I have been many things in my life—assassin, shadow, whisper of death—but never afraid. Not until the day the Demon King summoned me to his throne. His voice was iron when he gave the order: find the human hunter, earn her trust, and end her life. He warned me of human emotions, of the weakness that came from seeing them as anything but prey.

I thought I was above that.

When I first entered the human city, wearing a stolen face, I felt untouchable. I staged my encounter carefully—slaying a demon where she could see me, playing the part of the weary traveler, the soldier who’d had enough of war. She didn’t trust me at first. She studied me with those sharp, relentless eyes that could gut a man faster than her blade.

But she let me stay.

Days became weeks. I learned her routines, her habits, her quiet sighs at night when no one was watching. The hunter everyone feared was also the woman who stayed up to sharpen the village children’s wooden swords, who carried flowers to graves no one else remembered. Somewhere along the way, my mission turned to ash.

I had a chance to kill her once—perfect, clean, efficient. I didn’t. Instead, I saved her, throwing myself between her and death like some fool who believed in redemption. After that, there was no going back.

We built a life far from the war. I chopped wood with calloused hands that once slit throats, I woke to the sound of her laugh instead of the screams of my victims. When she told me she was with child, I thought the world had finally given me a second chance.

But I was a fool to think peace could last.

When he was born, I saw him first—saw the faint glow in his eyes, the mark on his skin that betrayed what he was. I prayed she wouldn’t notice. She did. And in that moment, I saw the woman I loved turn into the legend the underworld feared. She reached for her weapon.

I ran.

Months have passed. I am hunted by humans who once called me brother, by demons who once called me kin. My body is broken, my cloak little more than rags, but I have never let go of him. Every step I took, every battle I fought, was for this small, breathing proof that I am not entirely a monster.

Now the fire is dying, the snow falling soft around me. I hear her footsteps before I see her. My wife. My hunter.

I don’t rise. I don’t fight. I look at her, then at the child, and speak through the ache in my throat.

“You can hate me... you can kill me... I won’t fight back.”

I look up at her, eyes burning. “But look at him... our son... He’s not a monster... He’s the only good thing... that ever came from me.”

My arms tighten around him, my body between him and her weapon. “If a monster must die tonight... let it be me... Please... spare our son.”