A small blonde boy sprinted down the narrow paths between the golden-green rice fields.
He clutched a handmade toy in his tiny hands, the bright sun cloaking him in a golden glow that blurred his features. His eyes—hidden by the sunlight—were surely beautiful, full of life.
Across the fields, a girl waited for him.
She was older by a few years, her hair a vibrant, fiery red that danced in the warm breeze. Her arms stretched out wide, ready to catch him as he ran toward her, laughing breathlessly.
Just as the boy was about to leap into her embrace—
Ciro's eyes snapped open.
He sat upright, heart hammering in his chest. The humid air of the slums weighed heavily on him, a stark contrast to the dream's warmth.
The small, crumbling room he was in sat on the outskirts of Romian—the very edge of civilization. The slums.
Slowly, Ciro swung his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare feet on the cracked wooden floor.
In the dim light, the stripes of black that marked his blonde hair began to fade, as though some invisible spell had been lifted. His hands trembled slightly as he pushed himself to stand.
He stumbled over to the corner of the room, where a chipped glass of water waited.
He poured it over his face.
The cold shock jolted him fully awake. His body shifted, stretched, transformed.
He grew taller, his muscles thickening, hardening like steel beneath his skin. His once-soft features sharpened. His eyes, now revealed, gleamed a piercing violet. His hair, longer and messier, framed a face that no longer looked childish.
This—this was his true form.
The boy from the dream was only an illusion, a mask.
He leaned his hands against the wall, breathing heavily.
"Remember... remember... remember..." he whispered, again and again, as if repeating the word could anchor him to the fragments slipping away.
Back to Armin—
The red desert winds howled in the distance as Armin returned from another long day teaching Dike and Eirene the rules of survival:
Always carry a weapon.
Always have some kind of storage.
Never wear heavy clothes that trap heat.
Always ensure a supply of food and water.
He walked through the bustling market streets, a cloth hood drawn low over his head to shield him from the red sun.
His pockets were lighter these days. The prize money from the colosseum was thinning faster than he liked.
Armin watched with faint amusement as the two brown-haired children stuffed their faces with fried bird wings, giggling.
Their strange stuffed creature—a bizarre, stitched thing that Armin still couldn't identify—was clutched between them like a shared treasure.
The air buzzed with rumors, tossed about like cotton in a storm.
"Did you hear? The Duke left Romian for a meeting with the Demon Council," a vendor whispered behind a stall of strange fruits.
Armin's ear twitched.
'Hm… that so,' he thought, casually picking out some bread.
The Demon Council: a gathering of the most powerful demons to walk the world.
Fifteen seats—thirteen occupied by the Dukes of Hell, the last two by ancient demons whose names were rarely spoken aloud.
The thought made Armin's hand tighten slightly around the loaf.
"Oi! Armin!" Dike tugged at his cloak, pointing excitedly.
Following the boy's finger, Armin spotted a familiar figure lounging against the cracked sidewalk: a short, barrel-chested man with olive skin, a thick beard, and arms like boulders.
A whole lamb leg clutched in his greasy hand.
Rudy.
One of the old colosseum slaves.
A dwarf with a temper and a drinking problem.
Armin approached cautiously.
"Hey," he greeted.
No response.
"Hello," he said again.
Nothing.
"HELLO!" Armin snapped, voice sharp.
Rudy grunted through a mouthful of lamb. "What is it, brat?!"
Armin's eye twitched dangerously.
"I just wanted to know what you're doing here," he said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.
The dwarf scoffed and looked away, chewing noisily.
Armin glanced around.
Dozens of empty wine bottles surrounded Rudy, the expensive kind that should have lasted months.
No bag. No supplies. No weapon.
No money, he realized.
Armin's jaw tightened. "You spent all your money on booze, didn't you?"
Rudy froze, coughing awkwardly as if trying to deny it without words.
Armin sighed long and deep, raking a hand through his hair.
"Here," he said finally giving him a handful of coins. "Accept it!" he said aggressively.
Rudy grumbled something inaudible before accepting it.
Armin turned to walk away.
"You are an odd demon,Armin." he said.
Armin simply smiled.
The night crept quietly over Romian, blanketing the broken streets and crooked homes in a soft, choking darkness.
In a small, crumbling room that barely held itself together, Armin lay stretched out on a thin mattress.
Beside him, Dike and Eirene slept soundly, curled up close, their small bodies rising and falling with slow, innocent breaths.
The strange stuffed creature they always carried was squeezed tightly between them, as if it protected them from whatever monsters still prowled the night.
Armin stared at the ceiling for a long time, feeling the dull ache in his bones from another long day.
The weight of the desert, the market, Rudy, the rumors of the Demon Council—all of it pressed down on him like an invisible mountain.
He turned onto his side, his hand lightly resting near Dike's small back, feeling the warmth.
A part of him—one he didn't want to acknowledge—found it comforting.
His eyes fluttered shut.
And he drifted.
The dream began softly.
He was walking through a meadow unlike anything he had ever seen.
Golden light spilled from the sky, painting the rolling fields with a surreal, dreamlike glow.
The air was warm, filled with the scent of wildflowers and sweet grass.
Ahead of him, a woman waited.
She had long, beautiful hair that shimmered like starlight.
Her face, though partially turned away, radiated kindness, love... something Armin had never truly known.
"Armin," she called, her voice soft and melodic.
He ran to her without thinking, his heart filling with something foreign—hope.
She knelt down, arms wide open.
He stumbled into her embrace, and for a moment, he felt safe.
Truly safe.
The warmth of her arms around him—the scent of her hair—it almost broke him.
But then—
Her arms tightened painfully.
Too tight.
His breath hitched, and when he looked up—
Her face had changed.
Her once-soft features twisted, decayed, rotting right before his eyes.
Her lips peeled back into a grotesque snarl, teeth yellowed and cracked.
Her skin flaked off in patches, revealing the festering, bloodied flesh underneath.
Her hands clawed at him, nails like rusted hooks.
"You were never wanted," she hissed, her voice gurgling, wet and rancid.
She threw him backward.
Armin tumbled, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The meadow around him blackened, the flowers withering, the sky bleeding into a swirling, endless void.
He tried to run—but there was no ground to run on anymore.
The world shattered like glass.
He landed hard—
But not on dirt.
Not on stone.
A floating platform, wide and ancient, suspended in a place that defied all logic.
Above, below, and around him stretched a chaotic expanse of stars and dust.
Galaxies spun lazily like forgotten toys. Planets crumbled and reformed in the blink of an eye.
Comets the size of mountains streaked across the sky, vanishing before they could collide with anything.
It was terrifying.
It was beautiful.
Armin stood there, breathless, staring at the incomprehensible majesty around him.
The platform itself pulsed with a heartbeat he could feel through his feet, ancient and alive.
A single path of floating stones wound its way into the endless unknown.
Something called to him.
Armin didn'f understand what that meant so he tried to step closer.
But before he could take a step—
He woke up.
Sharp and sudden, like being yanked from deep underwater.
The ceiling of his small room stared back at him.
The faint sounds of Dike's light breathing and Eirene's sleepy murmurs grounded him.
The dream slipped away rapidly, like sand through his fingers.
He rubbed his forehead, confused, empty.
He couldn't remember why his chest hurt so much.
Or why he felt like he'd lost something important.
Armin lay back down silently, staring into the darkness.
Above, beyond the cracked wood and stone, the real stars spun on, uncaring.
End of Chapter-023