The corridor stretched endlessly.
White.
Not the natural kind—but something artificial. Controlled. Like purity forced into existence.
Azriah walked beside her in silence.
Or rather—
he allowed himself to be led.
His gaze drifted slightly toward the woman walking ahead of him.
Asta.
The one who claimed to be his mother.
"…You're very quiet," she said suddenly, her voice calm but observant.
Azriah didn't respond immediately.
"I'm thinking," he replied after a moment.
"About?"
"…Whether I should believe you."
Asta's steps didn't falter.
"That's reasonable."
That answer made him glance at her more directly.
No defensiveness. No insistence.
Just… acceptance.
"…Most people would try harder to convince me," he said.
"I don't need to," she replied. "You'll arrive at the truth on your own."
Confident.
Too confident.
Azriah looked forward again, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Then let me ask you something, 'mother.'"
The word felt strange in his mouth. Heavy. Unfitting.
Asta didn't react outwardly—but he noticed the subtle shift in her breathing.
"Go on."
"If you're really my mother…" he continued, voice steady, "why don't I remember you?"
Silence.
For a few steps, the only sound was the soft echo of their footsteps.
Then—
"Because I wasn't there," she said.
Azriah stopped walking.
"…That's your answer?"
Asta stopped as well, turning to face him fully now.
"It's the only honest one."
Her eyes met his.
No hesitation.
No guilt.
Just truth—cold and unembellished.
"I gave you life," she continued, "but I did not raise you."
"…So you're a stranger," he said flatly.
"Yes."
That… wasn't the answer he expected.
Not denial. Not justification.
Agreement.
Azriah studied her carefully.
"…Then why claim me now?"
A faint pause.
Not uncertainty—but selection.
"Because now," she said quietly, "you are needed."
There it was again.
That same underlying theme.
Purpose.
Selection.
Need.
"…You people really like that word," Azriah muttered.
Asta tilted her head slightly. "And you don't?"
"I prefer choice."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"You still have it."
"Do I?"
"Yes."
She turned and resumed walking.
"Follow me, Azriah."
This time—
he didn't move immediately.
His gaze lingered on her back, his thoughts turning.
She doesn't lie.But she doesn't tell everything either.
"…Troublesome," he whispered.
Then he stepped forward again.
The corridor eventually opened into something vast.
A hall.
No—
a structure that dwarfed the idea of a hall itself.
Towering pillars. Endless layers. People moving in silence, all dressed in variations of white and gray.
Yet despite the number—
no chaos.
Everything flowed with unnatural precision.
Azriah's eyes sharpened.
"…This is an organization," he murmured.
"A foundation," Asta corrected.
"For what?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she raised her hand slightly.
The movement alone caused several individuals nearby to lower their heads in respect.
Authority, Azriah noted instantly.
Not symbolic.
Absolute.
"…You're important here," he said.
"I am necessary," she replied.
"…That's not humility."
"It's accuracy."
Azriah almost smiled.
Yeah… she's definitely not normal.
They moved deeper into the structure, the atmosphere growing heavier with each step.
Then—
they stopped.
Before them stood a massive door.
Black.
The only thing in this entire white-dominated place that resisted the color.
Azriah stared at it.
"…That doesn't look welcoming."
"It isn't," Asta said.
"Then I'm guessing you're about to make me go inside."
"Yes."
He let out a quiet sigh.
"Of course you are."
Asta turned to him, her gaze softer this time—just slightly.
"This is where your life as Azriah Antioch truly begins."
"…And ends?" he asked.
A brief pause.
Then—
"That depends on you."
Azriah looked at the door again.
Then at her.
"…You're really not going to explain anything, are you?"
"No."
"…Consistent, at least."
He stepped forward.
But just before he reached the door—
he stopped.
"…One last question."
Asta waited.
Azriah didn't look back as he spoke.
"…Why now?"
This time—
the silence was different.
Heavier.
More human.
"…Because I failed you once," she said quietly.
"And I won't do it again."
For the first time—
Azriah's expression shifted.
Not much.
Just enough.
"…We'll see about that," he said.
Then—
he pushed the door open.
Darkness greeted him.
Not empty.
Not silent.
But alive.
Waiting.
And as Azriah Antioch stepped inside—
something deep within him stirred.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
But something far more dangerous.
Recognition.