Pendragon.

A Thursday. 11:57 AM, approximately 39 hours after the death of Lane, Alexander.

Unexpectedly and contrary to many beliefs, opening one's eyes is never the first action of a new life. Instead, Alexander's brain and heart pulsed as one in an instant, overflowing his body with warmth to overtake the cold grip of death, rushing into each of his veins and synapses with a rapid, red heat.

His body jostled and jerked, before lurching forward and sitting up, finally opening his eyes. The room was dark and blurry, or maybe that was just his vision. He blinked once, twice, thrice, again and again before he was able to make out shapes and colors and objects.

That was all before he took his first breath.

Alexander scrambled and scurried up as soon as he felt the cold of the metal sheet he laid on, singeing onto his neck, his back, his legs. He rushed to his feet, to the floor. From the second he came into contact with the cold concrete, he couldn't do more than wobble upright and barely force a step forward.

His head was heavy, dense, murky, and his body too weak, too shaky to support his weight.

His lungs struggled to take in air, to force oxygen inside, to keep living. Even as his heart ached and burned deep within his chest, the pounding didn't stop.

Truth be told, the thumping of his heart was the most beautiful pain he had ever felt.

Saliva drooled down his lips and fell to the ground, his eyes widening as he pressed his head against the cold and pale wall. He slowed down his breathing and accepted a deep inhale.

Alexander was alive. His body struggled and fought itself... but he was alive.

He exhaled, his cold breath unleashing a cloud of mist into the air-conditioned room. A shiver ran down his spine with that breath. He didn't know what to say with this new life, whether to thank God or Furcas or Shadowfax first. Instead, he only mumbled, "Thank you..." with a new breath.

A metallic clatter burst out into Alexander's fresh eardrums, leading to another moment of rejoicing in his life. He turned to the side and noticed the woman in a white lab coat, her hands empty and the floor before her drenched in pale chemicals and a steel tray flipped over.

"They were right about you..."

Alexander spun and faced a woman, dressed in a white lab coat and black clothes underneath. Her red sneakers became drenched in whatever fluid fell from her tray. Even so, her attention didn't once focus on her increasingly wet socks. Only the boy who had been born again.

"Hi..." Alexander plainly muttered.

"You're alive."

Alexander placed his hand on his chest, touching the muscle and pausing to feel the thumping heartbeat. He couldn't help but smile. "I'm alive," he said with a light chuckle.

"Jesus Christ, I've never seen anything like this before," she said to herself, pushing up her glasses. She quickly took in the situation and began approaching him. She wore medical gloves of rubber, reaching down to her wrists. And so, with her hands dressed in light blue and smelling of hand sanitizer, she grabbed Alexander by his face and squeezed his cheeks together.

"Is this... really necessary?" he asked through her grip.

"You're alive," she repeated, lowering her hand onto his chest to feel his heartbeat.

She stared at his arm. Though his body was a bit paler than usual, having been deceased for days and hours, his skin remained the color of red cinnamon. It was smooth, almost perfect skin. She smiled. "I remember when there were tears in the muscle. It's all gone, all... healed. You're incredible."

Alexander paused. "I mean... it's not like I did it myself. Probably anyone could repeat what I did. Y'know?"

"Now that you're back to life–" The woman shuddered. "–I'm actually more tempted to dissect your body than I was when your corpse was in front of me. I know you're partially a demon but... I wanna see what you're really made of..." she said with a smile.

"No, thanks, miss." That was all Alexander could utter. "I want to keep my body intact from now on."

She took a step back. "Right. My bad. I shouldn't have-"

"No, no, no," Alexander interrupted. "It's okay. That's just not the way I wanna go about life so..." He shrugged. And with that, he paused.

Looking down, he finally noticed his bare feet. And unfortunately, it wasn't just his feet that were bare, but his legs and his chest s well. He was naked.

To be fair, he had been dead for some time.

"...Do you have any clothes I can borrow?"

She stared at him in silence. "I cannot believe I forgot about that..." she mumbled to herself.

- - - - -

Alexander, now wearing nothing more than a dusty pair of sweatpants and Kate's lab coat, sat down in the office of the morgue and waited. Kate, the mortician, had supposedly been instructed to call for Charles Archibald and the Demon-Born's first.

He was thankful for that, as he already knew that at some point he would have to encounter the Magecraft Association and their questions. Still, he pushed his thoughts away as his stomach grumbled.

Finally then he realized in that period of just less than two days he was a corpse, he had eaten nothing.

Unfortunately, the nourishment of the UnderWorld could not sustain his Worldly body.

