The throne room was vast and drowning in shadow. Stone columns stretched into the dark above, disappearing beyond sight. The walls resonated with a faint glow of red light, giving the illusion that the very stones were alive, breathing in the stifling silence. Cold wind slid across the marble floor, whispering through the silence.
Zen stepped inside.
His footsteps were soft, not because he wanted them to be, but because he could barely stand. He could barely remain upright, his legs quivering beneath him, his back hunched as if bearing an invisible weight.
His skin looked like paper. Pale, thin, almost translucent. Bruises bloomed along his arms, dark and uneven. Blood soaked his right side, some of it dried and flaking, some still wet and sticky. One eye was nearly swollen shut. The other was sunken, ringed with the weight of too many sleepless nights. Yet deep in that eye, something still burned. Maybe it was desperation. Perhaps it was defiance. Either way, it refused to die.
He looked as if he had been dragged through hell itself, and perhaps he had.
At the far end of the room, the Demon of Dreams sat upon her throne of Endless Nightmare, her presence imposing and sharp against the darkness. The throne itself seemed alive, pulsating and twisting, a manifestation of nightmares that refused to rest. Her dark eyes glimmered, cruel and sharp, cutting through the shadows.
A smile blossomed on her lips, sweet yet laced with malice. "You've returned, little puppet," she purred, her voice flowing like honey but with a sting of poison. "I trust your journey was… enlightening."
Zen fell to one knee, his head bowed.
"I've done as your majesty asked," he said, voice low and cracked. "I've brought what Your Majesty wanted."
The demon shifted forward slightly, the light around her seeming to dim as if drawn into her gaze. "Show me, then."
Zen hesitated, fingers trembling around the pouch at his side. Slowly, he drew it out, a small black cube, fitting snugly in the palm of his hand.
Yet it pulsed, alive and ominous, like a dying heartbeat. Red cracks lined its surface, flickering like veins of light, and something inside pressed against the edges, desperate to break free.
The Demon Orb. It is sealed inside this cube.
Zen's arm tensed. A cold feeling crept up from his fingers to his shoulder, like something was crawling beneath his skin. Every breath near it felt heavy, as if the air itself wanted to run from it.
On her throne, the Demon of Dreams stilled, leaning forward with an intensity that made Zen's heart race. Her pupils broadened, a sound escaping her lips, a mixture of anticipation and desire.
Her smile faded into something deeper. Something almost reverent. Zen's arm sagged. The orb felt heavier now, like it was pulling the strength out of him. But he didn't let go.
Suddenly, the cube shuddered. It cracked, releasing a thin spike of red energy that hissed like steam under pressure. The ground trembled, and stone tiles groaned.
The orb lifted from Zen's grasp, quivering as it moved toward the throne, drawn by an invisible force. The demon's gaze never faltered, her fingers reaching out, slow and cautious, as though afraid to break the fragile moment.
When the cube touched her palm, she gasped in wonder. "This…" she whispered, turning it gently, watching the cube danced across her fingertips. "This is more than I hoped for."
Her voice softened, dripping with an unsettling tender awe. Zen stayed kneeling, heart racing, breath shallow, waiting for whatever came next.
The cube floated in front of her, as if it had always belonged to her. She took a deep breath, the kind that filled her lungs with something sweeter than air.
"I've waited so long for this," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with emotion. She leaned closer, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as she gazed at it with a longing that made the air feel thin. She held it close, as if it might disappear if she blinked.
"It's been such a long time... I can feel it," she said quietly. Her chest rose and fell as if a storm was brewing beneath the surface. "Everything I need... It's all right here."
She tucked the cube into the folds of her dress and looked back at Zen.
"You've done well," she said, her voice oddly sweet yet sharp.
Zen stood still, his shoulders tense, sweat beading on his skin. The room felt colder now. Or maybe it was just him.
"You want your freedom," she said, stepping down from her throne slowly. Her voice was soft, but there was a weight in her words. "You and your sister's freedom"
Her footsteps echoed in the quiet.
"And why wouldn't I give it to you?" she asked, tilting her head and tapping her lips thoughtfully. "You brought me what I wanted, something no one else could even dream of getting."
She walked closer, her dress swirling like dark mist behind her.
"I should keep my promise, right? That would be fair. That would be nice."
She stopped in front of him, searching his face for his thoughts.
"But the truth is... You have no idea what you just gave me."
Zen stayed silent, his face pale and jaw tight.
"When I sent you to Nitya," she said, circling him, "you were nothing. Just a boy looking for a way out. I wanted to see you fail."
She paused behind him, her voice low and close.
"You faced a nightmare... for her. And you returned."
She slowed her pace and came back to face him.
"You brought that thing back. That shouldn't be possible. But here it is. Here you are."
She studied him carefully.
