Pitch black.
No sky. No ground. No air to breathe.
Oscar floated in the darkness, his senses collapsing one by one. Time twisted—he couldn't tell if seconds or centuries passed. His chest ached, his head pounded, and—
The voices.
Thousands. No—millions. Whispering in languages he didn't know. Screaming. Laughing. Praying.
"W-where… am I…?" he muttered, clutching his temples. "Is this the afterlife? Or… hell?"
The pain swelled like waves crashing against his skull. And then—
Silence.
A void deeper than thought, darker than fear. And from within it, something moved.
"Welcome to the Void... Sword Demon."
"Or should I call you… dead?"
The voice came from everywhere. Ancient. Cold. Disgustingly calm.
A dim throne of smoke appeared in front of Oscar, and atop it sat a figure made of shadows and light, its face changing every second — child, beast, old man, woman, god, corpse — until Oscar couldn't tell what it really was.
"Please, sit down."
"We've been waiting for you for a long, long time."
Oscar collapsed to his knees, his legs numb. He stared at the being, unblinking.
"Who… who are you?"
"We are the Void."
"And we've been watching you your whole life."
"Now it's time to review your last life and decide…"
A spiral of glowing shards appeared around them — memories.
Oscar's brother laughing. His mother's hands brushing his hair. The battlefield soaked in blood. Betrayal. Screams. Fire.
"...Will you reincarnate?"
"Or go to hell?"
Oscar's throat went dry. Rage and grief tore through his chest.
"Why would I get a choice? After everything… I should be burning."
"You should."
"But someone… intervened."
A crack formed in the blackness. A single thread of red light pierced the void.
"Your brother's final words. Your comrades' final will. Their sacrifice distorted your fate."
Oscar trembled. He gritted his teeth.
"Then send me back."
"As what?"
"I don't care. A dog. A roach. A slave."
He stared directly into the swirling void's endless eyes.
"But I'll survive."
And one day… I'll kill them all."
The void rumbled.
"Interesting."
"Very well… then live again. But know this—"
The figure raised a hand. Black flames wrapped around Oscar's soul.
"This world you're going to?"
"It doesn't care who you were."
"You will suffer more than before."
"Then let it."
Oscar's body was swallowed by light and flame.
He fell.
Through space. Through time. Through fate.
And somewhere, in a world ruled by chains and cruelty, a slave was born under a dying moon.
His eyes opened—haunted, hollow, and already filled with a hatred older than his age.
He opened his eyes again.
But this time—it wasn't the void.
It was... a damp ceiling made of rotted wood. Smoke drifted in the air. A woman's labored breathing echoed beside him, shallow and weak.
Oscar couldn't move. His limbs were tiny. Powerless. Cold.
"What…?"
He tried to speak, but only a whimper came out.
"My throat… my mouth… I can't—"
That's when he realized:
He was a newborn.
His body shook. Not from fear. From something deeper—something wrong. A mismatch between his mind and form.
"This is what I asked for, isn't it?"
"To come back. No matter how low. No matter how pathetic."
His tiny fingers twitched, curling into fists.
A cry erupted from his mouth—instinctual. Loud. Weak. But inside his thoughts raged like fire.
"Sword Demon, reborn as a worm."
He turned his head.
A pale woman lay beside him—thin, bruised, dressed in rags. Her hands weakly reached toward him, trembling, but full of warmth.
His mother…?
No. Not his mother. But someone who would raise him now. A slave woman, held in chains, beaten down by a life not her own.
"She looks like her…" he thought, as old grief twisted in his chest.
"No. Don't compare. Don't get attached."
But the warmth in her touch… the way she held him close, despite the blood and exhaustion…
"Damn it all."
He wanted to scream. He wanted to fight. But all he could do was cry. All he could do was exist—as a child, in a body too weak to carry the weight of vengeance.
Outside the shack, cruel voices barked orders. Whips cracked. Dogs snarled.
"Bring out the new batch!"
"Another useless mouth born last night!"
The door creaked open, and light flooded in. Harsh footsteps approached.
