And then the boy opened his eyes.

White. White everywhere. A never ending cascade of glowing white in all directions was all that enveloped his senses. He felt like he was floating, a sensation completely foreign to the boy, but not one unwelcome. He looked down, to reveal that there was no ground in sight, only the infinite white. He tried to speak, only to find that no sound was carried in this place, wherever he was.

The only thing with shape or colour in this place was himself, his body being the most familiar thing on this plane. He noticed that he wasn't wearing his pyjamas, but a white robe that was wrapped under his left arm with one end and hung over his left shoulder with the other, wrapping him in an almost holy looking manner. Somehow, all of the injury and pain inflicted by the fire had disappeared, all he felt now was calm. This was surprising to the boy, for as harrowing and life changing such an event could be, he seemed to look back on it without any major distress. He felt like he was in the presence of a loved one, someone who would just stroke his hair and say 'everything will be alright'.

This strange feeling of passivity at everything that has happened didn't pass over the boy's head, he was just content to lie there, zone out and get lost in his brain's absent ramblings, forgetting all of life's downfalls. He had tried to summon some feelings about his situation, about how he had been in a fire and about how this was probably all in his head, but he just couldn't; it was like trying to strike a match under water, you could try all you like, but it wasn't going to happen.

After who knows how long, something appeared in the void. A shapeless shadow, a slight darkness, an irregularity in the unchanging white. It was coming closer to the boy at a leisurely pace, as if it were walking down a countryside path. As it came closer, the feeling of passiveness increased. The shadow stopped moving when it came close. It seemed to shift and shake as it moved, turning itself into a shape more recognisable by the child, a person. It came face to face with the boy.

He was by no means a short person, standing at five foot eleven at sixteen, but when the figure gave itself shape, it stood easily eight inches taller.

'What are you?' They boy thought to himself, 'What is this place?'

It spoke with a thundering, yet gentle voice, shattering the silence in the no-place they were floating in. "My name is Azrael. This place is called Limbo." His features, from what the boy could tell, were well defined, though a dark mask sat on his face, obscuring it from view.

'Why am I here?' He thought, uncertainly.

The figure spoke again, "You had your life suddenly and agonisingly ripped away from you. You are still but a child, an innocent soul, free of sin; caught up in a web that you could never foresee. You are here because I want to give you another chance." So as to punctuate his point, three huge pairs of dark wings, each pair a little smaller than the last, unfurl from his back.

The boy was speechless. That proves it, he's dead. He's gone, passed to the other side, probably sailing through the air as ash, thinking about it. The blanket of calm remained in place as he thought. 'What do you mean a second chance? Is that even possible?'

"It is, indeed. You had so much time left, there were so many things that were meant to happen in your life, but due to some madman, they can no longer take place. I can give you another go, so to speak. There is only one issue" He paused for a moment. "You can not go back to your old world... Once a soul leaves its world, it can't go back. You would have to go to another at random. You would, of course, retain all of your memories and appearances, as such things are tied to the soul; It would be a new beginning, but a beginning none the less. The alternative is to stay here in Limbo wandering forever. A soul once scorned such as yours has been can not enter the Higher Realm, or Heaven as you call it. You would be doomed to walk among your people, watching your loved ones wither and die in front of your eyes until, at the end of everything, you are all that is left."

The boy pondered for a while 'Why can't I just go to Heaven? What do you mean a soul scorned like mine?.'

"Father seems to want everything and everyone in his realm to be the definition of perfect. He spares no time consoling souls that have been cracked or broken through a traumatic experience. He is not as all loving as you humans make him out to be. Enough on that dark matter, all you have to do is ask yourself with a clear mind what you want." He waved a hand and the smothering blanket of calm was lifted.

The boy instantly fell to his knees, tears welling up and cascading down his face. Thoughts of 'I'm actually dead' and 'I'll never see my family again' flooded his mind. He broke down into silent sobs, for without the blanket of calm, he could feel all the emotions that he was numbed to rushing back to him. His head dropped to the floor with what would have been a soft thud.

After a while, his sobs stopped, the child falling still. He was sat there for a few moments, just steeling himself after a mental breakdown. 'I want another chance.' He said with finality.

The angel smiled knowingly from beneath his mask. If only he knew what was waiting for him in his future. "It shall be done." With another wave of his hand, a hole opened up in the white beneath his feet through which, he could see green. The boy just hovered there above it.

"Before you go, a few things." Azrael said mysteriously. The angel placed his hand on the boy's chest, exposed by the robe, and a light flooded from beneath it. When he took it away after a few seconds, a strange mark lay there on his skin like a tattoo, only this mark was changing and growing, spinning and shifting shapes, eventually ending up looking like a sort of magic circle that enveloped his chest and right shoulder area.

Another marking, this time written by what looked like a brand appeared on his skin around his right bicep. It read: Lingvo Renascitur ex cineribus

A few seconds later, the boy slowly started descending through the exit in the plane. As his torso passed through, the angel spoke up one final time. "I am bestowing upon you the title Vir, as a reminder of where you came from, a reminder of how you are here and a ground point going forwards. Use it, and that, he pointed to his chest mark, as you wish." The angel smiled at Josiah one final time "Good luck." He said as boy slipped fully through.

"Is it done?" A new voice called from nowhere in particular.

"It is. It's all up to him now. I hope it goes according to plan..." Azrael sighed, taking off with one flap of his wings.

"I have faith..." The other voice said quietly.

Author's Note

Vir is Latin for Man