own eyes.
The room around him flickered, sterile and cold, its white walls washed out by harsh fluorescent lights. It looked like a hospital room at first glance, but something was wrong—too clean, too stripped of comfort. No pillows, no blankets, just a bare mattress and cold metal restraints around his wrists and ankles, biting into his skin.
The walls were lined with metal tables, littered with instruments that glinted under the light—scalpels, thick syringes, empty vials, and clamps. Across from him, dark monitors flickered, displaying lines of code he couldn't understand, the green text scrolling endlessly like some malignant heartbeat.
He tried to swallow, his throat dry as sand, but nothing happened. Even that simple reflex was gone. Panic began clawing up his mind, a frantic dread filling every part of him as his vision swayed with each forced turn of his head.
A man entered the room, clad in a stark white lab coat, his face hidden behind a mask. His gloves gleamed under the light, and round glasses perched on his nose, framing two mismatched eyes—one green, one blue. They were sharp, dissecting, eyes that looked at him.
Azriel felt his own body freeze at the man's gaze, trapped in terror he couldn't even express.
And behind that mask, Azriel could swear the man was smiling.
"Lucky boy," the man said, his voice lilting with a sickly cheer.
"We found you drifting, broken and alone in the void realm. But don't worry."
He tilted his head, that smile widening beneath the mask.
"No more nightmares for you. Get comfortable, Subject 666… You're in safe hands now."