Reincarnated As The Villainess's Son-Chapter 177 [Brightest Star] [7]

'Where am I?'

The sky was filled with fluffy white clouds.

I sat on a reflective ground, like a mirror, the clouds reflecting on its surface.

It was hard to define, but it felt like I was sitting on the clouds.

I looked up. In the distance, the sun shone softly, its glow slightly blurred.

There was no sound, no living being—nothing but just me.

"....Ahh."

It was peaceful at first.

But when my last memories returned, fear, anxiety, and remorse gripped me inside.

My vision blurred, tears falling onto the reflective surface.

My body curled up unconsciously, hands looping around my knees.

"....Tiffany." I whimpered, my voice breaking, choking my breath.

'Why?'

'Why her?'

Why did she have to die?

She was nothing but a child. What did she do to deserve it?

She was just happily talking to me this morning.

How could she just leave me alone?

Why didn't I die in her stead?

I could have just killed myself, rather than let her die because of my own stupidity.

Why did I try to act smart?

I'm just a dumb, idiotic person without any value.

Why?

"....Ahh."

Suddenly, my mother's face flashed in my mind.

"...Mother."

Her face, words, smile—everything became clear.

And so did my childhood memories.

'She was right.'

My mother was always right.

Every word she said came true.

She was right about everything.

....I shouldn't have been—.

"Are you done?"

My body flinched slightly as I heard a child's voice.

The blurriness in my eyes cleared up a little as my gaze moved up.

A child stood in front of me.

A child whose face, eyes, and hair had always been blurry were now clear.

"It's been a long time," the child whispered softly, smiling.

...The child with purple hair and eyes.

...A younger version of Azariah.

"...You?" I whimpered silently, tears trickling down my cheeks.

"...You were always a crybaby," he mumbled, walking closer, wiping my tears with his sleeves.

"Leave me," I whispered weakly. He moved back, still smiling. "Why are you here?"

"Always keep on smiling," he said, his hands clasped behind him, circling around me. "You've always lived that way, right?"

"My mother always told me..." I trailed off, not finishing my words.

He should know it anyway.

"Is that so?" he asked, walking behind me. "I wonder, where are we?"

The scene around me twisted, the reflective surface beneath me turned pitch black before the ground replaced it.

And so did everything around me—replaced by the inside of an old house.

...My old house.

"M..Mother," I whispered, looking up at the brown-haired woman, sitting on the floor, crying.

"Do you remember this?" he asked.

"Y...yeah," I whispered softly, staring blankly ahead. "It's the day our father left us."

I was three years old back then.

I shouldn't remember this...but somehow I do.

"Hmm, why so?" he asked curiously.

"...He didn't want to be burdened with rasing two girls," I replied, gazing at my weak mother crying for help. "....He gave her the option to send one of us to an orphanage."

"And your mother didn't choose," he guessed, his voice amused.

"...Yes," I replied, my throat feeling dry. "...And the next day, he was gone...leaving a large debt in my mother's name."

"Your mother didn't try to leave the place?" he asked.

"...My mother grew up in that house," I whispered weakly. "...She didn't want to leave, even if it meant paying that worthless debt."

"Did you ever want to see him again?" he asked, walking in front of me, his gaze on my mother as well.

"....No," I replied softly.

When I was a child, I did want to know more about him.

Who my father actually was.

But the more I grew up, the less the desire to see him became.

"...Hm, doesn't that girl look familiar?" he asked, pointing ahead.

The scene of my mother crying twisted, and a new one appeared.

This time, a girl no more than four years old walked through narrow streets carrying a bucket in both hands.

"....Ah, it's me," I whispered, gazing at myself sweating as she moved.

I vaguely remember this day as well, the first day I asked my mother to let me help her.

She was reluctant at first but eventually gave in.

To fetch water.

It was a one-time task, but I don't know when it became my daily routine.

"Isn't your mother cruel?" he asked, looking at my younger self limping, crushed under the weight of the buckets.

"How could she make a little child do this arduous work?"

"She wasn't cruel...She was kind," I replied, tearing my gaze from my younger self to my empty hands.

"She was barely nineteen when she had me...and even when our father left, she did everything she could to keep us happy...without a single complaint....She was truly someone I looked up to."

"...Was she really a kind person?" he asked, tilting his head.

"...She was," I whispered, staring at my younger self.

"....."

He looked down at me without saying anything.

The world around me kept twisting, revealing my childhood.

