Somewhere deep within the decaying expanse of the demon's palace—far from the glittering throne rooms and shadow-choked corridors—lay a place where names were never spoken. No noble voices echoed here. No demons of rank tread these paths. Only the lowest of human slaves moved through the silence, scrubbing dried blood from cracked stones, dragging dulled weapons across the floors, or hauling burdens too heavy for their frail forms.
And among them… was a little girl.
Aileen stepped carefully across the cold stone of the training yard, the hem of her oversized tunic brushing against her legs. The coarse fabric was rough, patched with mismatched scraps, heavy with grime. Her small arms strained to carry a wooden bucket sloshing with murky, soapy water. It was nearly too large for her to lift, but she kept going—bare feet slipping now and then on the wet stone.
Her arms ached. Her back burned.
The air reeked of rust, rot, and something bitter that made her throat tighten and her stomach churn. She wanted to rest.
But she didn't.
She was afraid. This place swarmed with monsters—demons who sometimes leered at her as they passed, eyes glittering with a hunger she didn't understand but instinctively feared. Each time she caught that gaze, it chilled her to the marrow.
But she didn't cry.
"No more crying."
She repeated the words like a prayer, her lips pressed shut. There was no Zen here to protect her. No one to take her punishment. No one to pull her behind him and stand between her and the darkness.
And every time she had slipped—every time she was too slow, spilled water, fell down—it was him who paid the price.
Her brother.
"I'll be strong. So, he won't have to protect me anymore."
She took another step. Her arms trembled. The bucket handle bit into her fingers. Her knees wobbled. Her body screamed to stop, to rest—but she didn't.
"Zen always smiled when I tried hard."
"He'd say I was the strongest little sister in the world."
She wanted to see that smile again.
It had been so long.
More than three months.
She hadn't seen his face. Hadn't heard his voice.
"Did something happen?"
The thought came uninvited. Her grip faltered for a heartbeat.
"No. No—he promised."
He had knelt before her, hands on her shoulders, voice calm and steady.
"I'll come back for you, Aileen. I promise."
He never broke his promises.
And yet… in the filth and the silence, she still felt afraid.
"Please… come back soon."
Her vision blurred.
But she didn't stop.
One trembling step at a time.
For him.
For herself.
And then—
The air shifted.
At first it was subtle, like a breeze that didn't touch her skin. Then it pulled—strange, cold, and unseen.
Before she could cry out, the world around her dimmed.
Her knees buckled.
Darkness rushed in.
Then—silence.
When her eyes opened again, she was somewhere else.
Zen stood frozen, breath caught. For a heartbeat, he could only stare.
Aileen.
Then her face lit up—eyes filling with tears—and she ran to him with a desperate, broken cry.
"Brother!"
The word was sharp and soft all at once, like it had been caged inside her for months.
Zen dropped to his knees just in time.
She crashed into him, arms flung around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He held her like something sacred, like a piece of his soul returned. One arm wrapped around her back, the other cradling her head.
The moment she touched him, he broke.
All the numbness he had built to survive—shattered.
His breath hitched. His shoulders trembled. He clutched her tighter, as if he could fold her back into himself, hide her away from the world.
"I missed you…" she whispered, voice muffled against his chest. "It's been so long… I was scared…"
"I know," Zen murmured, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I'm here now."
She pulled back, just enough to look at him, her cheeks damp. Her small hands touched his face.
"You're hurt…" she said, brushing her fingers over a faded scar.
Zen smiled through the ache. "It's nothing. I'm okay. You're safe now. That's what matters."
Aileen blinked, trying to hold back tears. But it was too much.
"I stayed strong like you said," she whispered. "I didn't cry… not too much."
Zen closed his eyes and kissed her hair.
"Of course, you are" he whispered. "You are the 'Strongest Little Sister' in the world."
And for a moment, the world held still.
Not the demon's throne looming behind them.
Not the curse clawing at his soul.
Just the warmth of a brother and sister, clinging to each other like the world might vanish if they let go.
