The sky was restless that night—thick clouds rolling in like waves, swallowing the moon whole. The wind howled through the desolate land, carrying whispers of the unknown. Somewhere in the darkness, a shadow shifted, moving through the veil that separated the worlds.

Azrael stepped into the mortal realm with a hiss, his bare feet pressing into the damp earth. The transition from devil to man was unsettling. His once indestructible form now felt… fragile. Mortal. The weight of human flesh was unfamiliar, heavy, suffocating. His senses dulled, his power restrained. But the discomfort was a small price to pay for what he sought. The Stone of Immortality lay hidden somewhere on Earth, and he would stop at nothing to possess it.

With an exhale, he straightened, adjusting to his new form. His long, dark hair framed a chiseled face—one that still carried the haunting sharpness of his true self. His eyes, however, burned like embers in the night, the only trace of the fire that once roared within him.

A ruined mansion loomed before him, its silhouette jagged against the night sky. Something about the place called to him, a whisper in the back of his mind. He stepped forward, the grand iron gates creaking open at his touch. The air inside was thick with dust and time, the scent of decay mingling with something else—something…otherworldly.

Then, he saw her.

She stood near a shattered window, the silver light casting an otherworldly glow around her figure. A girl, draped in a flowing white gown, her form flickering ever so slightly, like a candle in the wind. Her long, silken hair cascaded over her shoulders, her translucent fingers barely grazing the cracked surface of a mirror beside her. She was beautiful, but there was a sadness in her eyes—a loneliness that even the darkness could not swallow.

Azrael felt a pull, deep and unrelenting.

"You’re not supposed to be here," she said softly, turning to face him fully.

He smirked. "Neither are you."

The ghost tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over him. “You’re not…human.” It wasn’t a question, more of a quiet realization.

Azrael chuckled, stepping closer. “And you’re not alive.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, the air charged with an energy neither could name. Then, she spoke again. “Who are you?”

“A traveler.” He wasn’t about to reveal his true nature—not yet. “And you?”

She hesitated. “I don’t remember.”

Something flickered in her expression—pain, confusion. Azrael studied her, intrigued. A spirit bound to this world, with no memory of her death? Such things did not happen without reason.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

She glanced away, her fingers curling as if trying to grasp something long lost. “Flashes,” she murmured. “A melody. The scent of rain. Cold hands…” Her brows furrowed. “And this place. I am bound to it, though I do not know why.”

Azrael nodded, more to himself than to her. Spirits did not simply linger. There was always unfinished business, a tether that held them back. And if there was one thing he knew, it was that everything had a price.

“Perhaps I can help you remember,” he offered, his voice smooth, laced with quiet persuasion.

Her gaze snapped to his, searching. “Why would you do that?”

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Because I am searching for something, too.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to ask more, but something in his eyes made her pause. Instead, she merely nodded. “Evelyn.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“My name,” she clarified. “It is all I know.”

Evelyn. The name lingered on his tongue, unfamiliar yet oddly fitting.

“I am Azrael.”

She regarded him carefully. “Strange name for a traveler.”

He smirked. “Strange traveler for a ghost.”

A breath of laughter escaped her lips, but it was brief, lost in the emptiness of the mansion. Then, her expression shifted, more serious. “If you truly wish to help me,” she said, stepping closer, “then we must start here.”

Azrael held her gaze, something stirring deep within him. He had come to this world seeking power, immortality. But now, in the presence of this ghostly girl, something else—something unexpected—had begun.

The devil had descended into the mortal world. But he hadn’t expected to find her.

The cold air inside the mansion wrapped around Azrael like an unwelcome embrace. Time had long abandoned this place—dust coated every surface, and the scent of damp wood and decay clung to the air. Yet, beneath the ruin, something pulsed. An energy. A secret. He could feel it, just as he could feel the presence of the ghost who stood before him.

Evelyn.

She watched him carefully, her ethereal form shifting with the flickering candlelight. Though she did not breathe, he could sense something restless inside her, like a soul yearning for escape.