"You made the impossible happen. And that changes everything."
Zen didn't flinch. He knew demons better than anyone.
Instead, he reached into his coat slowly, pulling out a piece of folded black silk. The light dimmed as he opened it up.
Inside was no paper, but skin, dry and pale, pulled tight like it had been taken from something still in pain. Glowing red symbols crawled across it.
Zen held the piece of skin out in front of him.
"We made a contract. Your majesty signed it."
The demon's gaze fell to the skin. A heavy silence filled the air, thick with memories.
She remembered how she had laughed when he first approached her throne, a scrawny shadow of a boy who had come to her lost and desperate.
"You want to go to Nitya?" she had mocked.
"Bring me what I want from there?"
"And in exchange… freedom for you and your sister?"
"You are knowledgeable, aren't you?"
It had been a pitiful bargain, born of desperation. But she had been intrigued; Nitya was her one vulnerability, a place that tormented her very existence.
She had sent everything she could muster. Armies of demons, shapeless nightmares, even slaves of different races. But none of them returned, not a single one.
Once, she had ventured into Nitya herself. The memories were etched into her mind, vivid and haunting. Nitya didn't just kill; it unraveled everything you were. It crept into the corners of your thoughts, consuming names and draining meaning until nothing remained.
And yet, here he stood before her now. Not a hollow shell, not a ghost, but a boy. Alive.
It felt impossible.
Blood stained all over his body, and in his hands, he clutched a piece of skin as if it were some undeniable truth carved into it.
She watched him, silent and still.
There was no hint of arrogance in the way he held himself, nor was there any fear, just a calm acceptance, as if he had already made peace with whatever fate awaited him next.
He wasn't meant to survive that place. He should never have made it this far. That contract had felt like a cruel joke to her, a formality that allowed her to watch a child spiral into madness for the sake of love.
But here he was, standing strong, eyes unwavering, offering her that same contract as if it held weight, as if it mattered.
Unexpectedly, it did.
"Haha"
She let out a soft laugh.
"We did, didn't we?"
She stepped closer, her heels echoing on the ground like whispered secrets. A dark curve graced her lips.
"You were trembling, barely able to articulate your desires, yet you offered me that little sliver of skin as if it held the weight of the world."
Her fingers danced in the air, above the contract, her eyes alight with anticipation.
"I never truly believed you'd survive. I agreed to the terms just to witness your downfall."
Then her smile faltered.
"But now… I change my mind."
Inches apart, Zen remained motionless. He didn't say anything.
"I will honor the deal," she said softly, almost tenderly. "But only in part."
Zen's expression became steely.
She raised a clawed finger toward the contract, a silent threat flickering in the air.
"Your sister will be free. No strings attached. She will awaken tomorrow in her bed, untouched by demons."
Zen's breath caught, but he maintained his steady gaze.
"That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
Her smile returned, wicked and beautiful.
"But you… I think I'll keep."
With a graceful twist of her wrist, she offered him a choice.
"I'll grant you one request instead. Anything you desire."
Her tone darkened, becoming sinister.
"Refuse… and this contract will be torn apart, and I will endure the backlash of breaking the contract."
Zen stood still, unshaken, like he had known all along this moment would come.
After a moment, he spoke.
"My request is this."
His voice was quiet and resolute.
"Erase her memory of me. Of this place. Of the pain. Of the past"
"Give her a new life. Somewhere safe. A real orphanage. A human place. Where no one can find her."
" And make a new contract with me. One that promises your majesty and your demons will never touch her again."
The Demon of Dreams tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"That can be done."
"But you understand," she murmured, her voice almost gentle, "she will forget you. Completely."
Zen nodded, his resolve unwavering.
"That's the point."
He knew this was the best he could offer her now.
A moment of heavy silence passed between them. She scrutinized him, searching for cracks in his calm facade.
But he remained composed, too calm for her liking.
"Hahahaa...."
Her laughter drifted through the air, soft and haunting.
"Oh, how tragic."
With a hand pressed to her cheek, she added, "You survived the chaos of Nitya. You handed me the greatest treasure that I had been searching for years. And your reward? To vanish from her existence."
With a clap of her hands that echoed through the room, she declared, "How beautiful."
In an instant, she snapped her fingers.
The contract ignited in flames.
The world shimmered and twisted, bending reality.
Then, like a fragment pulling from a fading dream, a small figure appeared beside Zen.
A girl. No more than five years old.
She blinked in the dim light, confusion written all over her face. Her tousled hair framed wide, soft eyes that instantly found Zen's.
From the shadows, the Demon of Dreams stepped back, her voice dripping with honeyed malice.
"There she is," she said, soft as syrup. "Say goodbye while you still can."
Zen dropped onto one knee, the weight of the moment crashing down around him.
The girl ran to him.
And in that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still.