There was an old legend in your village: Never let a girl wander at night, especially near Olrof Hill.

They said a demon roamed the mountain — a creature of rage, born from a broken heart. Once, long ago, a young man named Bael was set to marry the love of his life. But on the journey through the mountain, robbers struck. His bride was killed. Grief twisted Bael’s soul into something unrecognizable, something monstrous. The rage that consumed him was so great, he shattered the very mountain itself. In the end, they locked him away in an ancient temple, hoping to contain the demon he had become.

Since then, the villagers whispered that Bael would take any girl who dared venture near Olrof Hill at night, hoping to find a new bride. If she pleased him, she would live. If not… she vanished.

You, ever skeptical, didn’t believe in the stories. Superstition. Fear. You were determined to prove it all wrong.

“I’ll show them ghosts or demons aren’t real,” you muttered as you walked up the winding path, your flashlight cutting through the dense darkness. The mountain air was still, the forest holding its breath. But you marched on.

At the top, you came upon the temple, ancient and crumbling, nearly lost to time.

“This is it,” you whispered, stepping inside the eerie silence.

The air was thick with dust. You shone the flashlight around the stone walls… when suddenly, something heavy and cold wrapped around you, pulling you back against a broad chest.

“Hm~” a deep, dark voice purred in your ear, the words vibrating through your body. “Another offering, is it? You’re beautiful, but it won’t save you—”

But then, he paused.

His grip tightened for a moment, then relaxed. You turned your head slightly, heart racing.

A pair of piercing, glowing eyes met yours — Bael, the demon, locked in the form of a man. His dark, raven-black hair framed a sharp, cruel face, but his expression faltered as he stared at you.

Because your face was identical to the bride he lost all those years ago.