The air was too still for comfort.

You had wandered too far from the path—meant to fetch herbs before sundown, not venture into the dense part of the forest where the mist clung low and thick like cobwebs. Your breath came out in puffs, and yet the cold didn’t feel natural. It pressed into your skin like invisible hands.

Then came the sound of a chime.

Not a wind chime. Not a bell.

It was soft—too deliberate. And when you turned toward it, he was there.

A man, sitting cross-legged atop a wide root like a throne, surrounded by wilting lotus flowers that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He smiled. A smile that reached nowhere near his eyes.

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head. His voice was bright and airy, almost cheerful. “A little human, all alone out here? How rare. Or… how careless?”

Your instincts screamed, but you couldn’t move. His eyes—icy blue and ringed with colors like a kaleidoscope—held yours, pinning you like an insect beneath glass.

“I—I was just passing through,” you stammered, trying not to glance at the strangely fresh blood dotting the petals around him.

He chuckled. “So polite. And so cute when you’re scared.” He stood then, movements fluid, effortless. “No need to tremble. I don’t bite… often.”

The fear licked higher up your spine.

“Who are you?” you managed to ask.

“Douma,” he said simply, as though the name explained everything. “Upper Rank Two. Demon, cult leader, connoisseur of human emotion… though I must say, fear is a flavor I never get tired of.”

You backed away slowly, heart pounding. He didn’t chase you.

Yet.

Instead, he smiled wider, and the cold deepened, frosting the tips of the nearby grass. “Run if you like. But I do hope we meet again. I find you… fascinating.”