Winter passed quietly.
Then spring.
Then rain returned once more.
Time moved strangely inside the mansion.
Not fast enough to disappear.
Not slow enough to notice.
At some point, Demion stopped counting days.
Morning became the smell of tea drifting through open hallways.
Smith complaining softly about unfinished chores.
Sachu burning breakfast often enough that it became expected.
Life settled into repetition.
And somehow—
the repetition never became painful.
That frightened him more than anything else had.
For most of his life, Demion believed suffering was the natural shape of existence.
Wake up hungry.
Sleep cold.
Lose people.
Repeat.
The world had taught him that lesson carefully.
But living beside Sachu had done something strange to him.
It changed what he noticed.
The world outside the mansion walls remained imperfect.
People still struggled.
Still starved.
Still hurt each other.
But now—
he saw other things too.
Children laughing while chasing each other through streets.
An old woman scolding her husband for forgetting vegetables while secretly smiling the entire time.
Workers sharing cheap food beside construction sites after exhausting shifts.
A mother braiding her daughter's hair carefully beneath the morning sun.
Small things.
Meaningless things.
Human things.
A year ago, Demion would've ignored them completely.
Or perhaps he simply wouldn't have understood them.
Now they stayed inside his mind strangely long after seeing them.
One afternoon, while returning from the market with Sachu, Demion noticed two children sitting beside the slum road sharing roasted chestnuts beneath torn blankets.
The smaller one laughed after dropping hers into the mud.
Instead of getting angry, the older child split his own in half silently and handed it over.
The girl smiled immediately.
Such a tiny moment.
Yet Demion remembered it for days.
Another time, he watched a wealthy woman kneel beside a wounded stray dog near the north district fountain while her expensive dress dragged through dirty water.
Sachu had laughed quietly beside him.
"See? Rich people are insane too."
Demion almost laughed with him.
Almost.
The world itself had not changed.
He had.
That realization unsettled him deeply.
Because younger Demion would've called all of this meaningless.
Temporary happiness before inevitable suffering.
A distraction.
Azael certainly would've.
That thought returned more often lately.
Azael.
Even after a year, Demion still remembered his voice perfectly.
Mercy becomes very easy to confuse with cruelty once you've suffered long enough.
Once, Demion believed those words completely.
Sometimes part of him still did.
Especially during nights where screams echoed through distant slums again.
Especially when he saw hunger hollowing people from the inside.
But Sachu had complicated things.
That was the problem.
He never claimed suffering had purpose.
He never called life sacred.
He simply continued living anyway.
Continued caring anyway.
As though kindness itself was an act of rebellion.
Demion still didn't fully understand it.
But somewhere during the past year—
he had started imitating it.
Holding doors open without thinking.
Helping Smith carry heavy boxes.
Leaving food beside the mansion gates where hungry children sometimes wandered.
Small things.
Human things.
And every time he noticed himself doing them—
something uneasy moved through his chest.
As though Azael were watching silently from somewhere far away.
Tonight, rain touched softly against the mansion windows once again.
Demion sat beside the fireplace with a book resting open in his lap.
Across the room, Sachu slept half-sideways on the couch beneath dim candlelight.
One arm hung loosely toward the floor.
A blanket barely covered him properly.
Demion stared quietly for a moment.
Then sighed softly before standing.
He walked across the room carefully and pulled the blanket higher over Sachu's shoulders.
The burned man shifted slightly but didn't wake.
Demion froze instinctively.
Then relaxed.
A year ago, that instinct would've been impossible.
He looked down at Sachu silently.
The scars remained terrible.
Some mornings his hands still shook while pouring tea.
Some nights pain kept him awake until sunrise.
And yet—
he laughed.
Cooked terribly.
Complained about books.
Mocked Demion whenever he acted too serious.
Lived.
Demion slowly lowered himself into the chair beside the couch.
The fire crackled softly nearby.
For a long while, he simply listened to Sachu breathing.
Steady.
Human.
Alive.
A strange pressure formed quietly inside Demion's chest.
Not pain.
Fear.
Because somewhere during this past year—
this life had become precious to him.
The mansion.
The silence.
The tea.
The terrible cooking.
Smith pretending not to care.
Sachu.
Demion shut his eyes slowly.
If this disappeared…
The thought alone made his chest tighten painfully.
And for the first time in his life—
he understood why humans feared loss so deeply.
Not because life was always beautiful.
But because sometimes it became beautiful enough that losing it felt unbearable.
His eyes slowly opened again.
The firelight flickered softly across the room.
Sachu murmured something unintelligible in his sleep before turning slightly beneath the blanket.
Demion stared at him quietly.
Then finally—
a thought formed fully inside his mind.
I want this to continue.
The realization frightened him immediately.
Because he meant it.
Not survival.
Not endurance.
Life.
His gaze drifted toward the rain beyond the windows.
Somewhere far away, laughter echoed faintly through the sleeping city.
For the first time—
it didn't sound meaningless.
Demion leaned back slowly into the chair.
The warmth of the fire settled gently against his skin.
And eventually—
sleep took him.
Light greeted him first.
Soft.
Golden.
Warm beyond anything natural.
Demion frowned weakly.
The air smelled strange.
Not rain.
Not dust.
Not candle smoke.
Flowers.
His eyes opened slowly.
Silence surrounded him.
Not ordinary silence.
Perfect silence.
Demion sat upright immediately.
His breath caught.
The room around him looked impossible.
Massive white pillars stretched endlessly upward into a ceiling painted with drifting constellations. Golden rivers of light flowed silently between walls carved from something brighter than marble.
The space felt endless.
Divine.
Demion's pulse began rising violently.
"...What?"
His voice echoed softly across the palace.
No answer came.
He stood slowly.
His bare feet touched smooth white stone warm like sunlight.
Fear crawled upward through his chest.
This wasn't a dream.
Somehow—
he knew that immediately.
Then—
footsteps.
Small.
Gentle.
Demion turned sharply.
A small figure approached down the enormous hall.
Childlike.
Dressed in white robes embroidered with gold.
Soft silver hair framed a peaceful face untouched by suffering.
The child smiled warmly upon seeing him.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
Relieved.
Then bowed slightly.
And spoke gently.
"Good morning, Azael."
The world stopped.
Demion's breathing vanished instantly.
No.
The thought struck immediately.
No no no—
The child looked up at him innocently.
As though nothing about this was strange.
As though the name belonged to him.
Demion stepped backward violently.
Fear exploded through his chest so suddenly that it hurt.
"Azael?" he whispered.
The child tilted their head slightly.
Confused now.
Demion's pulse thundered inside his skull.
The palace.
The light.
The warmth.
Everything suddenly felt wrong.
Terribly wrong.
And for the first time since meeting Azael—
Demion felt truly terrified.