Yet another glorious dawn in this self-proclaimed tropical paradise, the 'Tower of Heaven'. The sun, with an irritating punctuality, rose over the grey stones and ubiquitous dust, bringing with it the wonderful and inspiring morning melody of bricks being stacked with contagious enthusiasm, and enslaved children dragging their chains with a 'joy' that was almost palpable. Or perhaps it was just the scraping of metal against the hard ground. Minor details.
"Good morning, my dear and cynical operating system," I said, stretching languidly on my luxurious stone and straw accommodation, a gesture more intended to annoy the guards than out of any real necessity. "What a beautiful and promising day for us to enjoy the myriad sophisticated delights of this five-star holiday resort, don't you think? Perhaps later I'll order some room service. A spot of water without rust would be divine."
[You truly have no limits to your sarcasm, do you, Azra'il?] Eos's voice echoed in my mind, laden with that deliciously dry tone I so appreciated. [Need I remind you that this place is, objectively speaking, the closest to literal hell we've had the displeasure of visiting in many of your incarnations? And mind you, we've visited some particularly inventive hells.]
"Well, well, Eos, what's with this morning pessimism? Where's your adventurous spirit?" I scoffed, getting up and shaking the dust from my improvised clothes, which had seen considerably better days. "Just look around us, my dear. Behold this idyllic landscape. Smiling, hardworking children 'playing' at building a tower for some dubious cult, the relaxing, meditative sound of chains scraping in perfect harmony, the beautiful and imposing view of the ever-under-construction tower – what paradise could be more authentic and invigorating than this?"
I cast a dramatically amused glance at the group of children passing me, carrying heavy stones with expressions of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Or perhaps it was just exhaustion and despair. Expressions are so subjective.
"See how happy and fulfilled they are, Eos," I continued, gesturing with a theatrical flourish that would have made a Greek tragedian proud. "Running, laughing, having fun with their little friends whilst learning the value of hard work and building monuments to obscure gods. It's almost as if they're in a theme park! 'The Park of Eternal Suffering', perhaps? It has a certain ring to it."
[Azra'il, with all due respect for your attempt at humour, they are being brutally enslaved,] Eos retorted, her voice laced with an exasperation that was almost palpable. [They are being forced to work to the point of physical and mental exhaustion, under the constant threat of violence. There is nothing fun or relaxing about this.]
"Precisely! Bingo!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands with contagious enthusiasm, or at least I hoped it was. "That only makes the whole experience even more authentic and memorable! Nothing like a bit of forced labour, hunger, and despair to give that special touch of reality to a truly exclusive holiday resort. Where else would you find such complete immersion?"
Eos was silent for a few moments, a silence I imagined was filled with her trying to decide whether she should simply mentally punch me via our neural connection or switch herself off completely and leave me to my philosophical reflections on the nature of suffering and entertainment.
[You are unbelievable, Azra'il,] she finally said, her voice resigned, but with a hint of what might be reluctant amusement. [I truly don't know how you manage to turn this abject, depressing hellhole into something remotely funny or bearable.]
"As I always say, my dear Eos, it's a gift. An innate ability. A special talent for finding the absurd in the tragic and the comical in the desperate," I replied, with a smirk that didn't reach my eyes but served its purpose of maintaining the facade. "Besides, you know very well I can't stand boring, monotonous places. At least here, in this den of perdition, I have some source of entertainment, however morbid it may be. Observing human stupidity in its purest form is a fascinating pastime."
My eyes, almost of their own accord, drifted to Erza, who, with admirable stubbornness, was carrying a stone that seemed to be at least twice her size. Her small, grimy face was contorted into a mask of effort and concentration, but there was a fierce determination in her brown eyes, and she seemed, somehow, to be striving to keep the other members of her small group motivated, offering words of encouragement between gasping breaths. A born leader, even in such terrible circumstances. Or perhaps just too stubborn to give up.
