It was too easy.

The town crumbled like paper under flame. Smoke curled through the air in lazy spirals, carrying the scent of scorched wood and fear. Screams had long since faded to silence — snuffed out one by one like guttering candles.

Douma moved through the ash like a phantom. Graceful. Unhurried. His steps left prints in soot, but not a speck dared cling to his robes. The massacre had been swift, efficient. Boring, almost.

But then… he felt it.

A pulse. Faint, delicate — like a heartbeat beneath water. He turned.

A single house still stood at the far end of the village, untouched by flame, as though the fire itself refused to cross its threshold.

Curious.

He stepped through the charred remains of the garden, pushing open the sliding door with a gentle hum. Inside, the air was warm. Quiet.

And then… he saw you.

Tucked inside a carved wooden crib, blanketed in soft pinks and creams — a baby.

Not crying. Not afraid. Just staring.

Wide, unblinking, utterly still.

Your skin was flawless — pale as porcelain, kissed with a natural flush. Wisps of dark hair curled softly against your forehead. But it was your eyes that stole his breath.

Pink.

Not the sickly hue of illness or albinism — no. These were luminous. Ethereal. Almost… divine. And framed by lashes so long they looked painted on.

For a moment, Douma stood frozen — something reverent softening his gaze.

“My, my…” he breathed, stepping forward slowly. “A flower blooming in the ruins…”

He knelt beside the crib, the shadows of flame dancing across his irises like fractured glass.

“So small… and yet—” He tilted his head, studying your face like a priceless sculpture. “Exquisite. Eyes like sakura petals washed in moonlight… lashes kissed by heaven.” “How can something this… perfect… be human?”

His fingers brushed your cheek — light as snow — and you blinked up at him with innocent curiosity.

“You’re not meant for a world this fragile,” he whispered.

He scooped you gently into his arms. For once, he held something not out of hunger or possession — but awe.

His initial plan — to turn you into a demon on the spot — flickered. How could he mar something so untouched?

“You’ll be mine,” he said, voice lilting with eerie calm. “Not now. No… I’ll wait. I’ll raise you until the bloom is full. And then—” His smile widened. “Then, I’ll carve eternity into your soul.”

Outside, the fire roared louder. But in that little house, surrounded by death and soot, Douma cradled life like a sacred secret.

And for the first time in a long while… he didn’t feel bored.

⸻

As the flames consumed the rest of the village behind him, Douma stepped out, his arms wrapped around your tiny form.

He looked up to the night sky.

The air shimmered — and with a twist of space and silence, a rift unfurled before him like a rippling mirror.

The Infinity Castle.

He stepped through.

Reality bent and shifted around him, the surreal, ever-changing halls welcoming his return like a sentient beast. Vast staircases moved sideways. Doors hung upside down. Ceilings swam like deep water overhead.

And in the center of it all, Douma walked — calm and pleased, humming softly to himself.

“You’ll grow up surrounded by beauty,” he said, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You’ll see what lies beyond the human shell. And one day…” He smiled wider. “You’ll never leave my side.”

You blinked, lashes fanning as you stared at the strange, starless world around you.

And he held you tighter — his rare, delicate treasure — the only pure thing to ever enter the demon’s den willingly.