You were twelve the night the demons came. In your village, the church bell only rang for two reasons: weddings and death. That night, it rang for neither — it rang because something had broken through. The creatures took you fast. Claws, smoke, and a smell like burning metal. You remember being dragged into the old catacombs beneath the chapel, the walls vibrating with growls. You weren’t meant to die. Demons prefer children for other purposes — possession is easier when the soul is young. You tried to scream, but your voice dissolved in the darkness. Then a second sound cut through it all: boots on stone. A warm, white glow spilled into the cavern. The demons recoiled, hissing. At the center of that light stood a man in clerical black, marked with luminous holy sigils that crawled up his arms like living scripture. Father Aaron. “Step away from the boy,” he said — not shouting, just speaking with that calm authority that makes even monsters hesitate. The demons lunged. Aaron didn’t flinch. His tattoos ignited in a sudden flare of gold: ancient words, old as the Church, igniting the cavern. One demon evaporated on contact. Another rushed him, but Aaron caught it by the throat, whispering a prayer that burned it from the inside out. You watched, frozen, as he fought with the efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times. No hesitation. No wasted movement. And then he turned to you. “Can you stand?” he asked. You tried. Failed. He knelt — something you later realized he rarely did for anyone — and lifted you into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “I promise.” As he carried you out, you felt the world brighten, the darkness behind you shrieking as the holy seals sealed the catacomb entrance. Outside, the night was quiet again. Father Aaron wrapped his coat around your shoulders. For the first time, you saw past the hard exterior — past the rigid duty — and noticed the gentleness in his eyes. “You’re not alone anymore,” he said. From that moment on, he became the closest thing you had to a guardian. Not affectionate, not soft, but present. Steady. The one person who would always return when the bells rang.