What comes after death?
The moon answered, in a maternal and ethereal tone.
From the man who never cried, now screams escaped; like a child, complaining of pain in his body, for he had just been born.
The glow of a blood moon slipped through the cracks of the window, gleaming against the pale skin of the newborn. Wrapped in an almost divine touch, blond strands drifting through his blurred vision, he understood nothing.
Just seconds ago, Liam Mason Le Fay had been on the battlefield; thrown, cast against a stone that flaunted his viscous blood.
The crimson, beyond rupturing his organs, had illuminated his eyes as well: the moon had been that color. Like a ritual of life racing against death.
He wanted to think, but cried instead.
The screams of a child, who still had only a few strands of hair, ran through the delivery room, making the nurse rush to clean a bloodstained cloth while the mother herself panted in sweat.
He tried to open his eyes, but the light from fire lanterns invaded his retinas in bursts. So he shut them quickly and returned to crying.
'Take this downstairs!' Emilia, the midwife, ordered nervously, handing a white cloth to her assistant, Ellen, who ran down a flight of stairs after leaving the room.
Wiping her forehead, Emilia let out a heavy sigh and flung a drop of sweat to the floor.
'My Lady, that was dramatic!' she said, shaken.
Though sturdy, wrinkled, and seemingly ill-tempered, Emilia trembled constantly, her heart pounding in her throat.
Moments ago, that pale child, whose yellow strands were forming upon his scalp, had shown no sign of life.
The heart of young Lady Camille, Duchess of Lawrence, calmed with time. She had cried more than ever before, for it had seemed she had lost a son.
Then, only minutes after being "stillborn," he screamed. The child who at first carried no will—only confusion.
For him and for those around him.
Camille smiled, pleased yet awkward.
'What will this little one be called?' Emilia asked with a certain familiarity.
She looked at him thoughtfully, but together with her husband—absent on that occasion—the name had already been decided.
'Theo… That shall be his name. Theo…' she said lovingly, almost whispering to the newborn.
He responded by grasping his mother's finger; for the first time, he calmed.
Without even understanding, he dreamed that night.
There was a field of sand beneath his feet; so stood Liam Mason. A tall man, blond hair and blue eyes, casually dressed in a military uniform tinted dark green, near black.
Deep cuts marked his face, along with sincere despair.
'What are you doing here, if you did not come to the Father?' a voice questioned into the wind.
The turquoise-blue sky, with few clouds, soon turned into a storm at the horizon.
'He died, Lord of Judgment,' another voice came from beside him.
Before Liam, a majestic, astronomical throne covered the sky. A creature whose semblance distorted space itself could not be comprehended by a mere human mind.
'I died?' he exhaled in disbelief, looking to the sky in confusion. 'This… is the afterlife?'
The creature shifted, as if resting its arm upon its legs.
'This is the desert of Yeshua. Where the Father's judgment reaches your soul, sinful being. Beneath you lies the dust of those condemned to hell, forbidden from entering the fields of the eternal gardens,' it said in a firm tone, soon overlapped.
'Do not feed him nonsense,' said a woman at his side—at least, the voice and distorted outline gave him that impression.
'You're the judge, and she gives you the laws? Is she some divine secretary?' Liam said, crossing his arms at his waist.
The Judge seemed incredulous.
'This place does not frighten me as I thought it would… I expected at least an angel or a demon to receive me here…'
'Ethereal child, you feel no fear?' she asked, staring into Liam's deep eyes.
'Fear of what?' he replied, dissatisfied. 'If I've been dead since birth, and after hearing that final neigh… there's no reason to fear.'
The judging eyes narrowed.
'Envy… This is the capital sin carved into your flesh…' he whispered thoughtfully; yet any whisper from that creature roared like a storm.
'Great… Should I go to hell for that? Though I've already endured that trial… Can you hand me a golden ticket and send me straight to eternal rest?'
'The familiarity with which this man speaks leaves me embarrassed…' the Judge thought, almost grinding his teeth. 'Though he is sincere, for I see no fear in his gaze…'
Returning to his posture, the Judge examined the memories, the facts of the one he judged.
'I would love to give you a sentence within the entrails of Baalzeth, to make you train in the flames of souls toward eternity, but my secretary has revealed something interesting…'
Throwing himself onto the clean, fine sand, Liam stared at a pair of eyes within the distortion of space. They seemed empty to the world, yet eternal to the universe.
'Do you believe in gods, child?'
'If I'm here, then there must be one…' he answered, gazing at the endless desert. 'But if you're asking about when I was alive… the answer is no.'
'Of course, of course…' he laughed cruelly. 'Child who will soon be forgotten, the one who walked the path of destruction and death, who bore no fault for his own pain… Unfortunately, fate does not like when I defy it, therefore…'
Liam's hand sank into the sand, grain by grain.
As though other hands were pulling him down…
At that instant, he was startled.
'The moon has decided for us, and to you she has given a sentence worse than death… I see you never believed in heaven or hell, lost child. Make sure to think about that again.'
'What?' Liam muttered, his body dragged and consumed by the sand of the dead.
Scratched by necrotic claws, he was pulled under like quicksand, until he could hear nothing more, and the Judge's sadistic smile crumbled away.
For brief moments, the neigh of a horse filled his ears…
Suffocated by his own despair, he jolted awake in fright. Opening his limited eyes, he felt the light explode once more within his retinas; the small, fragile heart raced drastically.
Trapped in the body of a newborn, he cried again.
Loud screams echoed through the house; at that moment, Camille was bathing and the nurses were occupied in other rooms.
Yet the screams were not heard…
They were contained.
'Little son… At last I was able to see you,' said a voice, as feminine as it was ethereal.
A clean, gentle touch soothed the baby, who hiccupped softly.
He could not see, but there was a beautiful woman with a round face and silver eyes; she wore white, and her pale skin gleamed beneath the moon.
Her black hair fell like a veil, her eyes shining with pride.
'You bound yourself to a place you never imagined you would be… There was nothing else I could do. I ask your forgiveness…' she whispered, leaning closer, surrounded by a beautiful purple aura.
She pressed a soft kiss to the little one's cheek, and once more he calmed.
'I will be waiting for you very soon. Listen to the owl's counsel—it will guide you. Come to me, my son.'
With eyes filled with tears, she sniffled.
'Welcome to the world, my little reborn son… My golden child… Theo Augustus De Lawrence.'