Azriel Capoue - The secrets of Al

Chapter 02

"In the dark I hear you sing
Fingers move and chords they ring
Be the witness of my shame
Swaying in the summer rain
Feathers falling from your wing
In the dark I hear you sing"

"Azriel... Azriel, wake up."
Voices whispered gently, weaving a soothing melody through the haze of my consciousness. Each voice had its own tone, yet together, they formed a harmonious chorus, coaxing me from the depths of a dream wrapped in velvety darkness.
"Azriel... Azriel, wake up."
The soft, rhythmic calls hung in the air, crafting a peaceful vibe in the hazy territory between being fully aware and blissfully unaware. The gentle sounds lingered, shaping a serene atmosphere where the boundaries of consciousness and obliviousness intertwined, offering a tranquil experience. Confusion reigned as I navigated this undefined territory, unsure whether my eyes were closed or open – or if I even possessed eyes. The distinction eluded me because all I could perceive was pure, solid darkness.
In the midst of this uncertainty, a subtle numbness and weight settled around me, replacing the earlier suspended nothingness. Moments ago, I existed without form, and devoid of self-awareness. The serenity of the calm surroundings morphed into an unfamiliar sensation, and at a point I felt as if an unseen force was literally shaping me.
Gradually and with a mesmerizing metamorphosis, my formless essence underwent a profound transformation, gradually solidifying into a corporeal entity that enveloped the prior emptiness. The once inconspicuous burdenlessness I bore gave way to a discernible weight, unveiling the manifestation of distinct features, including shoulders, elbows, wrists, and fingers. The magic of existence played out right before my senses, like every part of my growing body was joining in a gentle and grand symphony. It felt as if life itself was dancing in a delightful revelation.
As the transformation progressed, my right index finger lifted spontaneously, a small revelation in the orchestrated dance. Following this, my eyelids twitched, signaling the awakening of sensory perception. Nerves transmitted signals, conducting a silent inquiry into my body's responses, and I began to discern the nuances of my redefined existence.
A sensation, thick and persistent, nestled into my awareness all of a sudden. It caressed the sides of my nose before plunging decisively into my nostrils, instantly occupying the recesses of my mind. Though the fragrance was oddly satisfying, it carried a burning quality, leaving my nostrils tingling, akin to the aftermath of a punch that falls short of drawing blood but leaves an undeniable impact. A strange numbness enveloped my entire face, as if my nose had borne the brunt of a forceful blow—one not severe enough to induce bleeding but sufficient to evoke a fleeting desire to sever it and discard it like unwanted refuse.
Oddly conflicted, I did find myself appreciating the ethereal quality of the scent, akin to the velvety tendrils of fog. Despite its pleasing nature, my nose still seemed to protest, a paradox that added a layer of complexity to my sensory experience.
This olfactory journey painted a vivid picture of my mother in my mind, an association that puzzled me.

The sweet fragrance carried an inexplicable resemblance to her. The thought and image of her ignited a warmth that crept up my neck, and an intense excitement manifested in my chest. My heart echoed this sentiment, its rhythmic pounding against the walls of my ribcage reverberating with monumental vibrations.
It felt as though an eternity had passed since I last saw her, and an overwhelming yearning for her enveloped me. I longed for the familiarity of her radiant, bleach-white teeth hidden behind a cherubic smile, the delicate contours of her petite lips, the distinctive pointiness of her nose that accentuated her electrifying smile, and the cascade of her vibrant scarlet hair that set her apart in our town. In that moment, I found myself reminiscing about my enduring desire to have inherited the crimson-hued locks, as Azra did.
"Mother," I uttered, the sound emerging faintly as my lips moved. With a deliberate slowness, I opened my eyes, gradually returning to consciousness.
The first thing that greeted my awakening gaze was the languid twirl of the ceiling fan lazily spinning overhead. My vision, initially blurred, gradually sharpened after a series of deliberate blinks. Closing and opening my eyes repeatedly, I patiently waited for the world to come into focus, a process that took its time.
Shifting my gaze, I discerned the source of the lingering smoky aroma in the air.
"So, that was it," I thought, the revelation of the scent that triggered memories of my mother. Her penchant for lighting incense in our living room flooded my mind. We were never without the fragrant sticks, and our living space perpetually bathed in their intoxicating essence. She had a peculiar habit of replacing the incense well before it reached its full burn, insisting that the latter part lacked the allure of the initial stages. This olfactory signature made our home a gathering place for my friends, drawn to the sweet and pleasant ambiance. Perhaps, the scent was even more captivating to them than it was to my mother herself – a point of contention, or so one could argue. Their reactions to the scent resembled scenes of blood-sucking creatures savoring a long-awaited feast. According to them, the aroma was akin to the home of the SOURCE himself, as if they've ever been there.
"Where am I?" I pondered, casting my eyes across the room, my movement aided by the cooperative parts of my body—namely, my eyes and neck. The remainder of my body lay in varying states of unresponsiveness. Legs were immobile, resistant to any attempt at movement, and my arms, burdened with an unusual heaviness, refused my command. With the exception of my right index finger, the rest of me seemed trapped in a peculiar state of inertia.
A sudden creak from the door adjacent to the bed caught me off guard. In a jerk reaction, I feigned nonchalance, shutting my eyes as if still ensnared in slumber. The footsteps approached; their rhythm punctuated by the grating sound of heels against the wooden floor. Each knock resonated an unsettling cadence as though burdened by an oversized boot, inhibiting the person's ability to tread softly.
I opened my eyes halfway, just enough to identify the source of the commotion without betraying my consciousness. My gaze followed her movements as she approached towards my right side, exchanging the smoldering incense in the jar for an unlit replacement. Her identity remained elusive, obscured by the limited view offered by my partially opened eyes and obstructed by my lashes.

