The temple courtyard was still bright with laughter as Daemon stepped away from the garden.
He walked in silence, boots tapping lightly on the stone. The scent of jasmine and old incense faded with every step. His cloak fluttered behind him, and the shadow he cast stretched long across the sun-warmed floor.
Just as he rounded the side of the temple—he heard it.
A smack. Then another.
A sharp, wheezing cry.
He stopped.
Near the outer garden wall, two boys, slightly younger than him, were pummeling a smaller child—a skinny, pale thing curled into himself like a kicked animal.
"Freak," one boy spat.
"You sleep in the attic, you don't even smell like the rest of us," the other sneered.
They shoved him. Kicked him. One grabbed the boy's hair and yanked his head back.
The kid didn't even cry.
He just gritted his teeth, eyes shut tight, waiting for it to be over.
Daemon didn't move.
He just watched.
The bullies eventually got bored. "Stay down, rat," one muttered as they walked off.
The child lay there for a long moment—silent, breathing in short gasps.
Then he moved.
He pushed himself up on bruised elbows, wiping his face. And that's when he saw Daemon watching him from the shade.
His breath caught.
He backed up fast, nearly falling over again.
"P-please don't," the boy said quickly, voice shaking. "I—I don't have anything, I swear, if you're gonna hit me too just—just do it—"
Daemon blinked.
Then crouched down slowly, cloak folding beside him.
"I'm not here to hit you," he said calmly.
The boy hesitated.
"...Then why are you here?"
Daemon tilted his head. "What's your name?"
The boy shifted his weight, biting his lip. "...Eren."
"Eren," Daemon repeated softly.
He smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"...Good name."
Daemon didn't speak at first.
He simply extended a hand and placed it lightly on Eren's chest.
The boy flinched—but didn't pull away.
A dull, red glow flickered at Daemon's fingertips, pulsing in slow, controlled waves. It wasn't warm like divine healing. It was colder—like a soothing numbness that silenced pain without asking permission.
"Inverse Divinity," Daemon whispered under his breath.
The bruises began to fade. Swollen skin flattened. Eren's cracked lip mended itself with a faint hiss.
The boy gasped.
Then dropped to his knees.
"Thank you!" he cried, bowing low. "T-thank you, I didn't—no one's ever—thank you, thank you—"
"Stop," Daemon said, his voice quiet but firm.
Eren froze mid-bow.
"You don't need to bow to me, Eren. Just talk to me. What happened?"
The boy wiped his face with a shaking hand. His eyes flickered up, uncertain, but Daemon didn't look angry or disgusted.
So he spoke.
"My... my parents died in the plague when I was a baby," Eren whispered. "Some priest found me in the slums, crying under a cart. Brought me to the orphanage."
He looked away.
"They said I was cursed. The kids. The priests too, sometimes. Because I get sick easy. I talk in my sleep. And sometimes..." His voice dropped. "I see things. Shadows. Bad dreams."
Daemon's eyes sharpened.
"They call me freak. Devil's boy. The other kids spit on my food. Say I make them sick. Sometimes they throw me out in the rain and lock the door."
He rubbed his arm, voice trembling.
"I never asked to be here..."
Daemon stayed still. Listening.
Eren looked at him again.
"You believe me, right?"
Daemon smiled softly.
"I do."
Eren's eyes filled with tears. "I'm not lying. I swear."
"I know."
He leaned forward, placed a hand on Eren's shoulder.
"You're not cursed, Eren. You're just... misunderstood."
Eren blinked.
"You deserve better," Daemon added, voice like velvet. "A world where people like you don't have to crawl to be seen."
Eren stared at him—hope blooming where fear used to be.
Daemon smiled again.
Eren sat on the ground, eyes still wide, as Daemon knelt beside him. The crimson glow of Iron Cleave had faded, but its warmth lingered—false comfort against the truth that was coming.
Daemon's voice dropped to a near whisper.
"Do you know why they hurt you, Eren?"
The boy didn't answer.
"Because the world only listens to two things," Daemon said. "Power... and fear."
He picked up a small stone and tossed it gently into the stream nearby.
"You cry, they spit. You beg, they laugh. You pray..." He scoffed. "And what do the gods do?"
Silence.
Daemon leaned closer, his voice like silk. "They don't care. They never have."
Eren looked away.
"You wait for someone to save you, and all you'll get is more dirt shoved in your mouth. You want it to stop?" Daemon's eyes burned now. "Then make them stop. Tear the smile from their faces. Make them afraid to touch you."
Eren looked shaken. His lips trembled.
"I... I don't believe in anything," he whispered. "What if you're just using me too? Like her?"
Daemon paused.
"...Her?"
"The Saintess," Eren muttered. "She smiles and prays and pretends to care—but I saw her once. Sneaking off with a man. Laughing. Touching him. She's not pure. Not even close."
Daemon stared at him.
Then threw his head back—and laughed.
Eren blinked. "W-what's funny?"
Daemon wiped his mouth, still grinning.
"You," he said, clapping the boy gently on the back. "You're sharper than you look."
Eren blushed, confused.
Daemon stood.
"Where's your orphanage?"
Eren pointed west, toward the outer district. "It's by the old bell tower. Past the wheat stalls."
Daemon nodded.
"I'll be visiting soon. Make sure you remember what I told you."
He turned to leave, cloak whipping slightly in the breeze.
"Wait!" Eren stood. "What's your name?"
Daemon looked back, smiling darkly.
"Just a friend."
Then he walked away, boots clicking on stone.
And as he disappeared into the trees, the sunlight flickering through his cloak—
he grinned like a devil finally waking up.