'How quiet,' this was Diablo's first thought upon regaining consciousness.
It was soft, warm which was unfamiliar. Then finally, Diablo's eyelids gradually started to twitch as a low groan escaped his lips.
In a second, he felt… lighter. Not in strength—but in burden, in pain, in weight. This...The crushing pressure that had defined his existence was suddenly gone. He had already died, didn't he?
"...?"
Then he felt something coarse scratch at his skin. What is that? A straw?
With a sharp breath, his eyes suddenly snapped open.
He saw no red flames, or black smoke. Just pale morning light slipping through cracks in a wooden roof.
"..." He was panting, drenched in sweat. Touching the back of his neck, he then sat up slowly, wincing at the dull ache in his limbs. Upon closer inspection, his body was for some reason wrapped tightly in linen bandages, his chest covered with thicker layers.
'Where am I?'
This wasn't his throne. This wasn't the battlefield. This wasn't that dark place.
Scanning his surroundings, it felt like he was inside a small, wooden hut. The air smelled of herbs and soil. Outside, chickens clucked, and a nearby stream whispered gently over stones.
This....
He was alive??
But… how???
Before he could piece anything together, the door creaked open, prompting his eyes to glow faintly with alarm.
Soon, a human girl stepped inside, holding a basket of freshly picked herbs.
The girl was quite young. She had dark hair tied tightly in a ponytail, pale youthful skin, small nose and light brown eyes. Seeing him, her steps halted the moment she entered.
She froze.
Meanwhile, Diablo stared at her long and hard. 'A human,' he thought. 'Am in a human settlement?'
"You're... awake?" she said, seemingly unconcerned with the threatening look on his face.
"I'll cook food. I know that you must be hungry."
"..."
The human girl's voice was soft—cautious, but kind. She stepped closer, eyes wide with concern. Then she started to explain. "You were on the riverbank… covered in blood. I—I thought you were dead. What happened to you?"
'I was?'
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He frowned.
'???'
What did happen?
He closed his eyes, and fragmented memories surfaced again—screams, fire, a dark throne, steel piercing his chest. His heart pounded at every picture.
"I… don't remember," he then whispered, choosing to lie. Choosing peace.
"You don't even know your name?" the girl then asked gently, kneeling beside the bed.
Seeing her approach, he flinched slightly, almost recoiling.
Who was this girl? Was she a threat? A spy? An angel in disguise?
Caution pulsed in his blood. She was asking for his name, but Diablo was not a name he could share so easily. Not here.
"Shad," he muttered, lying again, "I think… my name is Shad."
"Shad, huh. What a nice name," The girl smiled warmly. "I'm Jess Lilia. You may call me Jess. It feels like we are in the same age so I'll just call you, Shad, okay? Don't worry about anything. You're safe here."
Safe?
'You clearly don't know what that word means, human,' he thought. 'Should I kill her? Just in case? No, I have to be calm and assess the situation outside.'
After that, she went to the kitchen. It seemed she was already preparing food at the table way earlier. She chopped the vegetables with ease, humming faintly, and apparently had been cooking something outside, making the smell of food scatter into the air.
Now looking closely, Shad noticed something. The hut was small—just one bed, a table, and a tiny kitchen. Everything was modest, yet meticulously clean.
It seemed the human girl lived alone.
"..." Shad still wasn't convinced.
Noticing Shad kept looking outside, Jess opened her mouth. "You can go outside if you want. Just don't move too much. Do you need help?"
"No." Shad immediately replied. Cold as ice.
Indeed, he was interested. The chirping of birds, the rustle of the stream, and the sunlight peeking through the door kept tugging at his attention.
He had to see it. Where in the myriads of hell was he?
Pulling back the cloth canopy covering the entrance, he stepped outside barefoot. The sunlight above made him squint.
When his vision cleared, he saw a village. It was quiet, simple. Scattered huts, goats and sheep grazing the open fields of green grass. Green big woods stretching far into the distance. There were mountains hugging the horizon.
'It is indeed a human settlement. There are no black towers. Nothing. This is... far too many humans,' Shad stated in his mind.
Yet something deep inside him stirred. Just like that of a child. Actually, it was the memory of a child. The memory of him just one time venturing outside the demon continent. Back then, he saw something similar too.
He then followed a worn path toward the river, his bare feet pressing into soft soil. There, in the flowing water, he sat and his reflection stared back.
Golden eyes.
Blonde hair.
A face he didn't recognize.
"!"
This wasn't him!
The features were very human...Although he did look very human before, where did his horns go?
But the gaze in those golden eyes still felt the same—hollow.
Shad still clearly remembered his final moments. He did die. Was he reborn? What is this? What had happened?
Unknowingly, Shad started to touch the river, watching the ripples. It was likely the first time he had ever touched a river under sunlight.
His homeland, the demon continent, the underground city, had been a place of eternal night. Barren, cracked earth. Leafless trees. Cliffs and dust. Even the surface were the same.
It was not this, not vibrant, living color.
Suddenly, he ran as a strange, wild urgency gripped him. He sprinted along the river's edge, stumbling at first, until he reached a cliffside.
Panting, he stared out.
Trees. Fields, golden and green. Mountains. Birds in the sky. Just green, endless green.
Before, no matter how far he looked, there was only void, sand, stones, rocks—all dull in color.
Now, the world had no end.
He dropped to the ground, sitting at the edge of the cliff, breathing hard. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel it and he breathed the breeze, the warmth, the softness of the soil beneath him.
Is this a dream?
Thinking back to the Demon Continent, Diablo felt mixed emotions.
What would life have been like… if they, the demon race, had been born into a place like this as well?
How different would everything have been?
For just a moment, he closed his eyes. Soon, he fell asleep.
The human girl found him hours later—fast asleep at the edge of the cliff.
She gasped, panic in her voice as she rushed to pull him back from danger.
"How can someone sleep this close to death?" she muttered, heart pounding.
After moving him to a safer spot, she sat beside him, catching her breath. He didn't stir. Just then, she also looked out over the horizon, her voice barely a whisper. And then, for reasons she herself only knew—tears started streaming down her cheeks...
In the days that followed, Diablo, now called Shad, remained in the quiet village.
His body recovered quickly. But his spirit remained fractured in ways he couldn't explain. When he decided to leave, Jess offered that he may stay.
And since Shad owed her a favor, he promised to help, confirming she indeed lived alone.
At first, it was small things—hauling water from the stream, gathering firewood, sorting herbs. Then he moved on to building a fence, lifting stones, crafting simple tools, and mending broken furniture.
He didn't speak to the other villagers, even when they greeted him.
Though every task felt foreign at first, soon they became routine. There was peace in repetition. A rhythm. A quietness he had never known.
Each morning, he shared breakfast with the human girl by the fire who kindly made the food for every eating hour. At midday, he sat under the shade of an ancient tree Jess and the village called The Old Giant. And as the sun dipped below the hills, he would fetch the goats, get water, and return to the hut—tired, wordless, but strangely content.
The human girl apparently was indeed a herbalist. She sometimes taught him about herbs and plants, how to recognize fevergrass and bloodleaf, how to tell a healing root from a poisonous one. His hands however had not learnt gentleness yet.
He still dreamt, sometimes.
It was probably better called nightmares. Of darkness. Of a throne. Of black flames and shattered wings. Of faces without names and wars without meaning.
He would wake with sweat on his brow and ash in his mouth.
But each day, he rose again.
And with each day, the world taught him something new. She watched the human girl laugh at burnt bread and he became very addicted to enjoying a breeze, how to live with silence.
It was silly. Trivial. Small. He was just watching.
And yet…
This was the first time in his life he had ever known peace.