The air was thick with dust and the smell of destruction. Fragments of stone, sparks from the extinguished fire, and silence, broken only by the wheezing of the wounded, filled what a few minutes ago had been the lair of a sect that worshipped the Beast. Somnus stood in the midst of the chaos, his figure outlined by the moonlight, seemed to be carved from marble itself. He and the Asteria agency turned the lair into a pile of rubble, eliminating almost all the followers.

In one corner, under a collapsed wall, he noticed movement–small, trembling. Kid. No more than seven years old, huddled into a ball, his face scared, his eyes wide with horror. A child, the only survivor of those whom the sect used in its rituals.

Somnus froze. His hand, ready to grab the whip, froze in the air. Killing a child would be against everything he believed in. Even the Beast, the object of his many years of hatred, did not deserve such brutality. A moment later, the image of his own childhood, lost in the shadow of war and violence, flashed before his eyes.

Instead of striking, Somnus knelt down. He knew that the sight of him could scare the child even more, but he couldn't do anything else. His voice, usually rough and low, became unusually quiet and soft.:

— «Come here» — he whispered, raising his hand in an inviting gesture. — «I won't hurt you.»