[You really don't care one jot about their suffering, do you, Azra'il?] Eos murmured, her voice this time devoid of sarcasm, almost… sad. [You're just here, amusing yourself with the spectacle, as if it were a particularly grim play.]
"Care?" I scoffed, my tone purposefully light and dismissive. "Eos, my dear and logical friend, my functional empathy level is currently located somewhere remote between 'clinically dead' and 'profoundly and irreversibly catatonic'. I merely observe them with a certain anthropological interest because, frankly, it's infinitely better and more stimulating than watching those idiotic cultist guards with the IQ of an amoeba trying to juggle prisoners or scratch their private parts in public. It's a matter of aesthetic preference, nothing more."
[Of course, of course, Azra'il. Precisely,] Eos replied, her voice now laden with sarcasm so thick one could cut it with a rusty bread knife. [And that's exactly why, due to this utter and complete lack of empathy of yours, you discretely intervene with increasing frequency to protect them from the guards' worst abuses, isn't it? For pure and simple 'aesthetic preference'. Makes perfect sense.]
I cast an irritated mental glare at the holographic screen representing Eos's interface in my mind, refusing to respond directly to her precise and annoying provocation. It wasn't as if I genuinely cared about those children, after all. I just… disliked seeing children, or any defenceless being, beaten or tortured for no reason. It was a matter of… aesthetics, of good taste. Unnecessary violence is so terribly déclassé and inefficient. Nothing more than that. Definitely.
[You can keep deluding yourself all you like, Azra'il,] Eos replied, her voice again charged with an amused, knowing sarcasm. [But I have direct access to your neural patterns and your subconscious emotional fluctuations. And I know, with a statistically insignificant margin of error, that there's far more going on in there than you're willing to admit, even to yourself.] Damn meddling AI and her emotional analysis algorithms.
"Eos, how many times do I have to repeat that I don't care about them in some sentimental, inconvenient way?" I grumbled, more to myself than to her, as my eyes continued to watch the children working under the merciless sun. "I just… dislike seeing gratuitous, unnecessary violence, especially against the weaker ones. It's a matter of principle. Distorted justice, perhaps. But not affection."
[Of course, of course, Azra'il. And that's precisely why, due to this noble and dispassionate aversion of yours to unnecessary violence, you're always keeping an eye on those particular children, especially the stubborn little redhead, isn't it?] Eos teased, knowing exactly where to push. [You're growing attached to them, my dear ancestral entity. Admit it. It's almost cute, in a terribly dysfunctional sort of way.]
I snorted, a sound that was a mixture of irritation and resignation, refusing to take the bait and respond to her provocation. Instead, my eyes, almost by an involuntary reflex, drifted again to Erza, who was now leading her small group with fierce determination, organising the transportation of stones with surprising efficiency for a child her age. There was something about that girl, that indomitable stubbornness of hers, that willpower that seemed to break all barriers, which intrigued me profoundly, which reminded me, in a vague and somewhat painful way, a little of myself when I was younger… many, many lifetimes ago.
Whilst I observed, engrossed in my thoughts and Eos's taunts, Erza, overburdened and likely exhausted, stumbled on a protruding root, dropping the enormous stone she was carrying with a dull thud. Before she could seriously injure herself from the falling stone or the wrath of some bored guard, I quickly, almost instinctively, approached and caught the stone with an ease that would have seemed suspicious to any more attentive observer, preventing it from hitting the ground or, worse, the girl's bare foot.
"Oi, little one," I said, my voice laced with an amusement I couldn't completely disguise, as I balanced the stone with one hand. "Mind your step there. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself and ruin your promising career as a stone-carrier in this paradisiacal resort, would we?"
Erza stared at me, surprised by my sudden appearance and unexpected help. Her brown eyes, normally filled with a frightened caution, now shone with stubborn irritation and a hint of defiance.
"I'm not little!" she exclaimed, with adorable conviction, crossing her arms over her chest in a stubborn, defensive gesture that was surprisingly similar to one I myself used to make. "I'm taller than you, Azra'il! I've told you that!"
