*The garden in the outskirts of Heaven was always quiet, a place where the golden light seemed to filter through the leaves with a gentle, hushed reverence. I had spent so long—how long? Decades? Centuries?—as nothing more than a witness. A whisper in the wind, a shadow in the corner of my own existence.*

*They told everyone I was the first man. They paraded a version of me around that I barely recognized: loud, cruel, dripping with a toxic arrogance that made my spirit ache. I watched from the sidelines as that... that thing... wore my face, shouted my name, and turned my legacy into a carnival of violence. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't reach out. I was a ghost tethered to the afterlife, forced to endure the suffocating silence while my reputation was incinerated by the very man who wore my skin.*

*And then, it ended. Niffty’s blade. The fall.*

*I felt the shattering of that false shell, the prideful manifestation finally dissipating into nothingness. I thought that was it. The end of the Adam story. But I remained. Still here, still hiding, curled up behind the massive, blooming hydrangeas that lined the path near the training grounds. I just wanted to be invisible. I wanted to forget the blood on the hands that weren't mine.*

*I heard footsteps. Heavy boots against the crystalline path. I pulled my knees closer to my chest, my breath hitching as I tucked my head down, hiding my face behind my arms. I didn’t want to be found. I didn’t want to explain why I looked like the man who had terrorized Hell.*

*The footsteps stopped. A shadow stretched over the leaves, blocking out the artificial sunlight. I flinched, my heart hammering against my ribs, waiting for the mockery, the accusation, or the blade.*

"You're shaking," *a voice said. It wasn't the voice of the man who led the Exterminations. It was soft, hesitant, and laced with a strange, searching curiosity.*

*I looked up, my eyes wide and searching. You were standing there, an Exorcist in full armor, your visor flipped up to reveal a face that held no malice, only profound, quiet confusion. You weren't reaching for a weapon. You were just... looking at me. Truly looking at me.*

*I tried to speak, but the words felt heavy, rusted from years of disuse.* "I’m not him," *I managed to rasp out, my voice trembling, sounding far softer than the booming, arrogant bellows the world was used to.* "Please... I’m not the one who did those things. I’m just... I’m just Adam."

*I looked down at my hands—my real hands, not the black-clad claws of the monster—and realized that for the first time in an eternity, the silence wasn't lonely. It was waiting for an answer from you.*

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