"What do you mean?"

But the old woman was already walking away. Her stick tapped against the dirt with each step supporting a bent back.

"Get inside my house first," she called over her shoulder. "Then I can tell you something that might help."

I stood there unsure of what to do. Looked at Aria.

She looked back and said flatly. "I’m not going anywhere. And besides, I’m not interested in some tale from an old woman fabricated by her own imagination."

The old woman paused mid-step. Just for a second. Then kept walking.

I turned back to Aria. "I know it could be useless. But there’s still a possibility she’s not lying. Also, looking at how creepy everything around here is, I won’t be surprised if she turns out to be that classic old granny from the tales who ends up being the actual demon we’re hunting."

She looked at me with pure disgust in her eyes.

"Come on. It’s not like we were doing anything useful out here. And I bet her made-up story will at least be entertaining."

She opened her mouth. "But I wanted to..."

Her voice died halfway. Whatever she was about to say got swallowed back down. She clenched her fist and switched tracks.

"Fine. But what about the patrolling duty we were assigned?"

I said. "It’s not like the demon is going to show up on schedule. And if it does, we’ll surely hear the screams."

Those disgusted eyes found me again but I was already walking. Already calling out to the old woman ahead.

"Wait for us, grandma. Don’t be so hasty. You’ll trip and fall before sharing your riveting story."

Some time later we were sitting on wooden chairs inside her small cottage.

The setting couldn’t have been more perfect if someone had staged it. Candlelight flickering across the walls. Shadows dancing in the corners. An old woman seated across from us, her face half-lit by the warm glow. Ready to tell her tale.

Her daughter, a woman in her mid-twenties, served us tea in chipped cups before retreating to the back room without a word.

Then the old woman began. "The demon you are hunting..."

She paused. And what crossed her face wasn’t fear. It was grief.

"His name is Dorian."

The name left her lips like it cost her something to say it.

"He grew up in this village. Or rather... he was tortured in this village."

She folded her hands on her lap.

"His mother died giving birth to him. And his father blamed him for it. Every single day that man drank himself stupid. And when the drink wasn’t enough to kill the grief, he used his fists on the boy instead."

The candle flame swayed as if even it didn’t want to hear what came next.

"By the time Dorian turned eight. The age when children explore. When they find happiness. When they play and learn about the world. That boy was doing every job this village had to offer. Cleaning stables. Hauling grain. Scrubbing floors on his hands and knees for anyone who’d pay him a few coppers." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

She shook her head slowly.

"None of it was for himself. Every coin went to his father’s next bottle. Because if that bottle wasn’t waiting when the man woke up, the fists would come instead."

Her voice thinned.

"Every single day was hell for that child. And the worst part? The entire village watched. Nobody helped. Nobody stepped in. That boy was being stripped of his life right in front of our eyes. And we just... let it happen."

I scratched my ear. "Then you all brought it on yourselves."

She didn’t argue. Didn’t defend. Just nodded with the weight of someone who had made peace with that truth a long time ago.

"But that was just the beginning of his misery. What came after was far worse."

She shifted in her chair.

"When Dorian turned twelve, a noble convoy passed through the village. He was out collecting firewood at the time. Then he heard screams coming from behind the tavern."

Her grip tightened on her walking stick.

"Without thinking, without hesitating for even a breath, the boy ran toward those screams. And what he found there..."

She closed her eyes briefly.

"A girl. Same age as him. Standing over a butler who lay on the ground with a knife through his stomach. Almost dead. And two drunk men had grabbed her. One of them was holding her jaw. Scanning her face like she was prey he had already decided to devour."

She opened her eyes.

"Dorian didn’t think again. He grabbed a piece of firewood from the bundle he was carrying and swung it at the man’s skull. Split the skin above his ear clean open."

A faint smile crossed her weathered face. Pride hidden inside the pain.

"The girl ran. And the two men let her go. Because now they had something better to focus their anger on."

The smile vanished.