Zen's arms trembled. His exhaustion was no longer just physical. It sank deeper—into his bones, his blood, his very soul.
But still, he smiled.
For her.
She leaned into him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his worn shirt.
"Where have you been?" she asked. "Were you having the nightmares again?"
He blinked, the smile fading. "What?"
"You look so tired," she said, eyes wide with concern. "Worse than before. What happened?"
Zen didn't answer right away.
Every night in this cursed palace, he dreamed of things that weren't his. Shadows with eyes, voices with no mouth. Screams that echoed in his skull. Not memories—something else. Something worse.
But he couldn't tell her that.
Couldn't tell her he was cursed.
So, he forced a smile—hollow, tired.
"They're just dreams," he lied. "I'm fine now."
She frowned. "But you—"
"I'm just tired," he said gently. "It's been… a long road."
He took her hand.
"But it's over now. We're leaving this place. No more hunger. No more chains. We're going somewhere better, Saya. Somewhere clean. Somewhere bright."
Her eyes lit with cautious hope.
"You'll eat real food. Sleep on soft beds. Maybe even go to school. Make friends. Be a child again."
She squeezed his hand. "What about you?"
Zen hesitated.
"I'll… be right behind you," he said softly. "As always."
But then—he felt it.
A pressure in the shadows. Cold. Watching.
Zen gently brushed Saya's hair back.
Time was slipping.
There was so much he wanted to say. Stories. Memories. Promises.
But it was already too late.
She was still his sister. Still the little girl who clung to his hand when she was scared.
But the next time they met—if they ever did—she wouldn't remember him.
Just a face.
Just a shadow.
The thought carved into his chest like a slow, dull knife.
But this was the choice he had made.
"She just has to be safe," he whispered.
He looked up.
"I'm ready."
The Demon of Dreams leaned forward, her smile wicked.
"Oh? So eager to be rid of her?"
Saya's brows furrowed. "What does that mean, brot—?"
Before Zen could answer, the demon flicked her fingers.
A ripple of shadow unfurled—silent and absolute.
Aileen's body went limp. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Zen caught her before she fell, cradling her gently, brushing the hair from her face.
"She's only asleep," the demon said, mock sympathy in her voice.
Zen's hand trembled as it rested on her head.
"Make it painless."
"Of course," she said. "She'll wake in the human domain—fed, bathed, safe. A wealthy orphanage. Kind old matrons. They'll think she was simply left at their doorstep."
The demon stood, shadow stretching across the floor.
"She won't remember the demons. Or the blood. Or you."
Zen closed his eyes.
"She doesn't have to," he whispered. "She just has to be happy."
Two shadowed attendants emerged—faceless, silent.
They lifted the sleeping girl in their arms.
Zen didn't resist.
He just watched.
The Demon Queen waved her hand lazily. A silent dismissal.
No games. No final taunts.
She had won.
Zen stood still as Aileen was carried away. Step by step. Fading like a dream.
He wanted to run after her.
To scream.
But he couldn't move.
And even if he could… he wouldn't have stopped them.
This was the choice he had made.
He turned away, the silence pressing down on his shoulders like stone. Grief. Relief. Exhaustion. All tangled into one.
He wandered back through the winding palace halls, past flickering lamps and looming walls, until he reached the cold quarters where the slaves were permitted to rest.
A narrow cot in the corner.
Unwelcoming.
Familiar.
He collapsed onto it, face toward the wall.
The stone felt colder than ever.
And for the first time in a long while… the silence held no hope.
Only emptiness.
Back in the throne room, the Demon Queen remained seated for a long time.
Then, slowly, she rose. Her robes whispered like mist across the floor.
With a flick of her hand, the floating cube drifted toward her—humming softly, the air bending around it.
She caught it gently, her long fingers curling around its edges.
Inside, shadows stirred—like a storm trapped in glass.
Her reflection stared back at her—twisted by power, crowned in smoke.
She whispered a name. One soaked in venom.
"Morpheus…"
Hatred darkened her eyes.
She smiled.
Not sweetly.
Sharp. Cold.
"Just you wait."