Ren didn’t notice when she had finished eating.
Her wooden spoon scraped against the bottom of the bowl, the quiet sound breaking the heavy silence.
A few of the older demons chuckled, the sound low and knowing.
“She was hungry,” one of them remarked, amusement in his voice.
“Finished the whole thing in seconds.”
Ren blinked down at the empty bowl in her hands, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.
Had she really eaten that fast?
The warmth of the food had dulled her nerves, grounding her, but now her awareness snapped back into sharp focus.
Another demon, this one older with a thick, scarred neck, hummed in consideration.
“She looks like she comes from a well-off lineage.”
His gaze flicked to her horns.
The moment he said it, the room shifted.
Conversations stilled.
The fire crackled, but the warmth it offered no longer reached her.
The demons’ eyes settled on her horns—some cautious, others unreadable.
A few exchanged glances, giving small, knowing nods.
Ren stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of the weight on her head.
Her horns—curved, polished, untouched by the nicks and chips that marred the others’—marked her as different.
‘But different how?’
She forced herself to stay still, to keep her expression neutral.
The last thing she needed was to draw more attention.
“Strange, though,” another demon murmured, breaking the silence.
His sharp eyes lingered on her ragged clothes, her bare feet, the faint bruises forming on her arms.
“What were you doing outside, all alone, without proper shoes or supplies?”
Ren’s breath caught in her throat.
The old demon woman coughed.
Not harshly, but deliberately.
The kind of sound that meant something more than just clearing one’s throat.
The kind that silenced rooms.
“Best not to pry into another’s business,” she said evenly, her voice carrying quiet authority.
The demon who had asked raised his hands slightly, a placating gesture.
“No harm meant. Just curious. She looks so… disheveled, despite—”
Ren barely heard the rest of his words.
Panic coiled in her chest, tightening around her ribs like a vice.
What was she supposed to say?
The truth?
That she had woken up in a stranger’s body, in a fortress she barely understood, under the watch of a woman who treated her like a fragile burden?
That she had gotten lost, locked out, and dragged into a storm that whispered with voices that weren’t supposed to be there?
Would they even believe her?
She swallowed hard, fingers curling around the edges of her empty bowl.
‘Think, Ren. Say something. Anything.’
But nothing came.
And the room waited.
The demon who had spoken earlier shifted in his seat, his sharp features softening with what looked like regret.
His gaze flicked toward Ren, then away, as if realizing he had put her in a tight spot.
“Ah, well,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck.
“Regardless, having you here is reassuring.”
There was a quiet murmur of agreement.
No one elaborated, but the subtle nods and shared glances spoke volumes.
Ren’s stomach twisted.
‘Reassuring?’
She gripped the empty bowl tighter, feeling the smooth, worn wood press into her palms.
‘What does that even mean?’
She glanced around the room, searching the faces of the demons gathered near the fire.
None of them looked at her with suspicion or doubt—just something heavier.
Something unspoken.
‘Is it because of my horns?’
She fought the urge to touch them, to trace their smooth, unblemished curves.
The moment the demon had pointed them out, the room had shifted.
‘Was there something about them?’
‘Did horn size or shape mean something here?’
‘Status? Power?’
‘That would make sense.’
‘Except…’
Her mind flashed back to Ozamas—unyielding, rigid Ozamas—who treated her like a troublesome duty rather than a person.
Ozamas, who was strong, who commanded respect, who moved with purpose.
And Ozamas’ horns were…well… small.
Much smaller than Ren’s.
‘So much for that theory.’
She wanted to ask.
The question burned on her tongue. But as she looked around, she hesitated.
Everyone in this room understood something she didn’t.
It wasn’t just knowledge—it was belief, an inherent, unshakable understanding of whatever that demon had meant.
If she asked, if she exposed her ignorance now, she would be outing herself as others.
As something outside of what they already accepted as truth.
She clenched her jaw.