"The beating that followed was worse than anything his father had ever delivered. They broke his arms. Cracked his ribs. Left him bleeding in the dirt behind that tavern like garbage they couldn’t be bothered to bury."

She was quiet for a moment. Letting the image settle.

"He thought he was done for. Thought that dirt would be the last thing he’d ever feel beneath his back. But then the same girl returned. With knights."

Her voice softened.

"The unconscious, half-dead boy was carried away by the girl who turned out to be the daughter of Count Harren. Lord of the Southern Territories."

She let that sink in.

"That’s how Dorian’s life changed. That’s how the boy finally learned what a good life tasted like. He wasn’t just healed inside the Count’s palace. He spent the rest of his years there."

Her eyes grew distant. Traveling to a place that existed only in memory now.

"The girl’s name was Mirena. And she decided that Dorian would stay with her. Not as a servant. Not as a guest. As her personal companion. Her study partner. Her friend."

She chuckled softly.

"The Count allowed it. Partially because his daughter was stubborn beyond all reason. And partially because the boy had saved her life. There was a debt to honor."

The brightness in her voice was building now. Layer by layer. Like watching a sunrise through her words.

"Years passed. The two of them grew up together inside that estate. Studied together. Trained together. Ate at the same table. Walked the same gardens. He was a commoner and she was nobility. And neither of them cared."

She looked at us. Her eyes were glowing with something warm.

"I was a maid in that household. So I watched them. Watched the two of them grow. Watched them change from children into something else entirely."

A knowing smile.

"The way they looked at each other when they thought nobody was paying attention. The way their hands found excuses to brush together. The way they acted when they believed no one was watching."

She laughed softly.

"Everyone in that household knew. From the servants to the cooks to the gardeners sweeping leaves they had already swept three times that morning just to stay close enough to watch those two."

The warmth in the room peaked. I could feel it. Even Aria beside me had stopped being a statue. Her eyes were fixed on the old woman. Truly listening.

Then the woman’s face changed.

In an instant. Like a candle being snuffed.

"But you see... the world isn’t so kind. Isn’t so gentle."

Her voice dropped into something entirely.

"Everything was snatched away from Dorian. Far more brutally than how it was given."

She gripped her walking stick with both hands.

"It was the night of Mirena’s twentieth birthday. The whole palace held a grand celebration. Music. Dancing. Laughter filling every hall. And in the middle of that joy, in front of every noble and servant and guest..."

Her voice cracked.

"Mirena denounced him." The word hung in the air like smoke.

"She called him a stray dog her family had taken pity on. Said he had been following her around like some lovesick fool. And that she had grown tired of his obsession."

She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"She told the guards to remove him from the estate. Immediately."

My jaw tightened.

"Dorian didn’t understand what was happening. Couldn’t process it. His mind refused to accept what his ears were hearing. And his stubbornness, it wouldn’t let him leave."

Her tears were falling now.

"Which only made things worse. Mirena ordered her guards to beat him."

The cottage felt smaller.

"He was getting the kind of beating he thought he had forgotten. But through every blow, through every kick, his eyes never left hers. He was waiting. Searching her face for even the smallest sign that this was a joke. A prank. That any moment she would call it off and laugh and tell him she was sorry for scaring him."

She wiped her cheeks with shaking fingers.

"But nothing came. So he asked. While his body was being torn apart he asked her. What was all of this? Was everything between us fake? Was it all a lie?"

A long, suffocating silence.

"And her answer broke him to a point where it felt like his heart stopped beating right there on that marble floor."

The old woman’s voice was barely a whisper now.

"She told him he was nothing but entertainment. Entertainment she had grown bored of."

Aria’s fist clenched beside me. I could hear her knuckles crack.

"After that, Dorian was thrown out of the estate. Bloodied. Broken. And after that night..."

She stared at the candle flame.

"Nobody knew what happened to him. Where he went. Where he vanished to. It was as if the world had swallowed him whole."

Tears ran freely down her wrinkled face now.

"Six years passed."