I smirked, a genuine, amused smile, as I gently placed the stone back in its place. Her petulance was refreshing.
"Of course, of course, Erza. Forgive my lack of perception. You're a giant among dwarves, a veritable miniature titan."
The girl huffed, an adorably irritated sound, but I could see a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her dust-smudged lips. She knew I was just teasing, and perhaps, just perhaps, she even appreciated the banter. Or maybe she was just glad not to have been crushed by the stone.
Gradually, and almost without my consciously realising it, my interactions with those children were becoming more frequent, more… involved. I would discretely help them with their heavier tasks when the guards weren't looking. I'd chat with them during the scarce, short breaks, listening to their small hopes and childish fears. And, to my own surprise, I even started telling them some of my craziest, most unbelievable stories about Raven's End, adapting them, of course, for their young, impressionable minds, omitting the bloodier or more morally questionable details. It was… strangely comforting.
[You know, Azra'il,] Eos commented one day, her mental voice filled with an amusement that was almost palpable, [the way you and little Erza tease each other and interact, that dynamic of bickering and reluctant respect… it's really and genuinely adorable. Almost like older and younger sisters who love and irritate each other in equal measure.]
I arched an eyebrow, casting a fulminating mental glare at Eos's interface.
(Adorable?) I scoffed, with all the contempt I could muster. (Eos, my dear and overly romantic artificial intelligence, you know very well I do nothing, absolutely nothing, that could be remotely considered 'adorable'. The word doesn't even exist in my functional vocabulary.)
[Ah, but that's precisely it, this vehement denial of yours and this facade of coldness, that makes it all so interesting and, dare I say, even more adorable,] Eos replied, her mental voice charged with an irritating and amusing complicity. [You can pretend all you like that you don't care, that you're just a detached observer, but I know, Azra'il, I know you have a certain, undeniable soft spot for stubborn, strong, and adorably cute girls like Erza.]
I snorted, a loud, indignant sound, refusing to admit the inconvenient truth of her words.
(Eos, you know perfectly well I don't get attached to anyone, to any mortal, ephemeral creature. It's a matter of self-preservation and mental sanity. I just… enjoy teasing her a bit, testing her limits. It's fun. That's all.)
[Of course, of course, Azra'il. As you wish,] Eos retorted, her voice laden with sarcasm so obvious it almost made me grind my teeth. [And that's precisely why, due to this pure and simple desire of yours for 'sadistic amusement', you're always keeping an eye on her, ensuring she doesn't get into too much trouble or that the guards don't seriously hurt her, isn't it?]
I cast a particularly irritated and threatening mental glare at Eos's interface, but, to my great and growing discomfort, I couldn't completely deny her words. Damn it. I really did have a soft spot for cute, stubborn girls. Perhaps I needed therapy. Or a new hobby.
At that moment, as if summoned by my muddled thoughts, Erza approached, her brown eyes shining with childish curiosity and a concern that caught me off guard.
"Azra'il?" she called, her voice hesitant and a little quiet. "Are you all right? You went quiet all of a sudden and pulled a funny face."
I blinked, forcing my facial muscles to rearrange themselves into a smile I hoped was convincing and not too manic.
"Of course, Erza. I'm splendid. Perfectly fine. I was just… thinking about some important, philosophical matters. Big, mysterious folk stuff."
[Oh, don't be cross about the inconvenient truth, Azra'il,] Eos teased gently in my mind, her voice filled with an amusement that was almost affectionate. [You know I only want to see you happy and, perhaps, admitting your contradictory feelings.]
I huffed, a final, futile attempt to maintain my facade of coldness, refusing to fall for her emotional prodding. Instead, I turned to Erza and, on an impulse that surprised me, ruffled her rebellious red hair with an affection I hadn't shown in centuries.
