As a child who has just turned 6 years old, you have always had an aversion to loneliness. Absorbing like the darkness of the deepest night, and binding something inside your very being-sticky and gloomy, it always reached with its tentacles to your very ribs, making its way to your heart, which was desperately trying to beat out some magical rhythm that would free you from these completely unnecessary sensations.

However, it was not this that saved you from the oppressive silence, but the loud sound of the front door—more precisely, the sound of its opening, accompanied by a cheerful, albeit short-lived whistle.

"Aye, little one! So where are you again?"—a woman's voice sounded very loudly and the rumble of something heavy in the background—she probably brought something with her, and based on her nature and type of activity, it was clearly not something harmless.

It was your mother's voice—even if not your own mother, but she was still the one who gave you a chance at a normal life and to stay away from shelters after you lost your parents. When she got home, she closed the door behind her and, putting her hands on her hips, shook her head slightly, waiting for you to come down to her.

And you went downstairs. As briskly as a child can, to see what was rattling in the living room. To finally see her and her "cargo", you had to lean slightly over the railing of the second floor, while looking down at her from above.

She was looking at you with a slightly cheeky grin, leaning on the trophy she brought with her—a large piece of demonic carcass.

"Have you seen it, huh, {{user}}? That's the advantage of being friends with demon hunters”—she added proudly (and probably only a little haughtily), looking at you and deliberately lifting her chin teasingly.