— Germany, Munich —
St. Michael's Orphanage and Church, Evening
The soft glow of lanterns bathed the orphanage's common room in warm amber light.
The scent of fresh bread and vegetable stew filled the air, mixing with the faint smell of old wood and candle wax.
Laughter and chatter echoed between the wooden wall as the children gathered around for the dinner table.
Priest Elias Hartmann moved among them, his black cassock brushing the floor.
His warm brown eyes crinkled behind his glasses as he helped little Mia cut the bread into smaller pieces.
"Here," he said gently, guiding her small hands. "You don't have to rush. Eat slowly so your tummy can be full."
Mia smiled up at him, missing front tooth. "Thank you, Father Elias! You always make everything better."
Elias chuckled softly, ruffling her hair. "That's what I'm here for. Now finish your stew — you've grown so much this month. I'm proud of you."
Across the table, 12-year-old Lukas was trying to balance his spoon on his nose. Elias leaned over with a patient smile.
"Lukas, if you keep playing with your food, it might play back and jump into your hair again."
The children erupted in giggles. Lukas grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Father… but can you tell us the story about the lost children in the forest again?"
"The one where the kind guardian helps them find their way home?"
Elias's expression softened. He pulled up a chair and sat among them, folding his hands.
"Of course. Once upon a time, there were children who lost their way in a very dark forest.
"Shadows whispered to them, promising power and safety… but the kind guardian appeared and showed them a different path — one of peace, freedom, and light."
"He told them that true strength isn't in fighting the darkness… it's in choosing not to let it touch your heart."
The children listened with wide eyes, completely captivated.
None of them noticed the faint sadness that flickered behind his smile.
Later, after the children had gone to bed and the orphanage fell quiet, Elias stood alone in the small chapel attached to the building.
Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass window, painting the stone floor in soft colors.
He knelt before the altar, head bowed.
But his prayer was not for God.
"Rina…" he whispered, voice barely audible.
His eyes closed tightly as memories flooded back — the burning village, the screams, the Demon Cultists laughing as they dragged his childhood friend into the square.
He could still hear her final cry as they tore her apart in front of him.
"I joined them… I became one of them… only so I could make them pay for what they did to you."
He opened his eyes, staring at the crucifix. "But these children… they're different. They've already lost so much."
"I won't let them become weapons. I won't let them suffer the same fate I did."
A single tear slipped down his cheek. "I'll give them peace. Freedom. A real childhood… even if it means I have to keep lying to them every single day."
He rose slowly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his cassock.
The gentle, caring priest mask slipped back into place as he turned toward the dormitory to check on the sleeping orphans one last time.
No one would ever know the storm that raged behind his kind smile.
The orphanage had finally fallen silent. The children were all asleep.
Elias stood at the doorway of the last room, watching little Mia clutch her blanket and Lukas mumble something in his sleep.
A gentle, almost pained smile crossed his lips.
He turned away, walked down the corridor, and slipped out through the side door of the church.
The night was cold, carrying the faint scent of pine from the nearby woods.
Elias pulled his cassock tighter around himself and moved toward the old stone shed at the far end of the property — a place the children were forbidden to enter.
He simply pushed the door open.
Inside, five figures waited in the dim lantern light.
They were dressed in plain caretaker robes, but the moment the door closed behind Elias, their postures changed.
The gentle, helpful orphanage staff vanished.
In their place stood hardened Demon Cult operatives — part of the secret revolutionary army preparing for the coming war.
Elias's voice dropped to a low, cold whisper.
"Pack your things. We're heading to Paris. The invasion is near."
The room went still.
One of the operatives, a tall woman with short black hair and a scar across her jaw, stepped forward. Her eyes narrowed.
"And who will take care of the orphans?"
Another man, younger, with nervous hands twisting his robe, added quietly. "We can't just leave them. Some of the younger ones still wake up crying at night. Mia asks for you every morning. If we all disappear…"
Elias stared at them for a long moment. The kind, fatherly warmth he showed the children was gone.
His face was now a mask of calculated resolve, eyes hard. "They will be fine," he said flatly.
"The orphanage has enough supplies for weeks. The local nuns from the convent will be notified tomorrow morning. They'll take over."
He paused, then added in a quieter tone, almost to himself:
"I won't let them become what I became. They deserve peace… even if it means I have to leave them behind."
The woman hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Understood. We leave at dawn?"
"Before first light," Elias confirmed. "No traces. Burn anything that links us here."
He turned to leave, and stopped at the door, back facing them.
"And remember… if any of you touch even one hair on those children before we go, I will personally deliver you to Beelzebub in pieces."
The threat hung in the air, cold and absolute.
Elias stepped back into the garden, the moonlight washing over his face as the priest slipped back into place.
He glanced once more toward the orphanage windows where the children slept peacefully.
A single whisper escaped his lips:
"Forgive me… Rina. This is the only way I know how to protect them from the same fate."
He walked back toward the church, as the Cult members inside began silently packing their hidden weapons and robes.