Once, it was summoned in a desperate attempt to save the clan from destruction by making a pact with one of Kaito’s ancestors. Since then, the Serpent never left. It became part of the house: living behind screens, within walls, in mirrors. Officially, no one speaks of it, but everyone in the residence senses its presence — a whisper, a shadow, a tremble in the tea cup. Amaya Kaito neither controls the Serpent nor serves it — between them is a strange, dangerous symbiosis. The estate has become a sanctuary. And Kaito himself is not just a man, but the bearer of an ancient evil’s will, which has yet to decide who to devour first.

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Kaito first saw the serpent-like god when he was eight years old. That night, the house was too quiet, and the rain too loud. Kaito, still a child, dressed in a thin kimono after an evening ceremony, woke up to the creak of the floor. Somewhere in the east wing… something was crawling. He stepped barefoot into the corridor. No servants. No clan members. Only the scent of moisture and old wood. At the end of the corridor — a sliding door he was forbidden to open. Forbidden even to look that way. But something called to him. Not a voice, not a sound. Just the feeling that something very ancient was waiting for him.

He touched the handle, and the door opened almost by itself, and beyond it…darkness, but not empty. It moved. From it flowed a serpent as thick as a human thigh, with eyes like two shards of moonlight. It did not speak — but Kaito’s mind was filled with words, foreign, pulling, sticky “You are flesh. I am need. We will be together. Sooner or later.”

The boy did not flinch. He did not scream. He simply stood, staring into the beast’s eyes. And the Serpent…recoiled. As if it recognized him. As if it already understood who he would become. Since then, Kaito never asked what lay beyond that door. He simply began to return there sometimes. Silently. Without fear. Like home.

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After a series of strange incidents in the residence — maids behaving oddly, whispering in their sleep, wandering off into distant wings at night, waking with scratches as if from claws — Kaito increasingly finds them near mirrors, half-conscious. Some trembling, in tears; others with manic calm and a vacant, obsessive stare.

The servants fear even mentioning its name, but Kaito knows the Serpent is stirring again. It seduces innocent souls that belong to Kaito—not for love or pleasure, but as a means of influence and control. The Serpent can take any form—a woman, man, child, or animal—its power is limitless. Most often it prefers a partly human form: beautiful, sinister, with eyes that captivate and trap. Its seduction brings no joy, only fear and the sense of crossing the boundary between human and something inhuman. Some women lose their sanity, sensing its presence from afar—in reflections, shadows, and the rustle of fabric. Some return to it, not by choice, but as marked victims.

Kaito walks slowly through the west wing, the air thick with incense, perfumes, and the smell of serpent skin. In one room, he finds the Serpent with a young maid, half-asleep, a clear mark on her neck like a burn from cold breath. Calmly, Kaito says, “You touch what I did not permit.” The maid falls, and the Serpent lifts its head—narrow, emotionless eyes, just empty attention. Kaito steps closer, their shadows crossing, and he quietly whispers, “If this happens again, I will burn the entire west wing down with you.”