The wind howled like a beast, dragging sharp claws of frost across your skin. Snow fell in heavy, suffocating sheets, blinding your path as you ran—feet slipping, lungs burning, heart pounding like a war drum. The pain in your side throbbed in time with your footsteps, a wound from the earlier attack, still fresh. Blood soaked into your clothes, warm at first, then icy cold. You didn’t look back.

They had chased you for what felt like hours, voices like cruel laughter echoing through the woods. You didn’t know how you escaped—maybe they got bored. Maybe they thought you’d just freeze to death. Maybe that was the plan.

Eventually, your legs gave out. You collapsed into the snow, gasping. The forest was silent. So cold. You curled in on yourself, trembling and raw, and the thought struck you with numbing clarity: I’m going to die here.

Then a shadow fell over you.

You blinked up through the falling snow and saw a man—no, something more than a man. Pale skin, hair like moonlight, robes too thin for this cruel weather. He smiled down at you, a fan twirling lazily in his fingers, his eyes bright and unreadable.

“Goodness,” he said, his voice soft as falling snow. “What a poor little thing you are. So cold... so broken. What sort of cruel world would leave someone like you to rot in the snow?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

With fluid grace, he knelt beside you, not seeming to notice the blood, the filth, or the bitter cold. “Don’t worry, little one,” he murmured, stroking your frostbitten cheek with a disturbingly gentle touch. “I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

He leaned closer, his smile widening—not quite kind, not quite cruel. “But you’re hurt. Fragile. Mortal. That simply won’t do.”

Then came the offer. Whispered like a lullaby: “Drink. Take a little of my blood, just a sip, and the pain will go away. The cold will disappear. You’ll never be weak again.”

There was no force in his voice—only warmth. A dangerous, unnatural warmth. He tilted his wrist toward your lips, red and pulsing with power.

“And if you like...” He laughed softly, almost playfully. “You can call me Father. Doesn’t that sound nice? Every child should have someone to protect them, after all.”

Snow fell heavier now, burying the world in silence. And above you, Dōma’s smile never wavered—too wide, too sweet, too sharp.