The mistress's corpse hit the dirt with a hollow thud, blood soaking into the ground. Igron's blade gleamed faintly in the moonlight as he dragged it free, sliding it back into its scabbard with a cruel satisfaction.
The silence was unbearable. The rescued children recoiled, their faces pale, breaths sharp and ragged. The man stepped forward, his voice breaking under the weight of what he'd just witnessed.
"Why… why would you kill her like that? She was unarmed! She—" His throat caught, the words stumbling out. His hands shook. "You're… you're just children. How could you—how could you do this without hesitation?"
Igron tilted his head, his grin widening at the accusation. He said nothing, letting the tension stretch taut.
Kairo's voice cut through, calm but cold, as if it had been waiting all along.
"Igron… I think it's time we told them."
Igron blinked, then a slow, wicked smile curled his lips. His fingers lingered on the hilt of his blade as he glanced at the stunned faces around him.
"Heh… you're right."
He snapped his fingers.
The air shimmered. Their small frames twisted, stretched, unraveling the disguise they had worn for so long. Before their eyes, the children's companions — the boys they had trusted, fled with, clung to — grew taller, sharper, undeniably older. Crimson light flickered in Kairo's eyes, his presence heavy as a storm pressing down. Igron stood broad-shouldered, smirk curling with something too sharp to belong to any child.
Gasps rippled through the survivors. Some stepped back, clutching each other. Others froze, eyes wide with terror.
The man's knees buckled. His voice shook, near breaking.
"What… what are you? All this time… I thought you were children. I thought you needed protecting." His eyes flicked between them, wild, searching. "Were you just—using us? Were we just tools for you to hide behind?"
No answer came. Only Kairo's unreadable stare and Igron's cruel grin.
And then—soft footsteps.
The frail boy, the one Kairo had healed first on their journey, stumbled forward. His body trembled, but his eyes never left Kairo's. Ignoring the fear around him, ignoring the man's collapse, he wrapped his small arms around Kairo's leg.
His voice was quiet, fragile, but it cut through everything.
"Then… I'll call you big brother. Right?"
The world went still.
The man dropped his face into his hands, shaking, unable to reconcile what he saw. The other children looked on, torn between terror and hope.
Kairo lowered his gaze slightly, crimson eyes flickering as if something long-buried stirred inside. He did not speak. But he did not move away either.
Igron chuckled darkly, though his grip on the blade tightened.
"Tch… look at that, Kairo. Even after they've seen the truth… they still cling to you."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with things no one dared to say.
And in that silence, the fragile bond of "family" began to twist into something far more dangerous.
The old mistress's body hit the ground with a dull thud, blood soaking into the dirt. Silence hung heavy — only broken by the rasp of Igron sliding the stolen blade back into its scabbard. His eyes glinted with cruel satisfaction.
The man who had sheltered them stepped forward, face pale, voice unsteady.
"Why… why would you kill her like that? She was unarmed. She couldn't fight back."
Igron tilted his head, lips curling into that wolfish grin. He didn't answer, savoring the tension. But before he could speak, Kairo's voice cut through, low and calm, like a blade sheathed in shadow.
"Igron… I think it's time we told them."
Igron froze for a moment, brows lifting in surprise. Then, slowly, that grin widened. Still gripping the sword hilt, he let out a dark chuckle, turning to face the wide-eyed children.
"Heh… you're right, Kairo."
He raised his free hand, fingers snapping sharply in the night air.
In an instant, the illusion peeled away. The small, dirt-stained bodies the others had grown used to shimmered and warped. Before their eyes, Kairo and Igron stretched into their true forms — taller, sharper, unmistakably older. Crimson eyes burned brighter in Kairo's pale face, while Igron stood with his sword slung across his shoulder, smirk curling in an expression that no child should ever wear.
The children gasped, stumbling back. The man's eyes widened in horror and awe.
"You… you were never children."
Kairo's gaze met his, expression unreadable.
"No. We only wore those skins to survive. But this…" his voice carried finality, weight, inevitability, "…this is what we really are."
And for the first time, the survivors realized they hadn't been walking with frightened runaways. They had been traveling beside demons forged from suffering and fire.