Darkness enveloped everything, an unyielding void that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. Leon's consciousness flickered, teetering on the edge of oblivion, yet within the confines of his mind, he remained starkly awake. The silence pressed against him like a weight, and no light pierced through the suffocating black. It was as if the universe itself had decided to hold him in this liminal space, suspended between existence and the inevitable.
His thoughts churned chaotically, tangled with the bitter sting of regret. Memories and unfinished moments clawed at him, each one sharper than the last. He had failed—failed to see her one final time, to wish her a happy birthday, to place the long-promised ring upon her grave. The image of her face, once radiant with life, danced hauntingly in the recesses of his mind. It was a cruel reminder of the promises left unkept, of words never spoken.
How unjust, how utterly unfair. The pain of his missed chances weighed heavier than any wound could. He had fought so hard, endured so much, and yet, in the end, he had been robbed of the one thing that mattered most. The darkness seemed to echo his despair, a reflection of the void she had left behind.
As the silence lingered, Leon's thoughts began to spiral, drifting toward the inevitable question: what would happen to him now? Would he face eternal punishment for the life he had lived, for the weight of his sins? The notion settled heavily in his chest, momentarily darkening his already somber reflections. But he pushed the thought aside with a faint, bitter exhale. Maybe there was nothing after this—just the quiet finality of oblivion. He had never believed in gods or salvation, after all.
To Leon, gods were no more than the constructs of desperate minds, fleeting comforts for those seeking something greater to cling to, or a means to impose morality on the wavering hearts of humanity. In his darkest hours, no divine hand had ever reached out to him, no ethereal voice had offered guidance or solace. Why, then, should he believe now, when it mattered least?
And yet, beneath his cynicism, a faint ember of longing flickered. If there truly was a beyond, if the afterlife were anything more than wishful thinking, there was only one thing he wanted: Asta. Just to see her again, even for a fleeting moment, would make all the uncertainty and darkness worth enduring.
Moments later, Leon's mind began to dull, a heavy numbness spreading through him. His body, broken and battered, was too far gone to resist the pull. Rest—it seemed inevitable now. An eternity of oblivion or damnation awaited him, though the former felt more probable, more merciful. Hell, with its fiery rhetoric spouted by the devout, had never seemed real to him, only an invention of frightened minds seeking to impose order. He'd take the void over flames any day.
Yet, buried deep within the fading echoes of his thoughts, a singular longing clung stubbornly to life. He wanted to see her again. Just once. A glimpse of Asta, a fleeting moment to hold onto before the darkness consumed him whole. As the numbness claimed the last vestiges of his strength, his mind began to quiet. Thoughts fell away, noise disappeared, and even regret slipped into the void.
Only her face remained.
But then...
Why the hell do I hear something?
Muffled voices intruded on the silence, faint at first, barely distinguishable from the void. But they grew louder, inch by inch, dragging him toward awareness. He tried to move, to respond, but his body wouldn't obey. Slowly, the darkness began to peel away, revealing a blurry world that Leon didn't recognize.
When the haze lifted, he saw her: a young girl sitting in front of him, her small frame trembling with sobs. Puffy eyes rimmed red, tears streaming unchecked, and a sniffle punctuating her shaky breaths. She wiped at her face with trembling hands, but the flow of tears didn't stop.
Leon blinked, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and confusion. His instincts screamed caution, yet his thoughts scrambled to make sense of what lay before him.
...Where the hell am I?
Before he could process it, a searing pain burst in his head, sharp and unrelenting. He raised a hand instinctively to soothe it, but the movement stopped halfway. His hand froze in midair, and his gaze dropped to it with alarm.
It was small. Smooth. Nothing like the calloused hands he had known his entire life.
What the hell happened?
He didn't have time to dwell on the question. Heavy footsteps thundered closer, and in a heartbeat, a force collided with him. A soft oomph escaped his lips as he was enveloped in strong, protective arms. Whoever held him dwarfed his current size, their presence commanding yet urgent.
Hands tilted his face gently to one side, guiding his gaze upward. Four faces hovered above him, each painted with concern and panic. Two crouched close by, their frantic voices blending into a whirlwind of questions, while two more stood behind, anxiously glancing between Leon and the crying girl.
The one holding him—a young man with broad shoulders—peered down at him, his features etched with worry. His hand moved across Leon's face, stopping at his forehead. Leon winced as the man's fingers brushed the tender spot, earning a sharp hiss.
"My god... Liz, what happened" the man exclaimed, his voice tight with alarm.
Wait.
Liz?
Leon's confusion mounted, his thoughts tangling in a blur of disbelief and disorientation. The name felt foreign, yet familiar. His mind grappled for clarity, but nothing made sense. Around him, chaos unfolded—the young girl sobbed louder, the couple hovered and fussed over him, and the others tried to comfort the distraught child.
What in the world had happened?