He felt blank where his mind ought to have been: No thoughts arose in him, just a deep, humming, confused feeling.
He did not know where he was or what was happening. It felt more nonworldly than sickdreamish, a delusion he would never awake from.
Then the silence was broken by the voice, gently.
"Are you okay, Azrael?"
The head slowly turned towards the voice. Gently the name jabbed into his mind with trepidation: A name was familiar but belonged to a pro-wrestler in his own right: The name, Azrael, was his.
His eyes were stuck across the person calling him. Under her gaze, he forgot to breathe. The face was a cavernous gasp, somewhere being sucked up in the bottom of his own chest.
He had drawn her likeness in hundreds of sketches.
Magnificent beauty. The silvery long hair stirred by the morning sunlight twinkled around her head like magic. Bright and clear green eyes, pointy at the ends. Half-elven.
She was Elvara.
Protagonist of the narrative. The woman who would witness his death without a single tear. She was real. Right here.
She lay on the magnificent and large bed, with silk sheets and pillows so plush they resembled clouds. Then, he remembers lying in that bed. He'd been sleeping beside her.
A wave of pure terror shook in cold.
Wait. If I'm Azrael and she's the heroine Elvara, and we were sleeping together... His mind was clicking with all sorts of scenarios. Then we are married already. This is real. I am in this story for real.
A rude wake-up call. Heart thundering, he recoiled from her. This was life now, not a dream. A nightmare.
Images of family raced into his mind.
'Mama... What for poor Hana? What is going to happen to them?' It was screaming ever inside his mind. 'Who will get the medicines? Who will pay school fees? Alone.'
He clutched a handful of his hair with shaking hands and yanked. The weight of dying in his past slashed through, mixing with the perilous new one. A sort of mixture to keep him captive.
Giving cognizance to his emotional breakdown, Elvara arose from the bed.
She was clad in a simple nightgown of white but looked no less enchanting than a princess from the fairy tales. With her facial expression contorted with some tension, she said:
"Lord Azrael, you seem to be in bad health," she continued in a very low voice. "I shall send for a maid. I shall summon a doctor."
And she started walking towards the door.
"Wait," he managed to say in a strained voice. He could not let her call more people into this room; he needed time to gather his thoughts on putting everything that was happening in his mind.
She turned back again. "No need," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I just... really... need to be alone for some time."
Elvara stared at him with wide-open emerald eyes, not used to someone addressing her this way. The real Azrael had usually been very cold and unyielding.
"As you wish, my lord," she said, bowing her head slightly. "But it is already time for the academy. Aren't you going today?"
'The academy,' he thought. He knew that part of the story. Azrael was a student at the Royal Academy, a school attended by the powerful nobles' children. He was eighteen years old and in his first year.
He even remembered that the real Azrael had forbidden her from entering the academy. She was a year younger than him. How sad that such beauty could be kept locked away in a mansion for just one man.
This marriage was not for love. It was a matter of business. Not that Elvara's father had been a noble, but his clan had not been as high as the Ashveil family.
He had needed to cement his connections with their power.
The Ashveil family controlled monopoly businesses all over the kingdom. They also might possibly boast one of the strongest private armies.
There was not such a thing as kings around here - only power - on continents ruled by families, the Ashveil's ranking third among them.
Before dying, Azrael's father had promised Elvara's father his son would marry her. From a business viewpoint, that was possibly one of the shrewder moves.
Thus, a fit heir would be born of him. The heir born of his human bloodline and Elvara's half-elven blood was alleged to be stronger and faster, not to mention being able to live longer.
Everything was for the future of the family.
At the moment, he's staring at Kenji, or rather, Azrael, in front of him. The girl was nothing but another tool in a game she knew she was going to hate. Just like him.
With a wave of depression, he hardly knew what to do. He felt that his own issues dimmed in the face of what awaited his family. He was not worried about himself, instead about them.
Finally, he said aloud, "I'm not going today. Leave me alone."
Elvara twitched at his tone, a bitter rising in her throat. She dusted off her bright dress and was soon outside, allowing the heavy wooden door to close behind her.
He could now be by himself.
He remained inside for three days.
Not once did he speak to anyone. The maids would serve food on silver trays; he refused it.
Only a small crust of bread or a sip of water occasionally crashed through the dullness of hunger when it turned to a sharpness in his stomach.
He sat by the window looking at a world he did not recognize. There were beautiful gardens, and there were workers moving about in silence.
He had only drawn these upon paper. Truly, it felt like the world lost its wealth and power.
A storm brewed inside him. His mother smiled and his sister laughed. They were waiting for him. Then his mind pictured their fear when he didn't come.
'Will they be all right? Will someone save them?' This incessant torture gripped his mind. A hollow despair pulse dragged him down below the surface of life. He hated it; he wanted to go home.
There came something strange on the sunset of the third day.
A glimmer appeared midair from the center of the room, brighter and brighter; quite suddenly, it took on the shape of a being.
The following moments saw the light dim and fade away, consequently leaving a standing figure in utter darkness.
The figure was familiar. It was him; the face looking back at his was the mirror image of the one he now possessed.
What was different, however, was this one had an ethereal brownish-blackness about it somewhat ghostly. This was the real Azrael.
"You might be confused, Kenji, " mumbled the ghost. It had a calm tone, but a sadness hung heavily in it.
Kenji stood shocked, frozen. This ghost knew his real name.
''I can see your thoughts,'' stated the projection of Azrael. ''You want to know what is happening. I cannot answer all of your questions. I am not physical in this realm. This is merely my projection, the message I left behind before my death.''
The phantom smiled a bittersweet smile. "For now, I am here to guide you."
He responded, saying, "I will never tell you why you are here or how this happened. Yet, I can tell you the answer to the most important question, the one that is tearing you apart."
The ghost looked upon him with eyes of understanding, ones that, somehow, understood his pains.
'Your family,' Azrael said softly. 'I assure you, Kenji, if you complete the mission, you will meet your family again. And not just that. All your pains, and all their pains will pass away. You will live an exuberant life, Kenji. So help me in this task.
Kenji stared aghast. 'Task? What task? No way is it Azrael.
The ghost seemed to have read his mind and answered, "Yes, I'm Azrael. Or what's left of him.
Your task is to change the destiny of Azrael Ashveil. It may sound easy to someone who hasn't done it, but it's harder than you think."
The projection of Azrael floated a bit closer now.
"Now, you probably think you have an advantage," he said. "You've read the story. You know what comes next. You think you can just avoid the mistakes I made and climb the ladder of power."
"But this will not do. This world is not as simple as the one in the book."
The ghost flickered slightly.
"I know your past, Kenji. I know how much you have suffered. But you will suffer in this world too. But I want you to do something for me. Something I was never able to do."
He looked at Kenji, his ghostly eyes pleading.
"I want you to enjoy every moment of life here. Find happiness every chance you get. Live the life I could never have."
This ghost then fell silent, letting the words settle.
"And remember, you do not need to worry for your mother and sister. They will not suffer. Trust me on this."
A faint spark of hope flared in Kenji's chest. The first spark he had felt in three days. If whatever this ghost was saying was true, then that meant there was a reason behind all this.
There was an exit.
"Lastly," as the real Azrael began to fade, "I have a parting gift for you. Something to help you on your way."