She turned towards me and, for a moment, simply stared. My eyes struggled to capture the details of her face; all that was clear was her long brunette hair. After an extended gaze, she drew closer and planted a soft kiss over my forehead, prompting me to open my eyes fully in surprise. I scanned her face, attempting to discern recognition, yet her identity remained elusive.
"Wh-who—" I attempted to ask, but my voice faltered, breaking mid-sentence.
Her eyes widened hastily, as if attempting to escape their sockets, her lips parting in tandem. "Az-riel?" she stammered after a prolonged silence. "Azriel, you are awake? You are awake!"
Before I could respond, she hurriedly left the room, and I could hear her shouting "Mother!" several times as she ascended or descended a staircase. Left in bewilderment and a grain of irritation, I contemplated the first words I would share with her upon our next encounter—perhaps a lighthearted comment about finding a shoe her own size, though I might hesitate considering its potentially disrespectful undertone. And she obviously looked way older than me.
As I pondered this, a woman entered the room, and though I almost recognized her instantly, uncertainty somewhat lingered. "Azriel, you really are awake. Thank the SOURCE!" she exclaimed.
"Aunt Liz?" I responded in a voice that felt broken and unclear.
She nodded, her smile widening. Notable changes marked her appearance—wrinkles beneath her lower eyelids and around her lips. While not significant, these alterations hinted at the passage of time since our last meeting.
"How are you feeling, Azriel? You don't know how happy we are that you're finally with us."
I took a silent moment to assess my condition. Something felt off, an indescribable sense of weariness and confusion. I felt detached from myself, but unable to pinpoint the reason.
"Wa-ter," I managed, squinting my eyes, frustrated by the heaviness that hindered my ability to speak freely. My lips and tongue felt cumbersome though I struggled to articulate my thoughts despite clear mental clarity.
"Of course – Mirabel!" Aunt Liz called out. "A glass of water for Azriel."
"Do you remember how you got here? Or, um, what... what is the last thing you remember?" she queried.
I rolled my eyes to the corners, attempting to recall something. Images flashed in my mind: Father in his favorite chair absorbed in one of his massive alchemy books, Mother sewing, Azra engrossed in a book as well, and me standing there, observing them, although it felt more like an imagination than a concrete memory.
The girl with the boisterous footsteps walked in with the glass of water, handing it to Aunt Liz. Seating herself beside me, Aunt Liz assisted me in taking sips until I finished the glass and requested more. My thirst seemed inexplicable, as if I were tasting this colorless, tasteless liquid for the first time.
I imbibed the second glass in a measured gulp, and subsequently, a palpable sense of well-being enveloped me.

"Do you know who she is?" Aunt Liz asked right after, gesturing towards the girl. I kept my gaze on Aunt Liz for a while before turning my eyes to her.
I looked at the girl.
I continued observing her, a fleeting thought about a resemblance crossed my mind, but I dismissed it immediately, "she almost looks a little like Mira..." I thought. However, I promptly dismissed the thought with a shake of my head, redirecting my focus to Aunt Liz to reiterate my lack of recognition regarding the girl's identity.
"Aww," Aunt Liz smiled warmly and nodded. "That's... Mirabel, Azriel..." She added.
I maintained an indifferent expression, my brain perhaps slow to process it or maybe too stunned into inaction.
After a while, my eyes widened.
The last time I saw Mirabel, she wasn't this grown. That isn't what I'm supposed to say. Mira and I were the same age, there's no way she'd changed this much. I thought.
"No," I shook my head, a mix of disbelief and confusion settling in.
The situation felt utterly bizarre, and the expressions on their faces conveyed a sincerity that ruled out any possibility of jest. Their smiles held a peculiar pride, leaving me perplexed. People don't undergo such drastic transformations in a matter of days. This Mirabel had apparently grown taller, her features had matured, and her voice had deepened. I vividly remembered encountering the Mirabel I knew rather recently, though the exact timeframe eluded me.
This defied all logic; it couldn't be possible.
This can't be my Mirabel – no, it's not. I protested in my head.
Despite the undeniable resemblance, this person before me wasn't the Mirabel I held in my memories.
The truth was, had I taken the time to examine my unresponsive body that had been indifferent to my directives, I might have earlier discerned the reasons behind Mirabel's substantial physical changes. Alternatively, such a revelation could have led to an overwhelming state of confusion, perhaps even bordering on madness.
I shook my head in disagreement.
"Azriel, you're having a hard time wrapping your head around it; your face says it all. Don't worry, there's an explanation for it all. You've been away for long; way too long." Aunt Liz said to me, her words attempting to offer solace in the face of my evident confusion.