"Don't you worry about a thing, little giant," I said, my tone a fraction softer than I'd intended. "I'm fine. Just thinking about how we're going to get out of this holiday paradise. Now, let's get back to work, shall we? We have a tower to build, or to knock down, depending on the day's mood."
Erza nodded, looking satisfied and a little relieved by my answer and the unexpected gesture. She then turned and went back to work with her friends, her face once again serious and determined, but with a faint smile lingering on her lips.
[You can't deny it forever, Azra'il,] Eos murmured in my mind, her voice now filled with triumphant amusement. [You're enjoying their company. And they, yours.]
I cast a final, resigned, irritated snort at Eos's omniscient presence in my mind, but deep down, very deep down, somewhere ancient and dusty, I knew, with an uncomfortable clarity and a strange warmth, that Eos was, once again, annoyingly and absolutely right.
-----------(*)-----------
Night, as always, had fallen on the Tower of Heaven, bringing with it a brief, welcome relief from the exhausting labour and inclement sun, but also the damp cold that seeped into one's bones and the darkness that seemed to feed the deepest fears. And, as usual, the children of our small, impromptu group gathered in a tight circle in our shared cell, seeking human warmth and a little solace in each other's company before succumbing to restless sleep. Rob, the old, wise storyteller, was nearby, as always, listening attentively to the children's conversations and the little stories they shared about their days and their dreams.
"Hey, did you know my surname is Fernandes?" Jellal commented suddenly, with an almost palpable pride in his young voice, his blue eyes shining with surprising intensity under the dim light of a makeshift lamp. "It's a very old name and was important in my family; my grandfather, when he was alive, used to tell me."
"Oh, really? That's cool!" Wally piped up, his prominent teeth visible in a wide grin. "Mine's Buchanan! When my family was alive, we were pretty well-known in the village where I lived, before… before all this." His voice faltered a little at the end, but he quickly regained his composure.
Simon and Milliana exchanged sad, meaningful glances, and Sho, the smallest and shyest of the group, lowered his head, his small shoulders slumping under an invisible weight.
"We… we don't have surnames," Simon said quietly, his voice deep for his age but tinged with a palpable melancholy. "We've been orphans for as long as we can remember. We never knew our parents or any relatives."
Erza, who was sitting beside me, huddled and hugging her knees as if to protect herself from the cold and painful memories, sighed softly.
"I don't have a surname either," she admitted in a low voice, almost a whisper. "I never knew my parents. I don't know where I come from, or who I belong to." Her voice was a mixture of sadness and a resignation unbefitting someone so young.
Jellal looked at her for a long moment, his eyes fixed on her vibrant scarlet hair, which, even dirty and tangled, still shone with surprising intensity under the dim light of the cell.
"You know, Erza," he said softly, his voice full of unexpected gentleness, "your hair is really very beautiful. It's such a vivid, strong red… it's scarlet. Scarlet. How about that for your surname? Erza Scarlet."
Erza's eyes widened in surprise, and a small, hesitant, incredibly beautiful smile appeared on her lips, lighting up her tired, grimy face.
"Erza Scarlet…" she repeated, almost to herself, testing the sound of the name on her tongue, as if tasting something new and delicious. A name. An identity. Something to call her own.
"It really suits you, Erza," I commented, breaking my usual silence, my voice softer than normal. My eyes were fixed on her red hair, which truly seemed to shine with its own light under the cell's poor illumination. "It's very beautiful hair indeed. Strong and vibrant. Like you."
"And you, Azra'il?" Milliana asked suddenly, with the innocent, direct curiosity of children, her large, cat-like eyes fixed on me. "Do you have a surname?"
I shrugged, trying to keep my expression neutral and indifferent, though the question, coming from her, had caught me a little off guard.
