Embrace of Shadows

Elyon stumbled into the dimly lit room, his sobs echoing off the stone walls. His delicate frame shook with each cry, and his hands trembled as he clutched the fresh burn on his arm. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his face flushed and stained with anguish.

"Zephriel... come here," he called out between gasps, his voice raw and broken.

Zephriel's head lifted slightly, the chains around his wrists clinking softly. His once gentle aura was now tinged with a menacing energy—veins bulging beneath his pale skin, horns curving sharply from his head, fangs protruding from his lips, and claws long and sharp. His demonic form had surfaced, barely restrained by the divine chains.

Elyon didn't flinch. The fear that had once gripped his heart was overshadowed by an overwhelming need for comfort. He moved closer, his small body pressing against Zephriel's broad chest. The demon's body was cold, but Elyon didn't care. In this moment, Zephriel's monstrous form felt safer than anything else in the mansion.

Zephriel hesitated, his body tense. His instincts as a demon battled with the fragile humanity that Elyon awakened in him. His crimson eye, still partially covered by the black fabric, shimmered with a mix of rage and concern.

"Remove the fabric from my eyes," Zephriel commanded, his voice low and guttural. "Let me see."

Elyon nodded, his hands shaking as he reached up and gently untied the fabric. As it slipped away, Zephriel's eyes were revealed—one a deep crimson, the other clouded and scarred. His vision was hazy, but the sight of Elyon's tear-stained face cut through the fog.

Zephriel's first instinct was to lash out, the scent of blood thick in the air. His fangs bared, and his claws flexed, but the sight of Elyon's vulnerability pulled him back. He blinked, focusing on the wound. Blood oozed from the burn, the flesh red and raw.

"Who did this?" Zephriel's voice was sharp, his words a blade of ice.

Elyon sniffled, lifting his injured arm. "They... they burned me," he whispered, his voice small and fragile.

Zephriel's expression darkened. His chains tightened, glowing with divine light as if sensing his rage. His demonic aura pulsed, filling the room with a cold, oppressive energy. But when his gaze returned to Elyon, the harshness faded, leaving only a deep, aching sadness.

With a low growl, Zephriel raised his chained hand, the metal biting into his skin as he extended a clawed finger. He barely touched Elyon's wound, but the air around them shifted. A dark mist coiled around the injury, and a strange warmth seeped into Elyon's skin.

"Heal."

The single word hung in the air, filled with a power that sent a shiver down Elyon's spine. His arm tingled, the burning pain ebbing away. He watched in awe as the angry red skin began to knit itself back together, the blood drying up, leaving only smooth, unblemished flesh behind.

Elyon's eyes widened. "H-how did you do that?"

Zephriel didn't answer immediately. His chest rose and fell heavily, the effort of using his power taking a toll. His demonic features remained, but the edges softened, his sharp teeth retracting slightly.

"I am a demon, Elyon," he finally said, his voice weary. "I take life... and sometimes, I can give it back."

Elyon's lips parted, a fresh wave of tears welling in his eyes—not from pain but from relief. He leaned into Zephriel, his head resting against the demon's chest. Zephriel's chains clinked as he moved, one arm wrapping awkwardly around Elyon, a protective gesture despite his restraints.

They remained like that for a long time, the room filled only with the sound of Elyon's breathing and the faint hum of Zephriel's magic. For the first time since entering the mansion, Elyon felt truly safe.

Zephriel's crimson eye remained open, staring into the shadows. His mind raced with thoughts of vengeance, but beneath the fury lay something softer—an unfamiliar warmth that began to thaw the ice that had encased his heart for so long.