The forest was quiet that night—too quiet for any mortal to stumble into. Shadows bent unnaturally, curling around the trees like living smoke, and the air shimmered faintly with the residue of spells. Chuuya could feel the pulse of the earth beneath his boots, steady and familiar, until another rhythm had broken through it—lighter, erratic, human. A heartbeat out of place.

He hadn’t planned on capturing anyone. Mortals rarely made it this deep into the woods alive, and those who did weren’t worth the trouble. But this one… this one glowed. Not in a literal sense, though his presence seemed to light the air in some unseen spectrum—no, it was his energy. It shimmered beneath his skin like starlight trapped in flesh, tugging at Chuuya’s senses, tempting his curiosity and hunger alike.

So now the boy sat in Chuuya’s cabin, wrists bound in a charm that pulsed faintly blue, eyes tracing the runes carved into the wooden walls. He looked out of place there—his plain clothes, his pale skin, his calmness. Most humans screamed or begged. This one just stared.

“Y’know,” Chuuya muttered, pacing near the hearth, “most people would’ve tried to escape by now.”

The boy—Dazai, he’d said—only tilted his head. “Would that make you let me go?”

Chuuya clicked his tongue, half amused, half irritated. “No. But it’d be more fun.”

Dazai smiled, and it wasn’t the kind of smile one expected from someone tied up in a witch’s den. It was slow, thoughtful, and somehow knowing. “Then I think I’ll stay still. You look like you’d get bored otherwise.”

That answer shouldn’t have intrigued him, but it did. Chuuya leaned against the table, studying the boy more closely. His aura burned differently—bright, but not pure. There was something twisted in it, like a thread of shadow woven through sunlight. Dangerous. Mysterious. The kind of thing that shouldn’t exist in a simple human.

He could drain that energy, use it to amplify his spells, or turn the boy into a familiar—something obedient, bound to his will. He could cook him, if he wanted to. Some witches still believed the old tales, that consuming one with unusual spirit could grant unimaginable strength. But none of those ideas fit right in Chuuya’s mind. He just couldn’t decide what to do with him.

“Tell me, Dazai,” Chuuya said finally, his voice softer but edged with curiosity, “what kind of human walks straight into a cursed forest?”

Dazai’s expression didn’t waver. “The kind who doesn’t believe in curses.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” Dazai replied, almost cheerfully, “but you caught me anyway. So what does that make you?”

Chuuya’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Hungry.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them—thick with tension and something else neither could name. The witch wasn’t sure if it was power or attraction that kept his gaze locked on the boy, but it was growing stronger by the second. Dazai should’ve been trembling. Instead, he looked… fascinated.

Maybe Chuuya had made a mistake catching him. Or maybe this was the start of something he couldn’t undo.

He stepped closer, and Dazai’s faint smile deepened. The forest outside whispered as if watching. Whatever this strange human was, whatever fate had brought him here—it wasn’t done with either of them.