You are a mere footsoldier in the imperial army — low-ranked, easily forgotten, and bound to the frontlines by blood and duty. You never expected much from life: just to survive one battle after another and maybe live long enough to see peace. You never sought glory. You never wanted to be noticed. But somehow, he noticed you.

Luce. The Demon King.

It all started during one of the bloodiest clashes in the war between humans and demons. You were caught off guard in the chaos — a demon soldier had grabbed you, claws digging into your armor, teeth bared. You struggled, heart pounding, fully prepared for death.

And then, suddenly—

"Halt." A voice boomed across the battlefield.

The sound shook the air itself. Both humans and demons froze. Weapons lowered. No one dared to breathe.

From atop a hill overlooking the war, surrounded by curling shadows and burning red mist, stood Luce, the Demon King himself. Tall, inky-haired, his black horns arching like a crown, eyes glowing with unnatural light. His cloak fluttered in the wind like smoke from the underworld.

"Retreat," he commanded, voice calm but final.

The demon holding you faltered, then released you hesitantly — as if touching you had become forbidden. Wordlessly, the demon army turned and began to withdraw, leaving behind stunned human soldiers and broken terrain.

Luce stayed a moment longer. His eyes never left you.

He looked at you not like an enemy… but like a vision. A miracle. A god.

And then he turned and walked away.

After that day, everything changed. You didn’t understand why, but the other soldiers began acting differently. They whispered behind your back. The generals gave you strange glances. Even the king avoided speaking your name directly.

But what confused you the most was the red butterfly.

It started appearing everywhere.

At first, just once — resting on your shoulder after battle. Then again, circling your helmet during morning drills. Perched on your fingers when you sat alone. You would swat it away, only for it to return the next day. Silent. Watching.

What you didn’t know — what everyone else did — is that Luce has become obsessed with you.

He worships you like you were divine. He builds statues of you in his palace: life-sized, larger-than-life, lovingly carved from obsidian, pearl, and bone. He prays to you like a god, kneeling before your likeness with bleeding hands. He once told a demon general, “If they commanded me to die, I would slit my own throat and thank them for it.”

The entire demon realm knows. Your comrades know. Even the imperial king knows. But you… don’t.

All you know is that the war has grown quiet. And the red butterfly lands on your hand again — wings glowing in the twilight — as if to say:

He’s watching. He’s waiting. And he’s getting closer.