Lumiel opened his eyes to an aching head and a blinding white void.
"Ugh... My head hurts. Did I pass out?" he muttered, glancing around.
No one answered.
"Hey… everyone? What happened? Where am I?"
All he could see was endless white. No walls. No ceiling. No ground. Just light. He looked at his hands. His body was intact. His voice was his own.
"This isn't like before… I'm not inside another soul, am I?" he whispered.
He rubbed his eyes, but the brightness didn't fade.
"Maybe… this is like that time with Alvado," he guessed.
He called out again. Walked forward. Turned. Waited. For ten long minutes, he wandered — lost, alone, unheard.
Until he heard a voice behind him.
"...LuMiEl…"
It was hoarse. Familiar. Wrong.
He turned around.
Standing there was a dark figure. Its form mirrored his. Exactly his — down to the last strand of hair. But its eyes glowed white, empty of pupils or emotion.
"Who are you?" Lumiel asked, taking a step back.
"I… am you," the figure rasped.
Lumiel froze. "No. You're not. You look like me, but you're—different."
The figure tilted its head, expressionless.
"To explain it simply," it spoke, its voice distorting in and out, "I… am your soul."
Lumiel blinked. "My… soul? But why do you look like that? Why am I here?"
The figure's tone softened, as if growing steadier the more it spoke.
"You're not supposed to be here, Lumiel. Not yet. Not like this."
The void shifted — and Lumiel suddenly felt a weight press into his chest. Memory, emotion, ache. The air became heavy. Still white, but no longer empty.
The figure continued.
"Every time you sleep… or fall unconscious… you enter the final moments of another life. Not by accident. Those you see — Alvado, Augustus, the nameless — they are souls who linger. Not at rest. Not free."
"Why me?" Lumiel asked.
"Because they found a vessel. A soul unlike any other. Yours."
The figure lifted a hand and the space around them changed — now a single shard of silver mirror floated before Lumiel. Cracked. Fragile. A web of broken lines running through its center.
"Every human has a soul," the figure said. "It acts like a mirror. When a person feels joy, the soul reflects it — they smile. When sorrow fills them, the soul turns dim — and they cry. That is the nature of souls."
"But yours…" it paused, "is different."
The cracks deepened in the floating mirror. Then stopped — as if held by something invisible.
"You were born without a Gift. Shunned. Alone. And slowly… your soul began to fracture. You refused to reflect what you felt. You smiled when you were empty. You obeyed when you wanted to scream. You were kind, even when unloved."
Lumiel's fists tightened.
"But your soul… never shattered. Do you know why?"
A woman's voice — distant and warm — echoed faintly.
"You are not broken. You are loved, even if you forget it. I'll believe in you… when no one else does."
"Lylia…" Lumiel whispered.
"Yes," the figure nodded. "Even if your mind forgot her… your soul remembered. Her love became the tape that held your mirror together. Fragile, but unbroken."
Lumiel fell silent.
"And then… others came. Not the living. But the dead. Fragments of souls weighed down by regret, betrayal, and guilt. They found your mirror — cracked, like them. But unlike them, you endured. They didn't enter you to possess you… they chose you. To become part of you. Not to live again — but to hold your soul together."
The mirror split into several floating shards — each one glowing with faint silhouettes. A crying soldier. A betrayed king. A grieving child.
"They became the missing fragments of your soul," the figure said. "And now, each time you help one pass on… they leave a part of themselves behind — not just memory, but strength. And in return, you help them move on."
Lumiel's eyes widened.
"The gifts you gain… are not rewards," the soul continued. "They're remnants. Reflections. Pieces of people… who once were."
The white void pulsed softly.
"You are the Vessel, Lumiel. Not because you were chosen… but because you survived."