‘I don’t need another reason for them to see me as different.’
Still, the unease gnawed at her.
‘What if this expectation puts something on me? A responsibility I don’t even know about?’
She wasn’t ready for that.
She hadn’t even figured herself out, let alone whatever weight they had just placed on her shoulders.
But for now, she said nothing.
Instead, she forced herself to exhale, to ease her grip on the bowl, and to let the conversation move on.
***
A heavy sigh broke the silence.
As if on cue, thunder cracked overhead. The walls trembled with the force of it, the firelight quivering in its wake.
The demons in the room flinched—not a panicked jolt, but a silent, reflexive stiffness. A moment of stillness where every gaze flicked toward the ceiling, then the door.
Waiting.
But nothing came.
The demon who had sighed finally spoke, his voice low, steady.
“If something happens, it’s the duty of the old to protect the young,” he said. “You and the boy can rest easy. Everyone here would stand between you and harm.”
The words should have reassured her.
Instead, they settled like a weight in her chest.
‘If something happens.’
Not if. When.
She gripped the blanket draped over her shoulders, fingers curling into the rough fabric.
‘They all believe this.’
Not a single demon protested. Not a single one hesitated. It wasn’t just a claim—it was something understood. Accepted.
Ren wanted to believe them.
She really, really did.
But belief alone didn’t mean anything. People could say all the right words, swear all the right oaths, but when the moment came—when the fear truly sank in—words didn’t always turn into action. She had seen it before. Felt it before.
Fear was stronger than promises.
But…
She glanced around the room. The fire flickered against weary faces, against old scars and wary eyes. These demons had seen something before—survived something before. And still, they sat here, unshaken in their conviction.
She didn’t know if they could truly keep that promise.
But the fact that they wanted to—
That was something.
A small ember of warmth in the cold weight of fear.
Not enough to chase it away.
But enough to hold onto.
***
As the uneasy calm of reassurance was settling in, the world decided to taunt the futile display of valor.
The first knock was hesitant.
Then it came again. And again.
Then—pounding.
Hard. Wild. Wrong.
Ren jolted upright, breath catching in her throat.
The demons around her reacted instantly. The old woman moved first, her once slow and deliberate motions now swift and unhesitating. She grabbed a thick iron poker from the hearth, her grip steady despite the tension in her shoulders. The other older demons followed suit—one reached for a worn blade hanging on the wall, another lifted a heavy wooden stool as if ready to swing it.
The knocking did not stop.
It came in frantic bursts, shaking the wooden frame, sending dust trickling from the ceiling.
The young demon beside Ren clutched his cloak, knuckles white, his breath fast and panicked.
Ren tried to swallow, but her throat was dry.
It was too much. Too loud.
Then, as suddenly as it began—
It stopped.
Silence crashed into the room, heavier than before.
Ren could hear her own heartbeat.
Then—
A whisper.
Soft. Wet. Crawling through the cracks in the wood.
“…please.”
Ren’s fingers curled tight around her empty bowl.
“…it’s so cold…”
The young demon whimpered, pressing himself further into the corner.
The old woman demon did not hesitate. She moved toward the door, her grip tightening on the poker. With her free hand, she gestured sharply at another demon, who rushed to reinforce the wooden beam across the entrance.
Another demon, standing by the window, pressed his palm against the shutters, as if ensuring they were still sealed.
Something pressed against the door, the wood groaning under the weight.
A slow, dragging movement.
A shape shifting in the darkness.
Ren felt her stomach twist.
The old woman took another step forward, positioning herself firmly between Ren, the boy, and the door. The others followed suit, forming a silent wall between the younger ones and whatever lurked outside.
Then—
A click.
Ren’s blood ran cold.
The latch.
Something had just tried the latch.
The fire flickered, shrinking under the weight of the silence.
Then—
A voice.
Not pleading anymore. Not weak.
A voice with too many mouths.
“Let me in.”