The first thing he felt was warmth.
Not the harsh, suffocating heat of his father's magic, nor the feverish burn of bruises forming under his skin. This warmth was soft, steady, almost gentle, like sunlight filtered through a blanket. For a moment, Vali didn't move. His body felt heavy, as if he'd been asleep for days, and his mind floated somewhere between dreams and consciousness.
Then his mind wandered.
The long, desperate days after slipping away from that cursed house. He remembered the forest swallowing him as he wandered deeper, branches brushing his cheeks and snagging at his clothes. The nights were cold enough to make his teeth chatter, the kind of cold that seeped into his bones and refused to leave. His stomach had ached constantly, twisting tighter with every hour he went without food.
He remembered forcing himself forward anyway, driven by nothing but the stubborn instinct to survive, to get as far away as possible from that hellish place. No shouts behind him. No footsteps chasing him. Just silence. Heavy, lonely, and strangely comforting, silence.
But his small body could only endure so much.
The world had begun to blur around the edges. His legs felt heavy. Every breath grew shallow, every step harder than the last. He recalled stumbling over roots, catching himself on trembling hands, pushing on even when his vision swam.
And then, at some point, his strength simply gave out.
The forest tilted. He fell. His limbs refused to move. The hunger, the cold, the exhaustion, all of it finally crashed down on him at once.
After that, there was only darkness.
Vali's eyes snapped open.
He was lying on a bed, not his own, not anything he recognized. The sheets were clean, the pillow soft, and the room around him was dimly lit by a single lamp. It looked like a small cabin or a hideout: wooden walls, scattered books, a desk cluttered with papers, and a faint smell of metal.
Definitely not home.
He pushed himself upright, wincing as his muscles protested. His body was fully wrapped in bandages: arms, ribs, legs and even a part of his head. Someone had saved him and even taken the time to treat his wounds.
As he realised this, a surge of panic hit him.
Who treated me? Who brought me here?
His father's face flashed in his mind, cold eyes, cruel hands, the suffocating pressure of magic that always followed. Even though he knew he had escaped, even though he knew no one had chased him, the fear rose anyway, raw and instinctive.
He pressed himself harder against the wall, small fingers curling into the blanket as if it could shield him. His breathing grew fast and uneven. A familiar wave of dread washed over him.
Only one person had ever touched him gently. Only one person had ever cared for him.
His mother.
And she was gone.
Everyone else in his life had been a threat. A danger. A source of pain.
So whoever had treated him now, whoever had carried him here, could be anything. A stranger. An enemy. Someone who wanted something from him. Someone who might hurt him the moment he let his guard down.
His pulse thundered in his ears. He needed to get up. He needed to run. He needed to...
A sharp ache shot through his ribs when he tried to move, forcing a small, pained gasp from his throat. His vision blurred for a moment, and he froze, trembling.
He wasn't strong enough to run. He wasn't strong enough to fight. He wasn't strong enough to do anything.
The helplessness made the panic worse.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing, but the room felt too small, too quiet, too unfamiliar. His eyes stayed fixed on the door, waiting for it to open, waiting for someone to walk in, someone he didn't know, someone who might hurt him.
His hands shook.
He didn't trust this place. He didn't trust whoever had saved him. He didn't trust anyone.
But before he could continue panicking, a wave of memories surged in his mind. These memories were strange, they felt alien.
A classroom. A smartphone. Friends laughing. A world ruled by humans. A world without devils, angels, or dragons. A world where magic didn't exist. A world where he, Vali Lucifer, was nothing more than a character in a light novel.
High School DxD.
The name echoed in his mind. He saw flashes of pages, illustrations, plotlines. He remembered reading about the White Dragon Emperor. About Issei Hyoudou. About the future wars, alliances, and betrayals.
He remembered reading about himself.
Vali clutched his head, breathing sharply. The memories weren't complete, they were foggy, fragmented, like a dream slipping away. But the details he did recall were too vivid to ignore. He remembered the story's events. He remembered how the world was supposed to unfold.
He remembered dying as a normal human.
