Descending into the ashened abyss of non-existence between dimensions, the soul of Azlan arrived at the dimensional boundary six months later than his companions.
The Bearer of Knowledge.
He who was meant to be reincarnated first, yet remained in the prior mortal realm in a coma fueled by pure spite, merely to taunt whatever forces wished to kill him.
Ten shadowy figures silhouetted themselves around his floating form.
The shortest of them all inched forward with an unseen expression and extended its slender arm.
Standing—or rather, floating—within the dimensional void between worlds and universes of the Imaginary Tree, in a place beyond the space-time continuum and the magnificent splendour of the Sea of Quanta, it granted the soul a physical form.
A teenage body with subtle maturity.
Perhaps nineteen in age.
Flowing violet hair fluttered around his serene face, fair skin illuminated by eyes bathed in golden splendour.
High cheekbones and a pointed nose granted the youth an androgynous beauty.
That subtle maturity gave him an air of elegance and authority.
Etherealness moulded his form—an essence granted by the shadowy figure whose hand lingered hesitantly before gently stroking his cheek, then retreating.
Then the figure spoke.
“By Oath of the Void, I grant the most beloved one the authority of space.
May the folds of time and space spill over as a curtain to allow warmth into your world forevermore.”
An intricate design seemed to corrode itself onto the newly created body’s back.
A crescent-shaped sigil curved toward the neck, three pointed lances extending north, southeast, and southwest to meet in the center.
Another lance stretched downward from the crescent’s base, hollow at its center.
Thin streaks of violet compounded the halo-like design.
Once complete, the entire circuit glowed with luminescent radiance before receding into the body as though it had never existed.
[Stigmata of the Void]
Then each shadowy figure stepped forward in turn, granting blessings upon the rechristened soul.
“May lightning illuminate a path forward for you.”
[Stigmata of Thunder — stretching across his neck]
“In the darkest of times, may reason guide your way forward, and truth illuminate the path.”
[Stigmata of Reason — stretching across his right arm]
“May you find everlasting freedom, carried forward by the wind.”
[Stigmata of Wind — stretching across his left arm]
“May the burning sun bring warmth to thaw the cold and bitterness in life.”
[Stigmata of Flamescion — stretching across his right leg]
“May you retain your will, even when faced with the harshest the world has to offer.”
[Stigmata of Sentience — stretching across his left leg]
Then all the shadowy figures spoke as one, the cacophony of voices synchronizing into something akin to a divine orchestra.
{May The World Be As We Wish}
And then—
At the end of them all, two figures stepped forward simultaneously and pushed the body downward into the endless abyss.
Light surged forth.
The endless black vanished beneath a singular blot of brilliance within the ultimate symphony of oblivion.
And then the golden eyes opened.
Though not within the Imaginary Space.
The Siberian TundraFebruary 1st, 1998
Holy shit, my head hurts.
Those were the first thoughts that entered his mind, still blazing from the process of…
well, death.
For some reason, warmth coursed across his body before slowly receding, the lingering heat causing a faint flush to bloom across his delicate visage.
Wait…
why do I even have a head?
He blinked.
Reality settled in.
He was no longer a bodiless soul drifting through the void—or heaven.
Looking out the window, he was greeted by merciless cold.
A blizzard swallowed the desolate landscape outside.
The only sound was the faint pitter-patter of snow against the single glass window dominating one side of the wooden cabin.
Beside him, an oil-lit gypsy lantern cast warm luminescence across the room.
His golden eyes softened slightly at the perceived warmth.
At least I’m not in hell.
Hell can’t be this pleasant…
or cold.
Astute observation, Mr.
Protagonist.
Truly an observant man you are.
He sat up straighter in bed, leaving behind the comfort of the blankets as long strands of violet hair fell across his chest.
He blinked at them.
He…
did not have purple hair.
Ah, I’ve been transmigrated~
He blinked slowly.
Then his eyes widened in alarm as he scanned the room.
A small yet tidy cabin, built more for warmth and function than aesthetics.
“What do you mean I’ve been transmigrated!?”
A muffled thump echoed as he dropped back onto the pillow.
Well, whatever.
I’m too tired to think about it right now~
Though his conscious mind joked, the deeper parts of his brain spiraled in panic, attempting to process the situation while unknowingly integrating the Stigmata into his body.
The sigils were being strangely cooperative.
Especially the large one on his back.
Of course, he knew none of this.
He groggily sat up once more.
I should at least figure out where I am.
Usually, transmigration in manga and anime dumps people into famous series they know.
Depending on the series, this is either heaven or hell.
He glanced outside again.
Judging by the weather, I’m probably somewhere far north.
Russia, maybe?
Surely not some remote place like Yakutsk?
I’m not built for that kind of cold.
Though the eternal blizzard doesn’t fill me with much hope…
He yawned and stretched, hearing his new voice for the first time.
Sweet.
Light.
Young.
Around nineteen years old.
Still male too, judging by the rather important confirmation downstairs.
He stared delightedly at his violet hair.
Ah, I always wanted to dye my hair~!
Now I don’t even have to!
Then—
A sleepy yawn sounded beside the bed.
Cute.
Soft.
Young.
He froze.
The figure beside him sat up before trustingly resting her chin against the bed.
Panic erupted instantly.
Is that who I think it is!?
Shit, it’s Sirin!
His hands shot to his head.
I’m in the Honkai Impact 3rd universe!?
Kill him now.
Actually—don’t.
Please don’t.
He had just gotten another chance at life.
Sirin blinked awake sluggishly, but the moment she saw his open eyes staring back at her, her golden irises widened.
Tears welled instantly.
The little girl launched herself at him with surprising force.
“Big brother Seiya, you’re awake!”
Sobs wracked her tiny body.
“I-I’m so glad!
I thought you died like everyone else in the big blizzard!
Uwah…
I was so scared!”
She buried herself deeper into his embrace.
The newly named Seiya blinked.
Seiya, huh?
He could work with that.
And the little girl in his arms?
Well—
Obviously he hugged her tighter~!
He laughed softly and pulled her close, causing Sirin to squeal in relief and joy.
So what if this munchkin would eventually become the Herrscher of the Void?
What kind of heartless bastard sees a crying little girl and doesn’t give her hugs and kisses!?
As for the brother part…
Seiya wasn’t particularly concerned.
He had a little sister in his previous life.
And now he had one again.
Balanced, as all things should be.
He even had experience dealing with clingy little gremlins~!
So he gently kissed Sirin’s forehead.
She made a delighted little noise.
The remaining tears in her eyes were wiped away by the back of his finger as he smiled softly.
“Making pretty girls cry is a sin, y’know?
So don’t cry anymore, or big brother will be sad.
Instead, give me a big smile~”
Warmth filled his tone.
His golden gaze softened further as he looked at the child in his lap.
For now, he decided to avoid using Ni-chan or anything overly affectionate.
No need to confuse her immediately.
Though eventually?
Absolutely.
That was Mission Number One.
Sirin sniffled before nodding firmly.
Then she beamed up at him with the brightest smile she could manage.
She didn’t want big brother to be sad, after all.
And at that moment—
Seiya made a vow.
Screw the Mihoyo scriptwriters.
I don’t care if the plot depends on Sirin suffering.
I won’t let it happen.
He gently stroked her hair, coaxing the exhausted girl back toward sleep.
After all…
Seiya smiled faintly.
I can’t let her get hurt.
I’ve got a big brother’s pride to protect.