He sighed and pulled his head back against the wall. Meanwhile, his black hair slid and crept down the back of his neck. That lofty sensation was something he was unfamiliar with– not because it was completely unknown to his previous life, but because it wasn't there when he had died.

His hair had gotten a bit longer, hadn't it?

That was it. His wavy hair and its curls drooped further down his neck and the side of his head. He ran his fingers through his pitch-black hair and concluded: his hair grew abnormally faster over some periods.

It had happened to him over the mission of Vanaheim and throughout his death. It couldn't have simply been caused by magic. As he focused his thoughts on each slight possibility and whatever detail could be connected to the ideas, the steel door opened and closed again.

Alexander turned to the side.

The two most familiar faces of his life came into his line of sight. His mother and sister, standing at the door in frozen shock, breathless yet their eyes gleaming with life. Just like his.

Alexander rushed to his feet, once again pressing his bodyweight against the cold floor and stepping to them.

With each sensation of lifting his foot over above the floor and pressing it back into the concrete, a shiver ran down his spine. Countering that, heat ran through each of his bones, as he was finally conscious of the precious life and warmth that came with each heartbeat.

Carmen Cortés fell to her knees before she reached her son. Tears streamed down from her eyes to her cheeks to the floor, staining the cement with salty water. Her breaths hiccuped as she kept her gaze on her son, now kneeling by her side with a smile.

"I'm sorry..." he told her, pressing his now warm palm against the side of her head. He wrapped his free arm around Emilia's back as she knelt beside them. "It's okay. I'm back now, though."

"I'm so..." she spoke. "I missed you, mijo."

Emilia smiled in silence, embracing her brother in return, a tear failing to slide down her face and being stopped by Alexander's white sleeve.

"It's okay..." he said, keeping his arms around them both. He couldn't help himself, leaving two tears to leave his watered eyes and drip down his cheeks. Marching through Hell and back, he fought for them, the family he held in his heart. Of course, there were others he loved. But in each second, he longed for them the most– those who had never forsaken him or abandoned him. He couldn't abandon them.

He fought for life and limb, each minute of each hour for their sake. He knew he couldn't leave them alone in the world. He couldn't.

Despite his crying, he brought himself to smile, to be strong. For them. He repeated, "It's okay. I won't leave you two again. I promise."

Standing at the doorway, Archibald smiled at them, supporting himself with his wooden cane. The corners of his eyes wrinkled as his smile widened, shifting from a slight curling of his lips to a grand grin, taking in a deep breath just to let out a sigh of contentment.

He waited in stillness until the family got back on their feet, wiping away their tears, and softly murmuring expressions of joy and gratitude. From there, he stepped forward and smiled, forcing Alexander to meet his baby blue eyes.

"It's good to see you, Archibald," Alexander said as the two shook hands.

The Paladin opened his mouth to speak, but Alexander shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but..." He sighed. "I don't want to talk about what happened down there. Furcas— Adam's father, I mean– he's a good guy, like a knight. He's the only reason why I got through the whole hell it was. And everything else..."

Another sigh. "I'll have to get back to you. I can explain everything, you can give me a mission or anything, or news or whatever. Just not now. Later, please."

Archibald nodded his head in silence. "I understand, my boy. Please, get some rest." He tilted his head a bit and faced Carmen. "Please take care of him. And of yourself, naturally."

- - - - -

Even after they left, it was only after a great many hours and a great many meals of great amounts that Alexander's body was finally in what he considered 'tip-top shape', which is to say, the spirit of death no longer gripped him, and he felt the same way he had in every day of his old life. Better, if anything.

Now, he only sat in the comforting silence of his home, drinking milk from a simple glass.

The silence was only interrupted by a quick knock at the door, with one Anastasia Velda being the source of that sound. As he pulled the door open and met her, all he could do is stare in more silence with pursed lips.

Alexander was yet to meet any of the Virtues again. Considering that none of them had arrived or spoken to him, except for Anastasia just now, he judged that they were probably ordered to give him space, or that Archibald had kept his new life under wraps for now.

Regardless, Anastasia's actions always went against what was expected of her, always doing whatever she wanted in whatever circumstance. How she found out about him eluded him, but he was content, although that much was difficult to show within his confusion.

"You can come in, y'know."

Anastasia's eyes began to well up with a quick tear, only for her to blink it away and shake her head. Her next action confused Alexander the most. She stepped forward and hugged him, pressing her body against his and burying her head into his chest. "I won't say this to your face," she began, her arms wrapped around him and squeezing with each breath of theirs. "But I missed you."

