Page 8 of Demon Monster's Little Human

DAIN

The ruins breathe.

It’s a slow thing, more a shift of presence than sound—the tremor of something else moving in the deep, the slow trickle of dust spilling from broken stone. This place is old, but it is not dead.

Something still lingers.

I walk ahead, leading the girl deeper into the remains of my prison, my wounds sealing sluggishly, magic flickering unstable beneath my skin. The unnatural hum of whatever force she carries lingers against me like a whisper, like a brand that should not exist.

It is wrong.

She should not have been able to wake me.

Yet, here she is, trailing close, silent but watching. I can feel her gaze, the way it drags over my back, the hesitation, the uncertainty.

She is afraid of me.

Good.

She should be.

She follows.

The tunnels beneath the ruins are tight, carved with ancient purpose, meant to keep things in, not let them out. Walls of jagged black rock press close, their surfaces slick with some dampness that was never meant for human flesh. I remember this place—not as it is now, but as it was before.

A tomb, yes.

But not just any tomb.

Mine.

A cage built for a king, forged by the hands of those who feared him most.

She steps on loose stone, a quiet scuff against the silence. I stop. She stops.

“Where are we going?” Her voice is hushed, strained. Not weak. Just… unsure.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I tilt my head, listening.

The air shifts.

Not from us.

Something else is moving, somewhere ahead.

Something big.

I roll my shoulders, flexing stiff wings, feeling the drag of ruined stone along their edges. The pulse beneath my chest stutters. Too slow. Too unnatural. My body is still waking, still finding its place between stone and flesh. The instability sits wrong, coiling in my stomach like spoiled food.

A weakness.

I do not allow weakness.

My gaze flicks back to her, measuring. “You ran when you found this place.”

She frowns. “You were there. Of course I ran.”

“Not from me.”

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