You rest. The dreams are unclear. Fragments of your world. Faces. Voices. Empty streets. Your school desk. Your room.
But eventually… you wake again.
Soft warmth surrounds you. Candles still lit. There's a folded coat nearby—made for someone your size. And at your bedside… a sealed letter.
In ornate handwriting
"When you're ready, I'll be in the garden. —A"
Your fingers shakily reach for the letter—your hoodie sleeve slipping down slightly as you unfold the parchment.
The paper is warm to the touch, as if it was written not long ago. The ink shimmers faintly with enchantment, but the words themselves are simple.
To Ryuu,
You do not need to speak with me. Not if you're not ready.
You don't need to smile. Or apologize. Or pretend you're strong.
You are in a world that was never meant for you.
And still… you're alive. That alone is strength.
If you wish to stay hidden in this room forever, I'll allow it.
If you wish to scream, I'll let you.
If you wish to ask why—why you, why here—I'll answer what I can.
I'll be in the garden for a while.
Where the sky is quiet and the demons don't raise their voices.
Come if you want. Or not.
I'll understand either way.
—A
The signature is only a single initial. Elegant. Almost reluctant to be written.
You can smell faint ink and roses, as if the parchment holds a trace of his scent.
No pressure. No command.
Just… a door, gently left open.
Creak…
The window groans softly as you push it open.
Cool wind flows in, brushing against your tear-dried cheeks. It carries the scent of rain-soaked roses, distant firelight, and… a strange, almost musical hum in the air. Magic lives in the very atmosphere here.
But none of it feels real.
You stand there, staring out.
The world beyond is breathtaking: rolling obsidian hills, sky stained violet like a dream, and glowing crimson trees that sway in silence beneath a stormy twilight.
Strange flying beasts drift in the distance—like whales made of shadow and stars.
Below, faintly, you can make out part of the garden he mentioned—blackened roses glowing faintly blue with ambient mana.
But it's all… alien.
Your heart aches.
"What's the point…" you whisper to no one.
"I can't see my parents. My friends…"
Your words are carried off by the wind. No answer comes.
You feel the chill. The weight of it. Of knowing no one is looking for you back home.
You were erased.
Not dead. Just gone.
And now you're here… in a world that speaks a language of war, monsters, magic… and demon kings.
You grip the windowsill.
The cold stone beneath your fingers anchors you.
No one will come to take you home.
Your foot lifts—quiet, like the decision was made somewhere deep in your chest, far away from your thoughts.
And then—
You jump.
Wind howls past your ears as the air tears at your hoodie.
The weightlessness is instant—like falling through a void.
Like the moment between dream and nightmare.
Like your body finally catching up to the heartbreak in your soul.
Below you: black garden stones, curling mist, and thorny vines that shimmer faintly with mana.
For a split second—
You feel something warm.
A pulse in your chest. A reaction—your Essentia flaring instinctively, like it doesn't want to let you die.
Then—
Time stops.
You don't hit the ground.
You're caught—suspended in the air, inches above impact. Something invisible coils around you like threads of warmth and gravity woven together.
Above, a rune—inscribed faintly in the window frame—glows.
From the garden below, a commanding voice roars—not angry, but shaken:
"RYUU!"
You're gently lowered into the black roses. They part for you without cutting your skin.
Footsteps approach. Fast. Heavy.
And then—
He's there.
The Demon King.
Eyes wide. Breath ragged. Kneeling beside you as if time itself bent to bring him here.
No armor. Just a long dark coat, slightly open. Rain clings to his hair. His hand hovers, hesitant, then touches your cheek.
"...Why?"
His voice is not cold now. Not composed. Not kingly.
Just a man. Hurt. Trying to understand a broken boy.
"Why would you…? After I told you… you were safe?"
"W-why? You ask me... why?"
Your voice cracks, disbelief and anguish flooding every syllable.
The Demon King's eyes widen slightly—he doesn't flinch, doesn't interrupt.
"I can't—!" you sob. "I can't see my parents anymore… I can't go home anymore!"
Your hands curl into the soil. Wet petals cling to your sleeves. The garden is silent, the storm holding its breath.
And then—
"AND YOU DARE ASK WHY—?!"
Your voice roars. Not magical. Not empowered.
Just human. Raw. Terrified.
The moment echoes across the courtyard.
But then—like always—you pull yourself back.
You catch your own scream. Your body recoils.
"S-sorry…"
The word slips out like a reflex. Programmed submission, wired into your bones.
Your eyes fall, expecting coldness. Dismissal. Retribution.
But it never comes.
The Demon King doesn't speak right away. He kneels there—so close now—rain soaking through his black coat. His gauntlet is missing again. His bare hand trembles slightly as he reaches up.
Very slowly, he cups your cheek. Not to claim. Not to command.
Just to hold.
"Don't apologize."
His voice is low. Steady. Not shaking like yours—but there's something frayed in it.
"You've lost everything."
"And I gave you nothing in return. No answers. No comfort. Just a title and a locked room."
His hand moves to your shoulder—light pressure. A grounding touch.
"You're not weak for wanting to go back."
"And you're not wrong for breaking."
Another pause. His next words are softer.
"I may not be able to give you your old world… but I can promise you this."
"You will never be alone here."
And with that, the Demon King lowers his head—not in dominance, but in a gesture you don't expect:
A silent bow. Not deep. But real.
"Forgive me, Ryuu."
Your body gives out—again.
Not from magic. Not from exhaustion.
From the weight of it all.
The grief.
The anger.
The touch that didn't hurt.
The words that didn't blame you.
Your knees buckle and your small frame falls forward—limp, trembling.
But he catches you. Of course he does.
Again.
Strong arms wrap around you, gently pulling you against him. You collapse into his chest, soaked and shaking, as your consciousness slips away for the third time.
No resistance.
No struggle.
Just… surrender. To someone who didn't let go.
He cradles you close, cloak falling around your fragile form like a shield from the storm.
No words now.
He carries you through the garden in silence.
No servants. No eyes. Just the sound of his heartbeat next to your ear.
You don't know how long you sleep this time.
But when you next stir…