Oscar's eyes narrowed.
He didn't understand this world yet. Its rulers, its laws, its monsters.
But deep within his infant heart, one truth already carved itself into his soul:
"I'll survive this, too."
"And I'll burn this world to the ground."
The days bled into nights.
And those nights into nightmares.
Oscar couldn't tell how long he had lived in this wretched place—days? Weeks? Months?
But he remembered everything.
Even in his fragile body, his soul remained aware. Observing. Burning. Brewing.
Waiting.
The slave camp stank of piss, rot, and ash.
Dozens of shacks—barely standing—lined the muddy path. Men and women worked from before dawn until their fingers bled, only to be rewarded with scraps thrown in the dirt.
Children were not spared.
Tiny hands carried coal. Cracked feet bled on jagged rocks. Whips didn't discriminate between age and obedience.
Oscar watched it all.
His new mother, too frail to speak some days, dragged herself outside to carry logs twice her weight.
One night, she collapsed.
The guards laughed.
"We told her to stop breeding."
"Let the dogs eat her."
Oscar could only scream. A baby's wail. Powerless.
But in his mind…
His mind raged like a storm.
"I will carve your names into my bones."
"And I will spit them back at you when I tear your throats out."
Every week, the slaves were lined up.
Anyone who stole food, dropped tools, or simply looked too slow—was dragged out in front of everyone.
No questions. No mercy.
Whipped. Branded. Executed.
Children were made to watch. To learn.
Oscar did more than learn.
He memorized.
The structure of the guards' rotations.
The cruelty of the overseers.
The hierarchy of scum who laughed while innocents bled.
And in those moments, the void whispered to him again.
"You were born for this."
"Pain is your womb. Rage is your breath."
"Become what they fear."
A young boy—barely older than Oscar—was caught stealing a rotten apple for his sister.
He was dragged to the pit.
Stripped.
Chained.
And burned alive.
The smell of charred flesh soaked the wind.
Oscar didn't cry.
He looked at the ashes.
Then up at the stars.
And smiled—just barely.
"Every star will one day weep for me."
"They'll sing songs of the Roach that wouldn't die."
The fire had long died.
Only ashes remained—scattered like forgotten dreams on the cold, blackened soil. The wind carried the scent of sorrow, and no one spoke of the boy again. As if he never existed.
But Oscar couldn't forget.
That night, in the darkness of his shack, barely able to move, he closed his newborn eyes and whispered… not words, but intent.
A wish. A prayer.
"If there's anything left in this world beyond pain… let that boy find peace."
"I didn't even know his name, but someone has to remember him."
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you."
He didn't expect anything.
But the world… shifted.
A flicker of warmth bloomed within his chest — so faint, he thought it was a dream. But then, in the suffocating silence of the night, he felt a presence.
Soft. Gentle. Like sunlight on a ruined battlefield.
And then… a voice. Distant, but clear.
"You... remembered me."
"No one ever did before."
"Thank you... even if just one person cared... I can move on."
Oscar's small heart thumped.
For the first time in this cursed life — he felt acknowledged.
A single tear rolled down his cheek.
And something deep inside him responded.
A dormant thread… tugged.
The void within him rippled—not in anger, but in reverence.
As if the act of mourning… was power.
[You have awakened a fragment of: "Unseen Thread – Soul of Mourning."]
Effect: When you grieve for the forgotten, their spirits may answer.
Some may offer blessings. Others… curses.
The world will begin to listen.
He didn't know it yet…
But the Roach had just lit his first match.
And the fire would spread.
That night, Oscar fell into a deep sleep — the kind that should've been dreamless for a child so young.
But the void within him stirred.
He found himself standing in a field of sunflowers, tall and golden, swaying in a warm breeze. The sky above was soft orange. The world felt… peaceful.
And then he saw him.
The boy who'd burned.
No scars. No chains. Just a child in clean clothes, running toward a small cottage where a kind-faced woman called out to him.
"Come back inside, Eren! Supper's ready!"
Oscar's breath caught.