“You said you don’t remember how you died,” Azrael said, his voice smooth but probing. “But you remember this place.”

Evelyn nodded, her fingers brushing against the peeling wallpaper. “I feel... trapped here. Like my existence is bound to these walls.” She hesitated, her brows furrowing. “There are moments when I almost remember something. A voice. A name. But then it fades, like smoke slipping through my fingers.”

Azrael’s gaze swept over the grand hall they stood in. The rotting remains of a chandelier dangled above, crystals missing, its former brilliance lost to time. A grand staircase curved upward, its railings broken in places. The house was dead. And yet, it still held secrets.

“Something is keeping you here,” Azrael murmured. “A tether.”

Evelyn met his gaze. “Can you sever it?”

Azrael smirked. “That depends. Do you wish to be free?”

A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. “I don’t know.”

He studied her for a long moment. She was unlike any spirit he had encountered before. Most ghosts longed for release, for the peace that came with crossing over. But Evelyn… something held her back.

Azrael moved toward the grand staircase, his fingers trailing along the banister as he ascended. Dust stirred beneath his steps. Evelyn floated beside him, silent, watching.

“If you truly wish to know why you remain,” he said, “we must find the thing that binds you. A memory. An object. A truth long buried.”

Evelyn’s expression darkened. “And if I do not wish to remember?”

Azrael stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to her. His ember-like eyes gleamed. “Then you will remain in this prison. Forever.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if to protest, but no words came. She knew he was right.

They moved through the long, decaying hallway. Doors lined the walls, their wood warped with time. Some hung open, revealing empty rooms filled with shadows. Others remained shut, their secrets locked away.

Evelyn slowed before a particular door at the end of the hall. Her form flickered.

“This room…” she whispered.

Azrael pushed the door open.

Inside, the air was heavier, thick with something unseen. The remnants of a bedroom lay in ruins—furniture broken, a once-elegant vanity shattered, its mirror fractured into jagged pieces. Moonlight seeped through a large window, illuminating the dust that swirled in the air.

Evelyn drifted forward, her fingers ghosting over the remnants of a dresser. Her expression was distant, troubled.

“Do you remember this place?” Azrael asked.

She nodded slowly. “I think… this was my room.”

Something in the air shifted. A whisper. A faint echo of the past. Azrael’s eyes narrowed. The presence of old magic lingered here.

Evelyn turned toward the bed—or what remained of it. The canopy frame was splintered, the mattress torn open. And there, in the center of the decayed sheets, was a single, faded stain.

Blood.

Evelyn’s form flickered violently. She gasped, clutching her chest as if she could feel a wound reopening.

Azrael stepped closer. “You died here,” he said, voice low. “And you were not alone.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened in terror. “I—” Her voice wavered. “I remember pain. A sharp, burning pain.” Her hands trembled. “And then… darkness.”

Azrael’s jaw tightened. Someone had killed her. And the remnants of that act still lingered, holding her soul captive.

A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, and the shattered mirror rattled. Azrael turned sharply. Something was awakening.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. “There’s something here.”

Azrael’s fingers twitched. His power, though restrained in this human form, still stirred beneath his skin. He could feel it—a presence lurking, hidden in the shadows of this place.

Then, a whisper slithered through the air.

“You should not have come back.”

Evelyn gasped, her form flickering violently. Azrael’s eyes darkened.

They were not alone.

The whisper slithered through the air like a blade drawn against stone—sharp, cold, laced with an unseen threat.

Evelyn recoiled, her translucent form flickering as if the very foundation of her being had been shaken. Azrael, however, did not move. His ember-like eyes swept across the decayed bedroom, scanning the dark corners, the broken furniture, the fractured mirror reflecting only distorted fragments of their forms.

“We are not alone,” Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible.

Azrael smirked. “That much is obvious.”

A shadow stirred near the farthest wall, where darkness pooled unnaturally, defying the weak silver glow of moonlight. A figure began to take form—wispy and formless at first, like smoke curling into the shape of something not quite human.

