Sylas moved quickly through the orphanage halls, his footsteps light but urgent. His mind raced, his breath uneven. He stopped before a familiar door, fingers tightening around the worn hinge.
"Why didn't she tell me?"
His throat tightened. A moment of hesitation, then he pushed the door open.
Inside, bathed in the soft glow of sunset, sat a woman. Her golden-red hair caught the setting sun, a flickering ember against the pale bandages wrapped around her body.
Mercy looked up and smiled—a warm, knowing smile that made the weight in his chest grow heavier.
"Why didn't you tell me, Mother Mercy?" Sylas's voice was low, strained. "That you had Vitric Cairne?"
She patted the space beside her. An invitation. He hesitated, then sat. Her gaze drifted to the window, where golden light stretched across the horizon.
"Sylas, you are the eldest of the children here," she murmured. "You're smart. You understand the world better than most. But I fear…" Her eyes met his—gentle, yet solemn. "I fear... you'll be tainted by its horrors, just like I once was."
His hands curled into fists. That doesn't excuse you hiding your sickness from me,
She reached out, ruffling his brown hair like she had when he was younger. "it's not a big deal," she said with a quiet laugh. "It only hurts a little."
His eyes widened, remembering something. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small vial, the liquid inside swirling with a faint glow.
"This is Ahora medicine," he said, pressing it into her palm. "It should help."
She studied the vial, her expression unreadable.
"This is exactly why I didn't want you to know," she murmured. "You're too kind, Sylas. Naively so."
"I don't care," he said sharply. "Please. just Take it."
She sighed but relented, uncorking the vial. "How do I take it?"
A small smile tugged at his lips. "This feels just like old times."
Mercy's gaze softened. "Those were good times," she whispered. "I had so much energy back then. And you… you always helped me with things I couldn't do."
Her mind drifted back, to the first time she saw sylas,
It had been a stormy night. Rain drummed against the rooftops, drowning the village in a relentless downpour.
A boy stood behind some cloaked figures. His crystal eyes showing no emotions. His hair as pale as the silver moon.
The cloaked figure. Held him by his hand. Throwing him onto the porch.
Their voices quiet yet not soft.
Her Highness has banished this boy.
The boy looked berely nine. Yet they treated him as if he was merely an object.
Mercy frowned. What if i don't take him?
They spoke, their voices laced with finality.
We were ordered to kill him. Yet we showed mercy to this child. If you don't accept him. Death shall be the final option.
They turned. His name in sylas tenebris. Do whatever with him. Their figures vanished with the fog of rain.
Sylas closed his eyes. Mercy spoke. Her voice as gentle as a lullaby.
You were different. You never talked that much. I tried everything to get to you. But it never reached you.
"I just wanted to protect you from the truth," she whispered. "But I don't know how much longer I have. And before it's too late… you need to see what I've kept hidden."
Sylas's stomach twisted. "What truth?"
Mercy tried to rise, but her body trembled violently. A cough wracked her frame, and when she pulled her hand away from her lips, it was stained red.
"Mother!" sylas said, his voice filled with shock.
She waved him off, gripping the bedframe for support. "No… I have to show you."
Despite his protests, she took a step forward, fingers clutching his arm for balance. Together, they moved through the dim halls, past the rooms where the children were playing.
They stopped before a door—an old, iron-latched door.
No one saw this door before.
Mercy unlocked the door, her hands shaking. The door screeched open, revealing a staircase that went straight downward into the basement . Candles lit the staircase, their dim flames burned, barely covering the space,
A cold dread coiled in Sylas's gut.
Step by step, they descended. The air grew thick, damp, suffocating. The further they went, the more his instincts screamed at him to leave.
Then, at the bottom, he saw it.
His breath hitched.
A body.
No—a thing.
It hanged splayed open on the wall, its chest cavity split wide, its insides exposed like some grotesque autopsy.
Its arms were too long, stretching unnaturally past its knees. The joints bent the wrong way, like a puppet with its strings ripped. Its skin was thick, layered, stitched together in ways that defied nature.
But its face.
Sylas felt his stomach churn.
It had her face.
He turned to Mercy, horror creeping into his voice. "What… what is that?"
She met his gaze, her expression unreadable.
"A demon," she said. "The same ones from the stories."
"But… those are just myths. Fabricated history."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "That's what I wanted you to believe."
She turned, walking to an old wooden desk. Slowly, she pulled out a tattered notebook and pressed it into his hands.
"In this book, my friends and I recorded everything we know about demons. Their weaknesses, their patterns. Everything the empire doesn't want people to know."
Sylas tightened his grip on the book.
Mercy's hands trembled as she brushed his face.
"In time, the empire will come here. When they do, they will destroy the orphanage. Burn it to the ground. But there's a way to save the orphanage."
Sylas stiffened.
"I need you to leave, Sylas," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Go north. Find my friend. She's the only one who can stop them."
"Luna. that's her name"
Somewhere above, the orphanage bell chimed, signaling the the start of the night.
But Sylas barely heard it.
Later at night, he lay curled in his bed, the weight of Mercy's words pressing down on him. His room felt smaller, the air thick and suffocating.
The door creaked open.
Kael opened the door, balancing a plate of food in his hands. "Sylas? You good?"
Sylas turned to him, an eerie smile creeping across his lips.
"why do you ask?."
Kael frowned, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
He pulled up a chair and sat down, watching Sylas with concern. "What happened?"
Sylas's fingers curled into the bedsheets, his voice barely above a whisper. "Kael… demons are real."
Kael stiffened. His pulse quickened. "So, the books aren't just fairytales?" He leaned forward, his voice lowering. "How do you know?"
Sylas swallowed, his throat dry. "the head nun showed me." His grip on the sheets tightened. "In the basement."
Kael rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowed. "Basement? There's no basement in the orphanage, Sylas. You should go see Priest Estes"
Sylas's head pounded. His vision blurred.
No basement?
The words echoed, bouncing through his skull like a cruel joke. The memories—faint, shifting, slipping through his grasp like smoke.
No basement.
His body felt heavy. The room tilted.
"I… I think I just need to sleep," Sylas muttered, turning onto his side.
Kael hesitated, but eventually sighed and left, closing the door behind him.
Alone in the dim room, Sylas lay still, staring at the ceiling. A dry chuckle escaped his lips.
"I know you're real," he whispered into the dark. His fingers twitched, his breath as steady as cold. "I just need to proof it."