A boy lay on the snow-covered road, his frail body trembling as icy winds clawed at his skin. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one feeling like it might be his last. He gazed up at the dark sky, watching snowflakes drift down like silent whispers of fate.
Am I really going to die like this? Is this how my story ends?
In the distance, laughter and music spilled from a nearby house. It was Christmas—a night of warmth and joy for others. But for him, it was the night he would disappear, alone in the cold.
As his vision blurred, a shadow loomed over him. A tall man, dressed in a dark coat and wearing a mask, stood against the snowy backdrop. His presence was both mysterious and unnerving.
"Do you want to live or die?" the man asked, his voice calm yet compelling.
The boy's lips trembled. His body felt heavy, his strength slipping away. But somewhere deep inside, something refused to give in.
"I… want to live," he whispered.
Darkness swallowed him.
***
When he opened his eyes again, warm sunlight streamed through a small window. He was no longer outside. Wrapped in thick blankets, his body no longer ached from the biting cold. His clothes had been changed into clean, dry ones, and the air carried the faint scent of herbs.
He turned his head. A few feet away, by the window, sat the masked man. Silent. Still. Watching the falling snow.
The boy swallowed, his throat dry. "Why did you save me?"
The man didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on the world outside.
"How long have I been here?" the boy tried again.
This time, the man responded. "Two days."
Before he could ask more, a sudden knock at the door shattered the quiet. The masked man's demeanor shifted instantly.
"Hide," he ordered.
Something in his voice made the boy obey without hesitation. He scrambled under the bed just as the door creaked open.
Two men entered, both clad in heavy cloaks. Their faces were stern, their expressions sharp with suspicion.
"Have you seen a boy?" one of them asked. "White hair. Red eyes."
The masked man leaned back in his chair. "What happened?"
"That boy is a demon child," the other man spat. "He's the one who destroyed the orphanage and the church. Dozens died because of him."
Under the bed, the boy's breath hitched.
Demon child? They're talking about me?
The masked man remained unshaken. "I haven't seen anyone."
The two men exchanged glances, doubt flickering in their eyes.
"If you do," one of them warned, "report it immediately. He's dangerous. The priest is offering a reward for his capture."
The boy's hands clenched into fists. The priest. A shiver ran down his spine. Memories resurfaced—flames, screams, eyes filled with hatred.
As soon as the men left, the boy crawled out from his hiding place. His chest heaved with fear and confusion.
"Why… why didn't you tell them?" he asked, voice shaking.
The masked man turned to him, his expression unreadable behind the mask.
"Because I don't believe in judging someone without knowing the truth." His voice was steady, calm. "Now, tell me… what really happened?"
The boy's vision blurred with unshed tears. His hands trembled.
"I… I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I don't even understand what I am. All I know is that people look at me like I'm a monster."
The masked man studied him for a long moment before finally speaking.
"Then perhaps it's time to find out who you really are."
A pause.
"But first, you must stay hidden. The world isn't ready to understand you yet."
And so, his journey began—not just to survive, but to uncover the truth about himself.
To find out whether he was truly a demon… or something more.