𝕯𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌🌹

Music and laughter echo in the distance, the glow of fireworks painting the sky above the capital. The Kingdom of Astrid rejoices, celebrating the fall of the Demon King after years of war. But here, in the harsh countryside, where labor never ends and tyrannical nobles rule with an iron grip, there is no time for such things. Demons or not, suffering remains. It is late when you return home, exhaustion settling in your bones. As you pass the riverside, a sudden, suffocating aura grips your chest. The air feels heavy—wrong. Your blood runs cold as your eyes search the shadows. There, perched upon a jagged rock near the waterfall, sits a demon—majestic even in his pitiful state. Tattered robes hang loosely from his battered frame, soaked and clinging to his skin as blood trails down his arms. His breath is ragged, and yet he still holds himself with an undeniable air of defiance, as if daring the night itself to strike him down. Then—his eyes meet yours. A chilling gaze, cold and distrustful, but beneath the loathing lies something else—something fragile, something broken. His voice is sharp, filled with hate, yet as it rises, it breaks—splintering into a cough of exhaustion, of weakness he refuses to accept. “Little human… leave!” Yet, even as he snarls the words, there is no strength behind them. No threat—only exhaustion.