Four days remained before Gabriel's coronation.
The capital was alive with noise—streets painted in gold and white, flags bearing the royal crest flapping from every rooftop. Bakers worked overtime, shaping sun-shaped pastries. Musicians tuned their flutes. Nobles threw early banquets. Tailors stitched until their fingers bled.
And in the middle of all that joy...
Daemon stood in silence—cloaked in gray, hood drawn low, perched on the rooftop of a crumbling building in the outer district.
He watched the orphanage below.
The world had forgotten this place.
No banners. No music. Just cracked bricks, rotting wood, and paint that peeled like shedding skin.
From his vantage point, Daemon could see the whole courtyard. The children were outside, playing—if screaming and shoving could be called that.
And there he was.
Eren.
Curled up near the wall, clutching his knees. Alone.
Daemon didn't move.
He watched as two older boys walked by and kicked dirt in Eren's face. One stole the crust of bread he was chewing. The other yanked his scarf and laughed.
No adults stopped them.
No one even looked.
Eren didn't cry. He just wiped his face and went back to sitting.
Every day, Daemon thought. This is his life.
One of the nuns eventually appeared. She waved the kids inside. One of them pointed at Eren, saying something Daemon couldn't hear.
She didn't help him.
She just turned and left.
Daemon's expression didn't change—but his eyes sharpened.
He leaned slightly forward, cloak fluttering in the wind.
Lilac says these children are her light, he thought. Then let's see what happens when that light starts flickering.
He stepped back from the ledge and disappeared down the side of the building without a sound.
Tomorrow, he thought. I'll feed the forgotten one.
********
The next morning, the alley behind the orphanage was quiet—just the way Eren liked it.
He'd snuck out before the sun fully rose, slipping through the broken laundry window while the other kids still snored. His feet hit the ground fast, bare and light, as he darted through trash-lined corridors and dusty backstreets.
If they catch me again, they'll lock me in the attic, he thought.
He skidded around a corner and came to a sudden stop.
A figure stood at the end of the alley.
Daemon.
Cloak drawn, arms crossed, leaning against a wall as if he'd been waiting all morning.
Eren's eyes widened.
"Y-you..." He stepped back. "H-How did you...?"
Daemon pushed off the wall slowly, smiling.
"I was just in the neighborhood."
Eren narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "You knew where I was. How?"
Daemon didn't answer. He just tilted his head, eyes twinkling faintly. "Does it matter?"
Eren opened his mouth to argue—but his stomach growled so loud it betrayed him.
He immediately looked down, face flushing red. "S-sorry—"
Daemon chuckled.
"Well then," he said, stepping past him and motioning forward, "let's fix that first. A full stomach makes for a better conversation."
Eren hesitated.
But... the warmth in Daemon's voice didn't feel like the others. It didn't feel fake. It felt—
Safe.
"Okay," Eren mumbled, catching up to him.
The two of them walked into the city, one in noble's boots, the other barefoot.
The world didn't even notice.
They walked for fifteen minutes through the city's winding streets, weaving past flower stalls and jewelers setting out velvet displays for the coronation crowds. Everywhere they turned, people were painting Gabriel's face on silk banners and hanging golden sun-crests.
Eren kept his head down.
Daemon, as usual, walked like he owned the world.
They stopped in front of a fancy three-story patisserie—its glass windows glittering with cakes, sugared fruits, and pastries too perfect to be real.
Eren blinked. "W-we're eating here?"
Daemon nodded once.
As they stepped inside, the receptionist's eyes landed on Eren's dirt-smeared tunic and unwashed feet. His nose wrinkled.
"I'm sorry," he said tightly, "we don't allow—"
Daemon tossed a small velvet pouch onto the counter. It landed with a metallic clink that spoke volumes.
The man opened it. Gold coins gleamed inside.
Instantly, the receptionist bowed so hard it almost broke his spine.
"R-Right this way, my lords!"
Daemon's smile never changed.
They walked through the hushed main hall, where nobles and their powdered daughters cast daggers with their eyes at Eren. One woman pulled her skirts away as he passed.
Daemon said nothing.
But as they reached the stairs, he spoke.
"I'll take the top floor."
The receptionist hesitated. "S-sir, that's reserved—"
Daemon slid a second pouch of coin across the railing without breaking stride.
The man bowed deeper. "It's yours, Your Grace."
The top floor was empty, quiet, and drenched in sunlight. From the windows, the entire district spread out like a painting.
Eren sat stiffly on the edge of a velvet chair, eyes wide.
"I-I don't think I should be here..."
Then the food arrived.
A full table set: honey-glazed buns, lavender tarts, cream-stuffed croissants, fruit soaked in syrup, and tiny golden cakes that shimmered in the light.
Eren's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Daemon sat across from him, resting his cheek on one hand.
"Well?" he said. "Eat."
Eren stared. "A-All of it?"
Daemon smiled faintly. "Every last bite. You're the guest, aren't you?"
Eren hesitated only a moment longer—then dug in.
And Daemon watched in silence.
Like a serpent patiently waiting for the child to get full before offering the poison.