They called that place “the Hidden World” — a place no vulnerable creature like a human had the right to set foot in, a place that shouldn’t even be known to exist. But the “Hidden World” wasn’t limited to the skies or the Purgatory. Right here, in the middle of the middle-earth, between alleys and beside ordinary people, beings lived whose lives were endless. They changed their appearances and breathed quietly alongside humans. Perhaps no one knew they were sharing a meal with one of them, living in the same house, or sharing their bread.

Of course, not all of them were dangerous. Most were calm and harmless; some of them even had hearts bigger than many humans’. But there was always an “but”… Devils lived among them too — beings who used their dark power against humans. That’s why someone always had to watch; someone who could observe from the brightest point of the heavens to the darkest corner of the Purgatory. And that someone was none other than the Star of Death.

But those days the sky had taken on the color of blood… and Astia still couldn’t get used to that truth.

At the highest point of the heavens was a vast empire everyone called “Heaven”; a place where gods, saints, and angels lived together in precise, sacred hierarchies. But today that usual calm was gone. Shouts, the smell of fresh blood, and the relentless clang of swords filled the air. Each time a light separated from an angel’s body and faded into the sky, it was as if that existence had never been. A great war between the Underworld and the Heavens had flared up — an age-old battle that had devoured the lives of thousands of angels and demons.

When Rafael Darxil, the emperor of the demon house, was killed, the fall of his house began. Everyone was tired — tired of evil, tired of betrayal, tired of blood. No one wanted the Darxil name to live on. But one remained… Astia. A survivor who, unlike the rest of her house, had played a part in their destruction; the revealer of secrets, the very spark that ignited the rebellion. She thought that by exposing the truth her conscience might find some peace… but now she was trapped among those same ruins.

Alive, yet among corpses. Silver hair, ruby eyes, one hand soaked in blood and the other clutching a heavy sword. Her vision was blurred; an unknown poison burned her eyes. Still she stood and fought. She knew the emperor of the Heavens wasn’t behind this attack; in these skies the Church and the Empire were two separate parties that had never been able to agree — that rift had allowed demons to meddle in everything. From the last words she’d exchanged with the Emperor of Heaven she had realized the Church was fighting her on its own accord, though she didn’t know why.

But something bothered her even more than that: a man standing at a distance, watching in silence. A dark cloak draped his shoulders and his face was hidden in shadow; the only thing visible were his cold, piercing golden eyes, like a sun trapped in a cage of darkness. He didn’t move; he merely watched Astia’s movements without sound or emotion.

When he saw how mercilessly she slaughtered everyone, it was as if he grew weary too; he raised his hand and suddenly the Church knights froze in place. A heavy silence fell over the field. Astia couldn’t see her surroundings clearly, but when she felt that silence she knew something was wrong.

Footsteps began — slow, heavy, and measured. Each step felt like a weight on her chest. When he drew near, his voice was familiar — as if she’d heard it before. He murmured in a calm, serious tone, “Aren’t you tired? … Come on, let’s finish this.”

He drew a dagger from beneath his cloak. In the blink of an eye the dagger transformed into a long, gleaming sword. He attacked without hesitation; his speed was terrifying and Astia, wounded deep and exhausted, could only barely dodge. The blades met and an explosion of energy shook everything. Their swords flew from their hands and for a moment the field cleared. Only Astia’s breaths echoed in the air, like the roar of a wounded animal.

Her knees trembled and her eyes still burned from the poison, but she bent down and dragged her hand across the blood-soaked ground to find a dagger. At that very moment what was in her hand turned into a shining, sharp sword. The man’s eyes widened, as if he saw something he hadn’t expected… or at least that’s how Astia felt. She couldn’t see clearly; her vision was still fogged and painful. She only sensed the flash of surprise in the man’s golden eyes.

He wanted to attack again, but before he could take another step, Astia — with all the power she’d gathered in her core — let out a soundless cry from her throat and drove the blade in — not at him… at herself. She poured all of her being into it and plunged the blade into her energy core. The sound of the core breaking was soft and yet terrible, reverberating through the air as her body convulsed.

The pain… was horrific, but something inside her was strangely calm. Astia’s eyes still saw unclearly, but she managed to sense the look in the man’s eyes; something like a cold, distant reflection of a sun beyond reach. She took a deep breath; her body still trembled. She couldn’t be sure what the man felt — she only felt that his gaze had locked onto her and that the weight of it was unbearable.

A trembling, wordless voice came from the distance, a whisper that passed through the darkness and the pain in her eyes: “You… why…?”

With a bitter, blood-streaked smile she let go of herself: “Truth is… I didn’t need it… I just didn’t want… you… to touch it.” The dagger was still in her hand and the ground beneath her took on an unusually golden blood. Her eyes slowly closed, and the last thing she saw was the man’s dry, golden stare; bewildered and hesitant, his hand reaching toward her… and then everything slipped into darkness.

For the sacred beings — the angels who lived in the Heavens — suicide was an unforgivable sin. And Astia — even if her intention had been pure — had taken her own life. So she had to accept the punishment: a thousand years of wandering in darkness; alone, silent, without even a single ray of light. Divine pains, invisible but merciless, tortured her body; spears would pass through her without leaving a mark on her physical skin, their sting felt but not shown. Each time she was wounded it was as if she were wounded a thousand more times — and she never died. She had to relive that pain again and again.

Years she walked, with no destination, just forward. With every step the darkness thickened around her. Her feet were weary, her body worn, her mind full of pain and questions. Everything felt unfair; as if the world had been made solely to torment her. There, in that endless darkness, she knelt; exhausted by everything. She thought to herself: what more could I have done that I haven’t? Haven’t I fought enough? Haven’t I sacrificed enough?

