More than a month had slipped by in the strange cocoon of the Space-Time array — though to Vergil, it might as well have been a blink or even an eternity.
He didn't know how many minutes or even seconds passed outside. And for the first time in forever, he realised he didn't care any more.
"So is this freedom?" Vergil questioned the air — rhetorically answering himself.
Life wasn't a battlefield, clawing for survival against overwhelming odds nor the desperation to seize power to trample others.
'A peaceful prison made by fate... all for me.' Vergil smiled. That was the most apt description.
Luminare — his "mother," though the word still felt weird whenever he called her that — had been teaching him the world's language.
He refused her at first, shrugging her off with an adolescent bitterness.
"What's the use, moth—er?" he asked. The word mother still didn't roll off the tongue properly. "There's no reason for me to learn."