Evelyn shuddered, her hands gripping her arms as if trying to ground herself. “That voice… I know it.”

Azrael stepped forward, unbothered by the unnatural cold that swept through the room. “Show yourself,” he commanded, his voice carrying the quiet authority of a ruler who was not accustomed to being disobeyed.

The shadow twisted violently, a low, inhuman growl echoing through the space. Then, from the black mist, a shape emerged—a skeletal figure, draped in tattered remains of what might have once been a nobleman’s coat. Its face was a grotesque imitation of humanity, hollow eyes burning with something ancient and cruel.

Evelyn took a step back, her hands trembling. “No… no, it can’t be.”

The specter turned its empty gaze toward her, and though it had no lips, its voice filled the room with a chilling certainty.

“You should not have come back, Evelyn.”

Azrael’s expression did not change, but his fingers curled into fists. “Who are you?”

The entity did not answer. Instead, it drifted closer, the air growing heavy with something rancid, something old. Evelyn’s form flickered erratically, panic seizing her.

“Do you know him?” Azrael asked, his voice unnervingly calm.

Evelyn’s eyes were wide, haunted. “I… I don’t know.” She clutched her head. “I think I do, but it’s like a dream I can’t grasp.”

Azrael exhaled through his nose. This was growing tedious. He had not come to this world to play games with restless spirits. He had come for the Stone of Immortality. And yet, something in his gut told him that Evelyn’s past was tangled with the path he sought.

“You are bound to this place,” Azrael said, his eyes locked on the ghostly figure before him. “That much is clear.”

The specter let out a hollow, wheezing laugh. “Bound? No, devil. I am not bound—I am the chain.”

Evelyn gasped, her eyes flashing with sudden realization. “You… You kept me here.”

The shadowy figure did not deny it. Instead, it reached a skeletal hand toward her, its fingers elongated and twisted. “You do not belong to the living or the dead. You belong to me.”

Azrael moved before he could think. In one fluid motion, he stepped between Evelyn and the specter, his gaze burning with cold fury. “You presume too much.”

The air crackled.

Though he was restrained in this human form, Azrael was still a devil, and the power that slumbered within him stirred in response to the challenge.

The specter hesitated. It had recognized what Azrael was.

“A devil walks among mortals,” the creature murmured, its hollow voice laced with something akin to amusement. “How interesting.”

Azrael’s smirk was razor-sharp. “I don’t have patience for lingering wraiths.” His fingers twitched, and for a moment, the air shimmered as if reality itself were bending under his presence. “You will answer my questions, or I will see to it that you fade from existence.”

The specter’s form wavered, flickering like a dying flame. Then, with a rasping sigh, it spoke.

“She was murdered.”

Evelyn froze. Her entire being seemed to dim, the glow around her flickering like a weak candle. “No…”

Azrael tilted his head slightly. “Who killed her?”

The shadow’s empty gaze fell upon Evelyn.

“She already knows.”

Evelyn staggered back, her hands shaking. Fragments of memory crashed into her like waves against a shattered shore. A cold room. A familiar voice. The sharp sting of betrayal.

And blood. So much blood.

“No…” Evelyn whispered, pressing her hands to her temples. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

The specter let out another wheezing laugh. “Then perhaps you are not ready to be free.”

With that, it dissolved into the darkness, vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

The silence it left behind was deafening.

Azrael exhaled through his nose, watching Evelyn carefully. Her form was still unstable, flickering in and out like a soul on the verge of breaking.

“I was murdered,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Azrael crossed his arms. “Yes.”

Her eyes lifted to his, fear and determination warring within them. “Then I need to remember who did it.”

Azrael smirked. “Good. Because I have a feeling your past is tied to what I seek.”

Evelyn swallowed hard. “The Stone?”

Azrael’s smirk deepened. “Yes.”

A gust of wind swept through the ruined mansion, but this time, it carried something different.

The beginning of answers.