Or… something like that.
He didn't actually remember much of his supposed life as a human.
Before he could untangle the mess in his mind, a voice broke the silence.
"Well, look who finally decided to wake up."
Vali's head snapped toward the doorway.
A tall man leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Black hair with golden bangs and a pair of sharp golden eyes. There was only one man Vali knew of in both of his lifetimes who matched that description.
Azazel.
Vali's breath caught. He knew this man. Not personally, but from the memories of the novels. Governor of the Fallen Angels. Researcher. Schemer. The man who would one day become his mentor.
And the man who had apparently just saved him.
Azazel stepped into the room, his expression shifting from amused to assessing. "You were in pretty bad shape when I found you. Collapsed right in the middle of the forest. Lucky for you, I was passing through."
Vali didn't respond. His mind was still racing, torn between fear, confusion, and the surreal knowledge of who this man was supposed to be.
Azazel raised an eyebrow. "Not much of a talker, huh? That's fine. Kids usually aren't after… whatever you went through."
Vali flinched before he could stop himself.
Azazel noticed.
He sighed softly and pulled up a chair beside the bed. "Look, I'm not going to pry. Not yet. But I can guess enough. You're a devil kid, and someone hurt you. Badly."
Vali's hands tightened around the blanket.
Azazel continued, voice gentler now. "You don't have to tell me anything right now. Just know you're safe here."
Safe.
The word felt foreign. Unreal. Dangerous to believe in.
Vali swallowed hard. "Why… did you help me?"
Azazel blinked, then chuckled. "Why not? I don't make a habit of leaving half-dead children lying around in the woods. Bad for my reputation."
Vali stared at him, trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the version he remembered from the novels. The Azazel he knew from those memories was cunning, brilliant, mischievous, but also someone who genuinely cared for his subordinates. Someone who would one day care for him.
But this Azazel didn't know him yet.
Vali hesitated, then asked quietly, "Where am I?"
"A safehouse," Azazel replied. "One of many. No one knows you're here. No one's going to find you unless you want them to."
Vali nodded slowly. Relief washed through him, but it was tangled with something else. The strange, impossible memories of another life pulsed at the back of his mind, demanding attention.
Azazel studied him for a moment. "You've got that look."
"What look?" Vali muttered.
"The 'I'm thinking way too hard for a kid my age' look." Azazel leaned back in his chair. "So. Want to tell me your name?"
Vali hesitated. He knew he should lie. He knew that giving away his identity as a Lucifer was far too dangerous. But something inside him, some instinct or echo of the future he remembered, told him Azazel would find out eventually.
"…Vali," he said quietly.
Azazel nodded. "Vali, huh? Good name."
Vali didn't add the surname. Not yet, not until he is sure he won't be killed for revealing it.
Azazel didn't push. Instead, he stood and stretched. "You should rest a bit more. Your body's still recovering. I'll make some food."
He turned toward the door.
"Wait."
Azazel paused, glancing back.
Vali lowered his gaze. "Thank you."
Azazel's expression softened, just a little. "Don't mention it. Really."
He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Vali sat in silence, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His father. His escape. His collapse. Azazel's rescue. And the memories. The memories that weren't his. The memories of a human life and a story where he was destined for battles, rivalries, and a future shaped by fate.
He touched his chest, half-expecting to feel the presence of Albion.
Nothing.
The Sacred Gear was silent. Maybe sealed. Maybe not awakened yet.
But he remembered the novels. He remembered how things were supposed to go.
He remembered that he would one day become the strongest White Dragon Emperor in history.
Vali took a slow breath.
If he truly had knowledge of the future, even fragmented, then he had an advantage no one else in this world possessed. He could change things. He could avoid mistakes he made in the novel. He could grow stronger, faster, smarter.
He could surpass everything.
Even fate.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips, small, but real.
"Fine," he whispered to himself. "If this is my chance to defy fate… I'll use it."
Outside the room, he heard Azazel humming as he cooked.
For the first time in his young life, Vali felt the faintest spark of hope.