The boy — Eren, now — turned, his smile full of light, and for a brief moment… looked right at him.
"Thank you," he said, lips moving without sound, eyes shimmering with peace.
"Because you remembered me… I got another chance."
The dream dissolved into mist — and Oscar woke with a silent gasp, his baby eyes wide.
He didn't understand how or why. But he knew that wasn't just a dream.
Somewhere beyond the chains of this world…
The forgotten were listening.
And one of them had moved on.
But deep in the dark rafters of the slave barn, hidden behind broken beams and dust-covered sigils, an eye opened.
Faint. Ancient. Watching.
"A soul… that prays for the dead?"
"A seed like that… must not be left to grow."
The world had noticed him.
And not all of it was kind.
As Oscar laid in silence, heart pounding from the dream, something else stirred in the corners of the void… again.
But this time, it wasn't just him.
A flicker.
Then another.
One by one, faint silhouettes stood within a hazy realm beyond the living. Warriors cloaked in fractured light — some missing limbs, some scarred, all familiar.
His comrades.
The ones who had died for him.
Their armor still burned, blood still fresh… but their eyes were calm.
"He survived," one whispered.
"Then our deaths were worth it," another replied.
One stepped forward — the youngest of the group, barely older than a boy. He grinned, the same crooked grin he had when they stood together in battle.
"Next time… I'll be stronger. When we meet again, I'll protect you."
Another nodded, his heavy voice echoing across the dreamlike void.
"We may be dust now, but fate has strange ways. We'll return — changed… forged in new lives. If this world dares to break him again…"
"…we will be there. And this time, we'll burn it first."
As they spoke, threads of light began to flow from their faded bodies, drifting away into the unknown like shooting stars — rebirth.
Their souls were not gone.
They were on their way back.
Back in the physical world, Oscar's infant form trembled in his sleep — a single tear sliding down his cheek.
Somewhere deep inside, even if he didn't know their names yet…
He remembered them.
And somewhere across the world…
Those threads of light would soon awaken in new bodies, growing quietly stronger.
Drawn by something they couldn't explain.
A pull toward a boy with dead eyes and a prayer in his heart.
Somewhere beyond the realm of mortal thought, where time curled in upon itself and light had no meaning—
They stood.
Oscar's fallen comrades — all five of them — floated in a stilled, cosmic chamber. Each of them now separated, encased in transparent spheres of swirling black mist and golden threads.
A voice echoed—not from above or below, but from everywhere and nowhere.
"Subject 037—Designation: Alaric. Confirm soul identity."
A gaunt, expressionless humanoid form stepped forward from the fog. No eyes, no face — only an endless mask of mirrored glass. Its presence was cold, inhuman, methodical.
Alaric, the spear-bearer, clenched his fists.
"What the hell is this? Who are you?"
"We are the Watchers of Convergence. Your sacrifice triggered a deviation event. We must evaluate potential contamination."
"Contamination?" Alaric spat. "I died for a brother."
The mirrored being tilted its head.
"Then let us see."
Without warning, images flooded around Alaric — memories of Oscar, of their final stand, of his scream as the gate closed.
Alaric's voice cracked.
"He wasn't supposed to suffer again…"
The entity remained silent.
Then it turned.
"Subject 038. Kaelen. Confirm soul identity."
One by one, they were evaluated — their emotions peeled back, their fears examined, their devotion to Oscar dissected like variables in a grand equation.
But despite everything, not one of them wavered.
Each answered the same when asked, "Why did you die for him?"
"Because he remembered us."
"Because he fought, even when broken."
"Because his pain was ours."
"Because we believed in who he could become."
"Because he was family."
At the end of the interviews, the mirrored entity paused… unnaturally still. Then, for the first time, it spoke not in analysis, but in what sounded like unease.
"This unit cannot quantify… loyalty of such caliber."
"Subject Oscar… is not supposed to exist in this timeline."
It raised a hand.
"And yet… he defies deletion."
A deep, mechanical hum filled the space — like the heartbeat of an ancient machine waking up.