....They weren't much special—just me working all the time or looking after my sister.

The world stopped again. We were back at my old house, the day I started 'helping' my mother.

"Do you remember this?" he asked curiously, the world around me resumed.

My mother sat on the bed, her blank gaze fixed on the ceiling. My four-year-old self stood beside her, looking anxiously.

Tiffany's cry echoed from the other room, where 'my' gaze drifted from time to time.

"Mother, Tiffy's been crying for a while," 'I' mumbled, walking closer, shaking her slightly.

She remained unresponsive, her gaze never leaving the ceiling.

"Mother," I whispered, shaking her body. "Help Tiffy; she's crying."

"....Ashlyn," she whispered, turning to look at me. "You're a good girl, right?"

The child me smiled widely and chirped, "Yes!"

"Then—."

"Stop it!" I yelled, looking away from her.

...I can't.

....I can't see all this.

....Not again.

"How long are you going to protect her image?" he asked confidently. "Stop running from what she truly was."

"I said stop!" I yelled, grabbing his collar, but my hands froze before I could push him.

...He looks just like him... like Azariah.

"You're becoming like her," he commented as my grip loosened. "...Just like your mother."

My lips trembled, my eyes glaring at him.

"...Choosing the easy way, just like her," he said, his cold eyes looking down at me.

"...First, trying to kill yourself in the name of saving your sister, and when you couldn't... you just ran away to hide here."

"I can't control when I come here," I snarled, glaring at him.

"It's your subconscious," he replied, extending his hand. "You're here because you choose to be."

"....."

I bit my trembling lips, glaring at him.

"You chose the easy way from the start," he whispered, pointing at me.

"I told you what you truly are when you first met 'Noah'. Had you not selfishly rejected it, you could have easily killed that man today."

"I... I didn't know this would happen," I whispered weakly, my heart sinking deeper.

"I warned you, didn't I?"

"...Ahh."

I felt breathless as I heard his words. He did warn me about this... and I refused to listen.

"You chose to rely on 'Noah' instead of accepting yourself," he taunted. My hands moved on their own, covering my ears.

"...Stop it."

"You chose to remain blind just so you could spend more time with him."

"....Stop it."

"You chose to be selfish, finding your twisted happiness in his care while burdening your sister."

"....Please, just stop."

"You chose to come here, leaving 'Noah' to fight that man alone."

"....."

".....And you chose to protect her image from everyone."

The world around me twisted again.

"Hic... Hic..."

A child's sobbing voice echoed in my ears.

My gaze moved up, looking forward—an old house.

A woman knelt on the floor, her hand moving continuously, the sound of slaps filling the space.

...A child coiling in front of her, trying to protect herself from the merciless beating.

...That child was me.

I stared blankly, looking at my mother.

"Stop crying, Ashlyn," she whispered softly, squeezing 'my' throat. "....Smile like you always do."

I closed my eyes, my heart ached, pain and sadness gripped me, making me gasp for breath.

I remember it... even though I shouldn't.

...My mother used to beat me every day.

Back then, I couldn't understand why she did that.

I thought it was her way of showing love and care. I tried to love her even after that.

...But as I grew up, it became clear to me.

...It wasn't love, but resentment.

...It wasn't care, but frustration.

"Do you hate her?" he asked, making me open my eyes.

"...I've already forgiven her," I whispered, looking at him. "...After all, she's the reason I met 'Noah.'"

"The 'Noah' who will die trying to protect a worthless girl," he scoffed, looking at me.

I flinched slightly, gazing at the ground, now reflecting everything.

'...I truly am becoming like her.'

I let out a self-loathing chuckle as I thought about it.

Just like her, I'm trying to use others.

Just like her, I'm trying to run away from my problems.

....Just like her, I'm torturing someone I shouldn't.

"....I wonder," 'he' whispered, observing me. "....Are you going to be a coward again, or are you going to stop running away?"

"....."

I remained silent as I slowly stood up from my place.

I loathe my mother for what she did, but I still can't bring myself to hate her.

She was weak, extremely weak.

She didn't have the resolve to abandon her past to save her family.

'I don't want to be like her.'

...Even if it means trying to control a power that can hurt Gods.

I slowly turned around, walking away from him.

"You won't regret it, Ashlyn Zya—No."

'He' shouted, his voice echoing throughout the place,

"You won't regret it,

Ashlyn Zyanya,

First Incarnation of Gabriel."