The world should have been quiet.
Just snow. Just cold. Just another night at the orphanage.
Instead, everything burned.
Flames crawled up the walls, eating wood, beds, and voices. Smoke filled his lungs. The boy ran barefoot through broken boards and sparks, eyes stinging, throat on fire.
He didn't know where he was going. He only knew if he stopped, he'd die.
He stumbled outside at last. Snow crunched under his feet, then melted, then froze again, cutting into his skin like glass. Behind him, the orphanage was already half gone, swallowed by orange and black.
Everyone had been inside.
His legs gave out. He dropped to his knees in the snow, shaking.
"Am I… the only one left…?"
His breath came out in short, sharp gasps. The cold bit him, but his body still felt too hot, like the fire hadn't let go.
A thought slipped into his mind, quiet but heavy.
_Do you want to live?_
He didn't know where it came from. It didn't sound like his voice, but it was inside his head.
Part of him wanted to say no. The people he knew were gone. The place he slept, gone. Maybe it was easier to let it all end.
But something small and stubborn inside him refused.
_Yeah… I want to live._
The wind changed.
Snow swirled in front of him, and through it, a figure appeared. Tall. A long black coat. A white mask with no eyes, no mouth. Just a blank, cold face looking down at him.
The boy tried to crawl away, but his arms shook too much.
The stranger stopped just in front of him.
"Do you want to live or die?" the man asked.
The voice was calm. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… final.
The boy opened his mouth. No clever words came out. Just the truth.
"Live…" he whispered.
His vision blurred. The last thing he saw was the white of the mask and the black of the sky.
Then—nothing.
***
He woke to the sound of wind and the smell of smoke.
He was lying on a wooden floor. A rough blanket covered his body. Every part of him hurt—burns, bruises, cuts—but he was breathing.
He turned his head.
The masked man sat in a chair nearby, coat hanging from his shoulders, arms crossed. The mask caught the dim light from a small fire.
"Where… am I?" the boy asked, voice dry.
"Somewhere safer than outside," the man replied. "For now."
The boy tried to sit up.
Pain stabbed through his chest and arms. He bit his lip to keep from yelling. Images of the fire flashed in front of his eyes—screams, heat, falling beams.
Then—
A loud knock.
The masked man didn't even look surprised.
"Hide," he said.
The boy didn't ask where. He rolled off the bed, dragged his body behind a low cabinet, and pressed himself against the wall. His heart pounded so loud he swore others could hear it.
The door slammed open.
Boots stomped in. More than one person. Three? Four? He couldn't tell.
"We're looking for a boy," a harsh voice said. "White hair. Red eyes. Seen him?"
The boy squeezed his eyes shut.
"Demon child," another voice spat. "Burned down the whole orphanage. Priest wants him found."
His stomach twisted.
_Demon…? Me?_
The masked man answered, voice flat. "No one like that here."
A pause. Cloth rustled. Someone kicked a chair.
"You sure?" the first voice pressed.
"If I'd seen a demon, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you," the man said.
Silence.
Then: "Tch. Waste of time. Check the next place."
Boots left. The door shut. Their voices faded into the wind.
The boy didn't move for a long moment. When his legs finally stopped shaking, he crawled out from his hiding spot.
"Why… didn't you tell them?" he asked quietly.
The man turned his head slightly. The blank mask gave nothing away.
"Because I don't know what you are yet," he said. "And neither do they. Judging first and asking later is something fools do."
The boy lowered his gaze.
"I… didn't mean to hurt anyone," he whispered. "I don't remember what happened. I just woke up, and the fire was everywhere. They called me a monster."
For a while, the only sound was the crackle of the small fire.
Then the man spoke again.
"Good," he said.
The boy looked up, confused. "Good…?"
"Good that you don't know yet," the man continued. "You're still something that can be shaped. Monster, human, something else—that depends on what you do next."
The boy's chest tightened. Fear mixed with something else. A strange heat pulsed under his skin, not like the fire from before—different. Sharper. Awake.
"The world outside," the masked man said, nodding toward the door, "is already afraid of you. It just doesn't know why yet."
The boy swallowed.
"So what… do I do now?"
The man stood, coat brushing the floor. For the first time, he felt tall, like a wall between the boy and everything outside.
"First," he said, "you live. Then you learn what you are."
Snow scratched softly at the window, as if the night itself was listening.
And somewhere out there, a world that had already decided he was a demon waited for the day he stepped outside.
***