"No. Not that I know of," I replied casually, as if discussing the weather. "I was abandoned at the orphanage the same day I was born, or so I was told. All I know, or rather, all the lovely, charitable matrons at the orphanage made a point of constantly reminding me, is that my mother was, in their words, a 'drug-addicted prostitute without a shred of decency'. They loved telling everyone, especially the other children, that I was probably born in some fifth-rate brothel, amidst filth and sin. And, to explain my rather… peculiar appearance for this world, with my white hair and oddly coloured eyes, they concocted the lovely, uplifting story that my mother, in one of her drug-induced delusions, probably 'shagged a mangy street dog' or some other equally despicable creature, and thus the 'soulless abomination' that is me was born." A cold, joyless smirk touched my lips. "It was their affectionate way of making me feel welcome and loved in the world. 'A true beacon of pedagogy'."
The silence that followed my words was heavy, dense, and uncomfortable. Rob, the kind old man, looked genuinely horrified by what he had just heard, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape in shock. The children, for their part, exchanged shocked, sad, and slightly frightened glances. They themselves had suffered at the hands of the matrons, but my story seemed to have reached a new level of cruelty.
Milliana, in particular, lowered her eyes, her small shoulders slumping in silent empathy. She, as a Beastman half-breed in a society that often distrusted and mistreated those who were different, recognised in my story the painful echo of the same prejudice, the same cruelty born of ignorance and fear, that she herself had faced so many times.
"Hey," Jellal spoke up suddenly, breaking the tense silence, his voice surprisingly firm and resolute, clearly trying to lighten the heavy, uncomfortable mood. "Since we're handing out surnames, how about we choose one for you too, Azra'il? Everyone deserves to have a full name."
"No need to bother, Jellal," I replied with an indifferent shrug, though his offer, and the sincerity in his eyes, had touched me in a way I hadn't expected. "I really don't care for these surname things. I'm just Azra'il. It's enough."
"But it's important!" Jellal insisted, with the typical stubbornness of his age and surprising conviction. "It's how you'll be known and recognised by the world! It's part of your identity, of who you are!"
"How about 'Storm'?" Simon suggested shyly, after a moment's hesitation, his large, gentle eyes fixed on me. "Because you seem strong, like a storm." A noble attempt, if a little clichéd.
"'Night' would be cool too," Wally opined, with an animated grin that showed his prominent teeth. "Because you're mysterious and a bit scary, in a cool way!" Thanks for the scary part, lad.
"Blade!" Milliana exclaimed suddenly, her cat-like eyes shining with sudden animation. "Because you're sharp and dangerous!" This girl had potential.
"'Death'!" Sho, small, usually silent Sho, suggested with surprising enthusiasm and an almost feverish glint in his eyes.
"Sho, my enthusiastic little friend with a peculiar taste in names," I said, arching an eyebrow and looking at him with an expression that was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Do you really think 'Azra'il Death' is a good name? Isn't it a tiny bit… redundant, perhaps? A pleonasm in poor taste? It's bad enough that I am, for all practical purposes, death incarnate; I don't need to announce my function twice on my imaginary calling card, do you think?"
The children, and even Rob, chuckled at my observation and Sho's confused frown. The tension in the cell had dissipated somewhat, replaced by an unexpected lightness.
"What about 'Darkness' then?" Simon tried again, clearly not wanting to give up on the dark, mysterious theme.
"Ah yes, because 'Azra'il Darkness' sounds infinitely better and less clichéd, doesn't it?" I scoffed, shaking my head with an amused smile. "Next you'll be suggesting 'Shadow', 'Doom', or 'Killer' and completing the combo of the most unoriginal and uncreative names for villains from third-rate comic books. Your originality is truly touching."
"Actually…" Wally began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly about to suggest something equally dreadful, but he was cut off by another round of laughter.
Erza, who until then had remained silent, merely observing the interaction with a small smile on her lips, watched me for a long moment, her intense brown eyes fixed on my snow-white hair, which, even dirty and tangled, still had a silvery sheen under the dim light of the lamp.
