Page 73 of Demon Monster's Little Human

She doesn’t argue.

We dive into the ruin, into the dark unknown, just as the presence descends.

This time, I know, it’s not just hunting her anymore.

It’s hunting me.

30

LIORA

The altar looms before me, carved from stone so old it looks fused with the ruins around it. Ancient symbols snake across its surface, whispering forgotten secrets, their meaning foreign, except it isn’t.

I understand them.

The realization unsettles me, makes my skin prickle with unease. The symbols hum in my bones,callto me. The book I touched before, the one that had nearlydevouredme, left something behind. A hunger, a whisper. It urges me forward, tells me this ismeantto happen.

Dain doesn’t share that belief.

He steps in front of me, his wings flaring slightly, broad frame casting deep shadows over the altar. His glare is sharp, warning. “Don’t touch it.”

I lift my chin. “Why?”

His tail lashes, his stance rigid. “Because I said so.”

Heat curls in my stomach, twisting with my frustration. He always does this, pushes, demands, commands as if I belong to him. As if hedecideswhat I can or cannot do.

I take a step around him.

He moves faster, blocking me again, his expression darkening. “I mean it, Liora. This isn’t for you.”

But the magicinsideme says otherwise.

I don’t think. I don’thesitate.My fingers press against it.

The worldfractures.

A woman, standing where I stand now, her hands glowing, magic flowing from her like an unrelenting tide.

Power radiates from her, thick and suffocating. Her dark hair lashes around her face, wild like the storm she commands, eyes filled with something vast, somethingunyielding.The force of her willburns.

She chants, voice steady, calling forth something ancient. Her hands press against the altar, her body rigid with effort.She is sealing something away.

Suddenly, I see him.

Dain.

But not as he is now.

He is younger,wilder.Unchained. Raw magic crackles over his skin, his eyes burning bright with fury and somethingdesperate.His wings are torn, blood streaking his arms, his chest heaving as hefightsagainst the spell wrapping around him.

He istrapped.

The woman steps closer, murmuring something so softly, so gently, it makes my chest tighten. She reaches for him, her fingers brushing his cheek, not in cruelty, not in hate.

In sorrow.

His lips move.

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