Archive of Our Own

Babylonia, his home, his haven—sealed within the Void. It was the only way to prevent the people of Babylonia from leaving, to avert another war with the Gods, and to stop the devastation that would damn the Overworld.

In sealing Babylonia, he found himself unable to return to the place he had once called home, if he could even refer to it as such. He had betrayed his father in doing so, and thus, what he had done could be deemed treason against Babylonia. His siblings, too, had become mere relics, placeholders of their magic after the sealing. However, he preferred not to delve into the technicalities; it was far too much to unpack.

Consequently, he ventured into the Overworld, a realm brimming with life—far more vibrant than he had anticipated. He had initially thought it would be cold and lifeless, as most of the magic had originated from Babylonia. Clearly, he had been wrong.

Humans were not the first inhabitants of this world. His first friend had been a dinosaur named Azrealon—an absurdly lengthy name, though it was still shorter than its species name, Plesiohadros. Surprisingly, it proved to be a good conversationalist, not what he anticipated from a dinosaur.

Honestly, he enjoyed the Overworld, where there were no astral beings roaming about. It was calm and quiet.

Then, all of a sudden, a meteor struck.

From that moment on, he chose to go by the name Azrealon, borrowing it from an old friend.

He watched as the end of an era unfolded before him. Creatures that had once thrived were now extinct; civilizations crumbled, only to be rebuilt—disasters upon disasters, creation after creation. He had been present for decades, perhaps millennia, and even eons, helping humans construct their civilization from the shadows. Yet, he had also inadvertently orchestrated the end of one.

He was an ever-present being, known by various names across different regions, yet often forgotten as time wore on.

Time was such a fickle and fragile thing.

Humans never ceased to fascinate him, yet they often left him with more questions than answers. He guessed that was what drew him to them.

This small boy, well, teenager, had caught his interest. The boy was filled with determination, worry, and a fair amount of self-doubt—what a squeaky little thing. A small patch of white hair peeked out from his ruffled brown hair. Stress? Genetics? Eh, who cares.

The way the child swung a sword was horrendous. There was no form, no technique or grace—he was simply flailing it about. God, his moves were predictable, exactly what one would expect from an amateur like him.

In the end, he found himself teaching the boy.

His name was Genah.

I rejected the position of Clover. It was a hassle, just another title to add to his list, and he would rather live his life calmly. He had enough of being tied down to a position that would limit his freedom, not to mention the paperwork. He was fed up with that bureaucratic nonsense.

Then he heard his name being called from around the corner; it was Genah.

The boy was asking why he had rejected the position. He was tempted to respond with, "I don't want to deal with paperwork; I just want to fish," but that would be too nonchalant. Besides, Genah needed to calm down—what a restless kid he was.

He found himself convincing Genah to accept the position as Clover, which proved to be a challenge. For someone so small, he had a lot of self-doubt buried within him, and it seemed to be an unhealthy habit. Yet he believed in Genah; he knew he could do it.

Then, the kid had the nerve to barter with him—he wouldn't become Clover unless he agreed to be his Ace of Clover. He couldn’t decline; if he did, Genah wouldn’t step up for the position.

Fate could be quite annoying to deal with at times.

It wasn’t his fault. What happened to Spade and Heart wasn’t Genah’s fault, but he doubted the boy understood that. Human minds were often clouded by grief, and all he could do was be there for him.

Genah wanted to stay far away, not wanting to be reminded of his mistakes. That was fully understandable.

He had taken two kids before leaving Olvia: first, Spade and Heart’s son, Marvel—a small baby with bright green eyes and soft purple hair. Second, a child he had found among the rubble, an insistent plea from the mother to save her kid before she died, named Alfey Febrian—Peppey. This baby had soft green eyes and brown locks.

A teenager like Genah raising two children—that was a disaster waiting to happen.

So, he followed him. Genah would need someone to lean on.

This guy was a child magnet. Perhaps it was his fate.

He had managed to adopt a third child in the span of a couple of months, and he was still just a young adult! Unbelievable. Three kids and completely single.

Years had gone by, and he scarcely felt their passage. He watched from afar as his family—Genah, Peppey, Samsul, and Marvel—fought against the challenges life had thrown at them. He wished he could do more, that he could be more than just a shadow, influencing the environment around them. But if he did, his identity would be revealed.

He was somehow afraid of that.

They knew. They all knew now.

Genah had chastised him for his inaction. He could have done more; he should have. It may have been his lack of trust and communication, how he had taken things too lightly.

Fate didn’t have to be so cruel to him.

He could try to right his wrong by helping his family find Marvel's dark magic. This wouldn’t be enough to atone for most of his actions, but it would be a start.

A small will-o'-the-wisp flew toward Genah, giving off a soft purple light—just like Marvel—as it twirled around.

Then, they returned—Ereshkigal, Iskhur, and Annum—each with a glint of mirth in their eyes. He should have realized that they would come after Marvel's power. He had messed up again.

Rafel summoned one of his Ars Goetia, or his god contract—whatever the technicalities were! He was just glad his family was out of this place, away from his stupid brother and his damned father, and that snake woman.

He didn’t mind being shackled by his father’s magic, as long as it wasn’t them. As long as his family was not in this position.

I, Enk—Azrealon—never thought he would have to do this. But if there was any god who could hear his prayers within this dark abyss, in this stuffy, damned Void, he hoped for their protection.

Please, let his family be safe. Let him find them alive and well when he manages to escape.