Night deepened as the hours passed.
Michael stood atop a hill overlooking the land below. The fire he had built crackled softly, its orange glow fighting back the cold darkness. Winter rain still fell, but slower now—thin, scattered droplets carried sideways by an unrelenting wind. The air cut sharply, biting exposed skin, yet Michael remained unmoved.
The wind howled.
He did not shiver.
He did not hunch.
He simply endured.
The cold should have broken him. The rain should have weakened him. Yet it did neither, and Michael did not understand why. He sat near the fire, staring into the flames as if expecting them to answer a question he could not yet form.
Silence ruled the hilltop.
Far below, faint lights flickered—a small village clinging to existence in the valley. From this distance, it looked fragile. Temporary. Human. Michael watched it without attachment, yet without disdain. He wasn't afraid of people—but he felt separate from them.
He knew one thing with certainty.
He wanted to discover who he was on his own.
Not through others. Not through comfort. Not through lies meant to make life easier.
But there was something deeper within him—something pressing against his thoughts. A truth he could feel, yet could not prove. It lingered like a shadow behind his mind, watching, waiting.
There is more, he thought.
Something I haven't reached yet.
The fire popped, sending sparks into the wind.
Michael did not look away.
Far from the hilltop, beyond forests and mountains, stood one of the great nations of the realm.
Its massive gates loomed tall, forged from stone and iron, scarred by countless wars. Torches lined the walls, burning steadily against the night. Soldiers stood in formation—knights in heavy armor, cavalry mounted and ready, archers watching the darkness beyond the walls.
There was no immediate threat.
Yet patrols continued.
Generals walked the battlements with stern expressions, issuing quiet commands. No laughter. No rest. Because they all knew what was coming.
The demons were rising again.
How did they know?
The moon had turned red.
A blood-colored glow hung in the sky, staining clouds and stone alike. It was a sign older than any kingdom—a warning etched into history itself. When the red moon appeared, demons were never far.
Not yet at the gates.
But near enough.
The soldiers tightened their grips on spears and swords. They had fought demons before. They knew the cost. They knew fear—but they also knew duty.
And still…
There was unease.
Among the ranks stood an old man, his armor worn and scarred beyond repair. His eyes were clouded with age, yet sharper than any blade. He had seen things others dismissed as legends. He had survived wars that erased nations.
He stared toward the horizon, not at the moon—but beyond it.
Quietly, he spoke.
"There's something out there," he said.
Nearby soldiers turned, confused.
"Something the demons will fear more than armies," the old man continued. "More than angels. More than Heaven itself."
His voice trembled—not with fear, but certainty.
"He's walking alone right now," the old man said. "Trying to understand himself. Unaware of what he truly is."
The wind carried his words into the night.
"The worst nightmare of demons… has already begun to awaken."