"I wasn't gone that long, was I?" Alexander asked in return, keeping one hand outstretched and grasping onto his cup of milk. He took a second before hugging her in return and patting her bony back through her hoodie.

"That's not the point. You were dead, dumbass." She pulled herself back, only for her to sway and slide past Alexander and into his home.

Alexander couldn't help but smile at her– her entirety. The sight of her, the smell of her, the feel of her was all enough to quell his anxious and fearful heart. He downed the last half-cup of milk he had and rushed over to her as she made herself at home, sitting down in his kitchen.

"So... You want anything? Some milk?" he asked her, his ears unknowingly turning red behind the tufts of curly black hair on his head. Alexander poured himself another glass of milk while she shook her head and refused.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Alexander nodded in response and understanding. The following conversation spurred endlessly, each unnecessary joke inspiring another comment, and each spoken sentence bringing new questions from each side.

Each of Alexander's laughs allowed him to bask further into his new one, and more importantly, allowed him to forget his trials and tribulations in the UnderWorld, and of the struggles of war, past and future.

He poured himself yet another glass of milk. Anastasia glared at him.

Alexander stared back in confusion. While there remained some bits of awkward silence between them now, he couldn't deny that she brought him comfort. Her beauty brought some sort of instinctive contentment.

She finally spoke when he took a sip of his milk.

"That's your fifth cup of milk, man."

Alexander paused and choked. He had drunk two glasses before she had even arrived, and her keeping count was the last thing he expected. "I mean..."

"Are you gonna drink the whole gallon?"

"...Maybe," he muttered.

Emilia laughed at their interaction. "I think he just needs the calcium," she told Anastasia. His body did decay for a bit, so..." She shrugged. "I'm not blaming him yet." She had quietly come down the stairs during their conversation and smiled at them.

"You guys aren't talking about anything important, are you?"

Anastasia shook her head. Alexander only raised his glass and muttered, "Milk."

Before another word was spoken, there was another knock at the door. It wasn't similar to Anastasia's light tapping. It was akin to a slowed heartbeat, a solid thump, one slowly, patiently after the last.

As eerie as it seemed, Emilia closed in on the door without regard. She pulled it open and unveiled a tall man clad in black. Adam Lane.

"Oh, hey," Alexander said with a wave at his father. "Would've thought you'd take another 17 years to see me again." That joke was blurted out through an instinct, although one that was never helpful.

Adam glared at Alexander with fierce black eyes. Grabbing it by its pommel, he raised and dangled a blade into Alexander's line of sight. It had no sheath, but regardless, no scabbard could conceal the demonic energy that poured out from it.

"What the hell?" Alexander asked. He quickly stood up before recognizing the sword.

"That's what I asked myself." Adam threw the sword into the house. It clattered onto the rug of the living room.

Anastasia cocked her head back and stared at the blade. Even while unaware of it, her constant exposure to demonic magic and energies thereof had built up her senses, bringing her to alertness as soon as one came near her. It wasn't just her sense of smell or the sight that brought the crawling in her skin, but the energy that she had trained against.

Alexander furrowed his eyebrows and stared at the sword. "Hey, man. Not into the house."

Adam brushed past his niece and walked in. He approached the sword and spoke again. "Why is Gram on Midgard?"

That sword was of a dull grey, scuffed as if dirtied and worn out over ages of experience, although for weapons, experience meant combat itself. Bloodshed itself. It was nothing like the blade he watched Furcas unveil, the clean and silver longsword that would be changed with magic. Furcas' energy would dress the blade in darkness, fortifying it to deal any amount of damage to cut through any and all things.

Adam picked it up, this time coiling his hand over the hilt and brandishing it, aiming its tip at Alexander. "This is a demonic sword. Prior to today, do you know how many demonic weapons existed on Midgard? Four. One sword in the Viceroyalty of Colombia of the Latin Union. One war hammer originating in Denmark and currently housed in Pendragon. And two in the Empire of the Rising Sun. Both in Edo."

He waved around the sword, more demonic magic spilling into the air like a profuse, disgusting scent. The energy filled the air like a thick smoke, forcing its way into the senses of all in the room. Alexander clenched his jaw.

"Why is there one in Miami, Florida now?" he asked Alexander.

"I don't know. But... Get it out of the house."

Adam chuckled and with a chuck of his arm, tossed the weapon at his son. It landed directly into his open arms. Fixing his eyes on that sight, he swallowed his dry saliva.

"Emilia..." Alexander said, his voice now hoarse and dry. "Pass me that blanket."

Folded on the couch, a thick red blanket sat undisrupted until Emilia grabbed it from its side and tossed it to her brother. It unraveled in the air, leaving Alexander to wrap the newfound sword in the fabric. He gave no quarter and spared no space, tightly compacting the blanket around the demonic blade.