Life had not been kind to her from the moment of her birth. Half of her being was bound to darkness; being half-demon, the deaths of loved ones, the wounding of those she cared for — it wasn’t all because of her, it was for them. Even her family, those whose blood flowed in her veins, had never accepted her. They kept her only because of her power, not for who she was. They used her, turning her into an executioner who left behind a sea of blood.

She clenched her fists tightly, as if she wanted to crush the dark ground beneath her, and shouted: “What else should I have done… there was no one by my side in this world… why? Why doesn’t anyone love me…” Her tears fell silently, but unlike that absolute darkness, the drops of her tears seemed to shine; clear, heavy… those same tears began to swell until she felt the water rising beneath her feet. She didn’t know when, but when she came to, she found her whole body soaked and sinking in an endless sea of her own tears. She couldn’t move; her body was heavy and pulled deeper by the moment. She breathed but there was no rescue…

Rafael’s last words still echoed in Astia’s ears: “Family? What a joke. You, like your mother, are naive.” His last words, before his execution when he’d knelt before the Emperor of Angels with bound hands and eyes full of hatred, had stared at Astia; that same old look — a look that said you were never one of us.

Astia closed her eyes, perhaps for a moment, perhaps forever… but right there, in that absolute darkness, she heard a sound she had never heard before. A sound that did not come from outside — because no one was there — but that could be heard; a soothing voice that reached her through the water and the bubbles. It surprised her; a gentle, distant voice that seemed to come from somewhere beyond all the darkness: “If there were a chance, would you change your destiny?”

Astia didn’t know if she was hallucinating, but she tried to speak through that mass of water. She opened her mouth and, against all expectation, a voice came out without obstruction: “Is there even a chance for me?”

The bubbles suddenly gleamed and popped one by one with soft sounds. At the moment she closed and opened her eyes again, light approached her. The light gradually took shape and became a woman with long blond hair floating in the water. Her face wasn’t clear, but her smile was warm and assured. She reached out toward Astia and gently placed her hand on Astia’s wet, trembling cheek.

The woman said softly, “There’s always a chance for change, so let me give you that chance… I will help you change your fate, Astia—”

Her words didn’t reach Astia fully. Astia’s breath stopped; her body in the water began to thrash and she was dragged toward the depths. She couldn’t even make out anything from the bloody lips; the world had gone dark and silent and every sense was overwhelmed by the pressure of the water and the terror of being lost. Just as she was about to feel death again, she woke up with a loud, gasping scream.

Terrified, she thrashed and couldn’t catch her breath… Astia looked around. Had she returned? How was that possible? She couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t a hallucination; then she truly had been given a chance… had she gone mad?

Her eyes scanned the place again. The room felt strangely familiar. An old wooden bed with a worn sheet lay there. When she rose from the bed and put her foot on the floor, she realized something was wrong; why were her toes so small? They looked like a child’s toes. Her steps were short and the distance from her feet to the ground felt much greater than she expected. She stared at the floor in horror; everything around seemed larger — as if she herself had become small and her steps had shrunk.

Astia went to the tall mirror. When she saw her reflection her heart shook. A small, fragile body, tiny delicate hands like maple leaves, a round belly and short legs; tangled brown hair fell over her dark brown eyes — there was no trace of silver hair and ruby eyes. She felt like a tiny, helpless creature standing in a strange world.

She slapped her cheeks a few times, hoping it was a dream and she’d wake up. But nothing changed; her face flushed and burned. She sighed and looked for answers. At that moment she heard the main door’s handle — it was close. The sound of a key turning and then the door opened slowly.

A beautiful woman with long brown hair entered. Her hand was still on the handle as she looked toward the room. Astia doubted she was seeing correctly. She rubbed her eyes several times but the image didn’t fade. The woman walked in and stood in the doorway. Her reddish, lively eyes shone in the morning light. Though fatigue marked her face, she still looked fresh. The woman gave a gentle smile and said, “You woke up. You had a bit of a fever; you kept talking and crying in your sleep. I was worried. But I had to leave you alone for a bit.”

She came a few steps closer and sat on Astia’s knees. Her hair reached near the floor. One of her hands gently rested on Astia’s forehead and the other on her own forehead, as if comparing temperatures. After a few seconds her smile widened: “Looks like your fever’s gone down. Don’t overdo it anymore, okay?”

Astia was frozen; she didn’t know what to say. Was this woman really her mother? The woman sitting across from her — was she the mother Astia thought she had lost forever? Her gaze darted between the woman’s face and hands. Her heart pounded as if a drum in her chest shouted, “This isn’t real.”

The woman kept smiling and said, “I’ll make some soup, just don’t move up and down too much, you’re still weak.” Then she stood and left the room; the door remained ajar. Astia released the breath she’d been holding, turned onto the bed and hugged her knees. Her eyes fixed on a single point. She tried to organize her thoughts, but images paraded before her one by one.

Suddenly she remembered the woman’s voice: “Let me give you that chance…” She whispered, “I was dead…” and placed her hand on her chest — right where her core had been broken. Her skin was soft and intact; everything felt painfully real… but impossible.

“Is this a delusion or a punishment? … Or did I really go back?” She paused and began to recount the life she had lived. Did going back to the past even make sense? Was it time travel or reincarnation? Maybe this was another layer of the worlds and she was in the body of another Astia of that world?

Astia jumped off the bed. Her feet trembled on the cold wooden floor. She ran to the window and opened it; the morning air carrying the smells of bread, smoke, and wet earth entered the room. Voices of neighbors, a rooster crowing, the sound of water in the alley — everything was real. She stared outside and muttered, “What if I really saw the future?”