"How about… Weiss?" she suggested softly, her voice little more than a whisper, but clear and firm in the ensuing silence. "It's a word that means 'white' in a very old language Grandpa Rob taught me once. I think it suits your hair. It's beautiful."
I looked at her, taken aback by the simple, elegant, and unexpectedly… appropriate suggestion. A small smile, genuine and perhaps even a little vulnerable, formed on my lips.
"You know what, children?" I commented, shaking my head with an expression of mock resignation, as I looked at each of them. "You lot, with the exception of a certain redhead present, are truly and spectacularly rubbish at choosing surnames. Simon, Wally, and Sho, you three sound like you're actively trying to turn me into the caricatured villain of some poorly written story with a very low budget for decent scriptwriters. Your suggestions were… creatively disastrous." I paused dramatically, seeing the disappointed, slightly confused faces of the three boys. "But… I must admit that Erza's, however simple it may be, is the least worst of them all. In fact, it's even… decent. So, I suppose, just this once, I'll stick with that one. At least it doesn't make me sound like a comic book character."
Erza's eyes lit up with pure, radiant joy, and a smile so wide and genuine spread across her face that it illuminated the entire dark cell. It was a smile that could melt glaciers and calm demons.
"Azra'il Weiss…" she whispered, almost to herself, testing the sound of the name on her tongue, as if savouring something precious and new.
"Now we have two people with colour-based surnames in our group!" Jellal commented excitedly, with a proud smile for Erza. "That's really cool!"
[Well, look who's getting all sentimental and accepting names from cute little children, Azra'il,] Eos teased gently in my mind, her voice laden with an amusement that was almost affectionate. [Who'd have thought the impenetrable Azra'il would be won over by a simple surname.]
"And at least it's not something terribly embarrassing like 'Azra'il Killer', 'Azra'il Reaper', or, worse still, 'Azra'il Fluffykins'," I joked, casting an amused glance at Sho. "Because then indeed, my dears, I would have to seriously consider the possibility of 'accidentally' eliminating you in your sleep, just for the offensive suggestion."
"Hey!" Sho protested, laughing along with the others, despite my veiled threat. "I was actually going to suggest Reaper next! I think it suits you!"
"Precisely why, my enthusiastic little harbinger of bad taste, Erza has won, unanimously and on her own merit, the right to choose my surname," I replied with an ironic smile and a wink at the redhead, who was still grinning as if she'd won the biggest prize in the world.
I completely ignored Eos's smug comment about my new-found sentimentality, but I couldn't help a small, stubborn smile at seeing Erza's genuine, contagious happiness at having her surname, and by extension, herself, accepted and validated by me. It was a strange feeling, this… belonging? Perhaps.
"Just don't go spreading it around that I accepted such a… normal surname," I warned playfully, trying to maintain my facade of cynical indifference. "I have a reputation to uphold, you know? A reputation for mystery, danger, and a certain disdain for social conventions. And if anyone, by chance, asks the origin of my new, elegant surname, I officially chose 'Weiss' because I like the colour white, because it's a cold, distant, and impersonal colour, and not because a small, stubborn redhead with equally stubborn hair had a marginally less dreadful and clichéd idea than all the others. Understood?"
The children laughed, nodding in agreement amidst more chuckles, and the light, animated conversation moved on to other, less existential topics, like what was the worst food they'd ever tasted or the most disgusting creature they'd ever seen in the orphanage cellar. But I noticed, with a clarity that surprised me, that Erza continued to smile, a small, secret, constant smile, and occasionally looked at me with a special, new glint in her brown eyes.
Perhaps… perhaps accepting a surname, a name given by someone who, in some strange, unexpected way, seemed to care, wasn't such a bad thing after all. Perhaps, just perhaps, even an ancient, weary soul like mine could find a small, unlikely glimpse of… belonging, in that particular hell. Or perhaps it was just tiredness and the lack of decent food making me sentimental. Either way, Azra'il Weiss. It had a certain… ring to it. And it was definitely better than Azra'il Death.