Finally, he let out a breath, after not finding himself able to breathe. He set the sword down on the kitchen counter and shut his eyes for a moment.

Adam shook his head. "I asked you what it's doing here, Alexander."

"I don't know!" Alexander shouted out. His body grew colder by the second, his bones and joints stiffening, his lungs shivering with each unsteady inhale. "I... To pierce the Door of Life and Death, Furcas threw me his sword. I split the Door and... light burst out. I'm sure that's what sent me back. I was holding onto the sword when I did it, so..."

He sighed, pressing his cold palm against his forehead. "Can we just accept that there's a new demonic weapon and move on? I think that'll be easier for-"

"Let me give you a brief history on this sword..." Adam said, approaching Alexander and standing before him, leaving only the countertop between the father and son. "It was forged by Mammon– not the one you killed, but the first one– for the only Lucifero. Mammon, being he who eventually became the demon of greed, was always one who understood beauty the most. That is why he made such a marvelous and effective blade for the angel he considered his master. Now obviously, the demon of greed made him an even more beautiful sword," he explained.

"But Lucifero's sword was meant to be the greatest in power and energy. Still, their rebellion in the OverWorld failed, as you know. So the sword of Gram was traded by and to other 'gods'—the lesser ones. In reality, those lesser gods like Odin, who bore the blade, were nothing more than devils on Midgard." He aimed and dug his finger into the hefty scarlet fabric that wrapped around the sword. "This blade is evil and cursed. It has been used by devils to curse humans and destroy their lives. It has been used by humans to kill others, to bring unjust death and cruelty into the world. It has no place in this World."

Alexander stared down at the crimson blanket on the countertop. While the sword was hidden inside it, hidden from his sight, the rest of his innate senses whispered to me. Even as he kept his palms pressed against the table, he could feel the blade– as if he had never let go of it from the moment he used it to split apart stone.

Fate had brought the sword to him in the UnderWorld. And now it had made its way before him again.

Alexander's eyes remained fixed on the blanket. "Take it." He looked up at met Adam's gaze. "Come on, man. I don't want to see it again, so... It's all yours..." he said. "...Just take it," he repeated.

"I wish I could," Adam responded.

"Huh?" the children asked in unison, even Emilia interjected with her dropping jaw.

"Do me a favor, Alexander. Grab the sword."

Alexander coughed out another confused exclamation. "No way, dude. I'm sorry, but... You're not getting me to touch that thing again."

"Why not?"

"You just said it's cursed! I never wanted this sword to begin with! I only used it because I had to!" Alexander grit his teeth. "It's not mine. You can do whatever you want with it. Have fun for all I care."

A thin smirk spread across Adam's lips. "Told you I can't, already. It's not mine. And while you can say it isn't yours, the sword itself knows you own it."

Alexander kept himself quiet, only glaring at Adam with his furrowed eyebrows as he waited for an explanation.

Adam's smile remained as he began to unravel the demonic sword from the blanket and slowly unveiled it again. "The sword appeared just forty miles from here. Just outside the hospital you were born in, Alexander. That's because the Doors brought it to you, even while you were half a world away." He lifted the sword into the air, the crimson blanket cascading down his black-clad arms.

Even while Alexander couldn't trust a man he had only met a literal handful of times, as he stared into Adam's black eyes, he knew there wasn't a single form of lie within them. There had to have been a reason behind Adam's inquisition, a reason why the glimmer in his eyes urged Alexander to take hold of the sword.

Alexander was stuck, thinking. He didn't want to touch the blade in his new life, no matter what reason Adam had. Considering each side of the topic, processing every bit of information and experience he had, he became lost in his own confusion.

Before he knew it he had grabbed the sword's hilt.

"Wait–" Alexander stammered out as soon as he realized his unconscious mistake. starting from his fingertips and running up his hands and arms and into his head and his heart and down the rest of his body, his energy burst, exploded alongside a fervent, fiery tingling that brought a greater force into his veins. A new lifeblood, yet one more demonic than Alexander could have wished.

The blade had quickly turned pitch-black without an ounce of Alexander's magic.

"You used the sword to bring yourself into this world. Now that the sword has no master, it sought one. It's you."

That was all Adam said before turning away and heading for the door. Alexander tried to choke out some words to his father, but nothing came out. The sword became weightless in his hands, and yet, his heart sank further into his chest, as if pressured and burdened.

Alexander set the blade down again, although he knew. He knew that even as Adam stepped out of the door and into the outside, his father's smile remained brandished.