Dark & Light – Chapter 3: A Demon’s Shelter

A Blurry Awakening

Rai's eyes fluttered open. The world around him was a haze of flickering candlelight, the scent of old wood, and the distant murmur of crackling fire. His body ached, his clothes were damp, and his fingers barely had the strength to move.

He wasn't outside anymore. He was alive.

Slowly, his vision adjusted. An old tavern, dimly lit and filled with dust, stretched out before him. Wooden tables and chairs sat abandoned, and the bar counter was covered in half-empty bottles. The air carried the scent of ale, damp earth, and something faintly metallic.

Then, a deep voice rumbled through the stillness.

"What's a half-dead Demon child doing in a forest?"

Rai froze.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes darted toward the source of the voice—a tall, cloaked figure sitting near the fireplace. His presence was imposing, but there was no malice in his tone, only curiosity.

Instinct took over. He had to get out.

Panic surged through Rai's veins as he scrambled off the cot, his legs wobbling beneath him. He barely made it a few steps before the room spun, and his knees buckled.

The old man sighed.

"If I wanted you dead, boy, you wouldn't have woken up."

Rai hesitated, his breathing ragged.

The Exiled Demon leaned forward, his sharp golden eyes gleaming beneath his hood.

"Why are you so scared?"

A Memory of Fire

Rai didn't know.

Or at least, that's what he wanted to believe.

But deep inside, the truth clawed at him, dragging him back to that night—the roar of his father's fury, the sight of his mother's blood pooling at his feet, the feeling of cold steel aimed at his heart.

His hands trembled as he whispered, "I don't know. But… it all happened after I showed my father my transformation."

A silence settled over the tavern. The fire crackled, filling the space between them.

The old Demon narrowed his eyes.

"Transformation?"

Rai hesitated, but something about the old man's presence felt… different.

So, slowly, he let his energy rise.

One eye burned crimson. The other glowed golden.

Darkness unfurled from his left hand, while light flickered in his right. The two elements swirled around his body, coexisting but never colliding.

The old Demon's expression shifted—not with fear, not with disgust, but with fascination.

He stood up, stepping closer, his gaze analyzing every flicker of power.

"Strange…" he muttered.

"Your Light and Dark—they don't fight each other."

Rai blinked. "What?"

The old man folded his arms. "That's why your father wants you dead, boy. Your existence is… unique."

Rai clenched his fists. "But why does that matter?"

The old Demon studied him for a long moment before chuckling. "You really don't know, do you?"

Rai shook his head. "Then tell me!"

The old Demon exhaled. "Demons and Angels can't mix, kid. Not because of laws, but because it's unnatural. Hybrids have been made before, but they're unstable. Their energy clashes, tearing them apart. But you… you're different. Your power isn't fighting itself. It's balanced."

Rai swallowed hard.

His very existence defied the nature of the war.

An Exile in Eden

Rai's eyes narrowed. "Then why aren't you trying to kill me?"

The old Demon chuckled. "I get that a lot."

He turned, walking toward the bar and pouring himself a drink. "I used to be a warrior—a low-tier soldier fighting in a war that made no sense."

His grip on the bottle tightened slightly.

"So I left."

Rai tilted his head. "Left?"

The old Demon smirked. "Well, 'exiled' is a better word. I abandoned my duty, refused to fight anymore. They threw me out of Netharos, banished me to Eden like a stray dog. Been here ever since."

Rai stared at him. There was no way this man was just a 'low-tier warrior.' His very presence carried a weight that felt far more powerful than he let on.

A Plea for Shelter

Rai sat in silence, his fists clenching and unclenching as his mind raced. He had nowhere to go.

If he left, he would be hunted. If he stayed, maybe—just maybe—he had a chance to survive.

He turned to the old Demon, his voice steady but desperate.

"Can I stay here?"

The old man raised an eyebrow. "No."

Rai flinched. "But—"

The Demon leaned back, arms crossed. "I don't take in strays, kid. I've spent too many years avoiding trouble, and I'm not about to let it walk through my door."

Rai's chest tightened. His nails dug into his palms. He had just escaped death. His own father had tried to kill him. The Angels would wipe him out on sight. The human world wouldn't protect him.

He had nowhere.

His voice cracked as he said, "Please."

The old Demon didn't answer.

So Rai forced himself to stand, his legs shaking, his body still weak from everything he had endured.

He bowed his head. "Just one year."

The old Demon remained still.

"Just one year," Rai repeated, forcing himself to meet the man's gaze. "Teach me how to defend myself. Just enough so I can survive on my own in the wilds."

The old Demon exhaled through his nose, gaze sharp.

Rai kept his hands at his sides, trying to stop them from trembling.

If the old man said no, then that was it. He would walk away. He didn't know where—but he would.

Seconds stretched. The fire crackled.

The old Demon studied him, his golden eyes unreadable.

Then, without a word, he closed his eyes—deep in thought.