Chapter Text
Nico di Angelo should be dead. She doesn't remember her death or what happened, but she knows she should have died. The Queen of Ghosts expected to see Thanatos escort her to the underworld. Her father no doubt already had a ton of work prepared for her—one she must complete.
Waking up as a child wasn't part of her plans. Waking up in a child's body abandoned in front of the orphanage—even less so. Nico knows it's possible: after all, she herself sent many souls to reincarnation. But that doesn't explain why she remembers her past. The River Leto should have erased everything.
The first months of her life were horrific. Being a helpless creature, unable to do anything, was repulsive. It reminds her of being stuck in a jar, unable to do anything. Nico simply prays she'll forget this shame with time.
The caregivers were nice, though they were a little afraid of her. Judging by the language they spoke, she'd been transported to Japan. Unfortunately, Nico's knowledge of the language was extremely limited and she couldn't understand their conversations. Although, apparently, her name was now Nico Tenshi (the irony of which she would understand in a few years).
Nico doesn't quite understand everything, but she's formulating a simple plan: learn to speak, pray to her father, and ask him to take her away. And perhaps, just a tiny bit, she hopes to see Bianca here. The daughter of Hades knows that souls can be reborn chaotically, but it would still be nice to see her sister again. At least from afar.
In her third month of life, her plans are dashed. One night, the orphanage is suddenly engulfed by a wave of monstrous power. The caregivers begin to run around in panic, and the children begin to cry. The world seems to descend into chaos as the adults begin to lead the children out of the orphanage. She doesn't want to participate, so she remains silent, covering herself with shadows and hoping to be forgotten. And—miraculously—they forget about her.
Niko isn't afraid of death. Except she doesn't die. The world falls silent as He leans over her cradle. In the form of a demon with snow-white hair and purple skin. Everything inside her freezes with a familiar feeling. Death. The Shinigami lowers his hand to her, gently strokes her cheek—and disappears with a smile.
Perhaps she miscalculated.