Golden sunlight poured through the carriage window, illuminating the face of a woman whose beauty rivaled the celestial.
Her serene smile held the warmth of a loving mother as she gently stroked the hair of the sleeping child in her lap.
Yet behind this tranquil scene, muffled sobs and the rattling of chains from the slave wagons created a haunting dissonance—a cruel reminder of the suffering that trailed in her wake.
A veiled woman approached, her flowing, translucent garments whispering with each step.
She placed a platter of fresh fruit and a goblet of wine before the seated figure.
"Ma'am Rose..." she murmured softly.
Rose's lips curved into a playful smile.
"Lily, must you be so formal with your own mother?"
Her voice was honeyed, almost teasing.
"Come, sit. Let us enjoy these gifts you've brought."
"Yes, Mother." Lily settled onto the opposite seat, her faint smile just visible beneath the delicate veil.
Lily had once been a devout Blessed of Hal, the Goddess of Light—her faith pure, her purpose clear.
But when the knights of a crumbling kingdom dragged her into the shadows, their hands and blades defiling what she held sacred, her devotion shattered.
The light within her twisted, and she became something else entirely: a fallen soul, adrift in her own despair.
It was Rose who found her—Rose, the alluring and merciless Lady of Desire, who took Lily in not as a disciple, but as a daughter.
Under her guidance, Lily's corrupted light festered into something darker, something hungrier.
No longer a servant of divinity, she became a Shaman of Lust, a Greater Demon who indulged in desire as easily as she once wielded radiance.
Now, seated across from Rose in the gilded carriage, Lily watched as her mother gently stroked the sleeping child's hair.
There was something unsettling in the tenderness of it—the way Rose's fingers traced the child's brow as if he were her own.
"Mother…" Lily ventured, her voice soft beneath the veil.
"What will become of that child?"
Rose's smile deepened, her crimson lips curving with something between affection and melancholy.
"You know, Lily," she murmured, her gaze never leaving the child, "as the Lady of Desire, I am the embodiment of lust—of hunger, of craving. Yet, for all my power… I cannot conceive."
Her fingers stilled for a moment, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"We—the Demon Lords—are cursed by the gods. Denied the one thing even mortals take for granted."
A shadow flickered in her eyes, something raw and unspoken.
"So I take children like him. I make them mine."
Lily's expression darkened as painful memories surfaced—
—the life she might have endured if Rose hadn't claimed her.
The unthinkable alternatives flashed through her mind: chains in some noble's dungeon, selling her body in filthy alleyways, or worse fates she dared not name.
A quiet tremor shook her voice as she whispered.
"Thank you...for finding me when I was nothing."
Rose's smile softened into something almost genuine as she reached across the carriage.
Her jeweled fingers gently caught Lily's tear before it could fall, the gesture oddly maternal.
"My sweet Lily," she murmured, her voice thick with dark affection.
"This child is family now. Hound will be your youngest brother—you must guide him as you've guided me."
As Lily studied the exhausted child—his small frame spent like a marathon runner pushed beyond limits—she couldn't help but ask:
"Why not name him properly, Mother?"
Rose's lips curled into that familiar, dangerous smile.
"Names hold power, darling," she purred, tracing the sleeping child's cheek with a possessive finger.
"When the time comes, I'll gift him one worthy of his purpose...just as I gifted you yours."
The unspoken threat lingered - that all their names came with chains.
Lily lowered her eyes in practiced obedience.
"Yes, Mother..." The words tasted like both devotion and damnation on her tongue.
...
As the dying sun bled across the horizon, the caravan settled into its nightly rhythm.
Shadows stretched long across the makeshift camp as raiders prepared tents and secured slaves for the night. One approached Rose's carriage hesitantly.
"My Lady, your tent is—"
A single raised finger from Rose silenced him mid-sentence.
"My child sleeps," she whispered, her voice like winter frost.
The raider shrunk back, retreating to the slave pens where his voice wouldn't disturb the Demon Lady's newfound "family."
Inside the carriage, Rose gently brushed her fingers against the child's cheek.
"Awaken, my son," she cooed, her touch deceptively tender.
Anik stirred, eyelids fluttering like wounded butterflies.
When they opened, confusion gave way to horrified recognition.
He scrambled backward, hands searching frantically for any weapon, finding only empty air.
His small frame trembled with barely-contained rage.
"Wh-who are you?" he demanded, voice cracking between fear and fury.
Rose's lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"I am your mother now, Hound," she purred, extending a hand as if to comfort a spooked animal.
Anik's eyes burned with clarity now—no trace of her earlier manipulation remained.
"Never!" he spat. "You enslaved us! You took everything! And you—" his voice broke,
"you killed my father!"
Genuine shock flickered across Rose's perfect features.
For once, the Demon Lady seemed at a loss.
"That... was not my doing," she said carefully, weighing each word.
Then, seeing an opportunity, her expression softened into something resembling sympathy.
"Tell me which raider took your father from you, my son. Point to the man, and I'll gift you his still-beating heart."
"I killed him myself," Anik declared, his voice trembling but resolute.
Rose's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
She had recognized his potential the moment she laid eyes on him—the spark of something greater lurking beneath his untamed spirit.
A child who could one day surpass even her.
Unable to contain her excitement, she let her aura unfurl—thick with desire, pulsing with greed, intoxicating with lust—a miasma that would have ensnared any ordinary mortal.
But Anik stood unaffected.
Innocent.
Pure.
Uncorrupted.
His ignorance of the world's sins shielded him like armor.
When he turned to leave, Rose didn't stop him.
"Go," she murmured, her voice dripping with false sweetness.
"You are not a slave. You are my son."
Anik hesitated at the window, his small frame silhouetted against the moonlight.
Then, with a final glare, he spat:
"You are not my mother."
As he leapt from the carriage, the raiders tensed, weapons half-drawn—but Rose's voice, cold and commanding, froze them in place.
"Let. Him. Go."
Anik sprinted toward the slaves huddled beneath a gnarled tree, their faces gaunt in the pale moonlight.
No fire warmed them.
No kindness awaited.
Only the bitter chill of betrayal.
And when they saw him coming, their eyes burned with hatred.
"TRAITOR!"
The word struck harder than any blade.
"TRAITOR!"
The slaves' venomous shouts tore through the night—raw, furious, unforgiving.
Strangely, the raiders stood silent, their usual jeering absent, as if even they recognized the cruelty unfolding.
Anik fell to his knees before his people, arms outstretched in desperate offering.
"Please... let me free you—"
A sandaled foot slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling.
"Go back to your whore mother, bastard!"
A storm of curses rained down on him—traitor, snake, demon-spawn—each word a blade twisting deeper than the last.
Confusion and hurt welled in his chest.
Why?
Why did they hate me?
I had fought for them.
Bleed for them.
Yet here they were, spitting on my outstretched hands.
Tears carved paths through the dirt on his face as he pressed his forehead to the earth, begging for forgiveness he didn't understand.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"
But for what?
A crime I didn't commit?
The sin of surviving?
The slaves answered with stones.
Rocks pelted his back, his arms, his legs.
Bruises bloomed across his skin, blood welling where sharp edges bit.
Strangely, his wounds didn't heal—no crimson glow knit his flesh back together.
Just pain.
Endless, bewildering pain.
And yet…
He kept breathing.
Alone.
Unwanted.
But alive.
The stones kept coming—
—sharp, relentless, cruel.
Then, like a sudden gust of wind, Lily was there, her body shielding the battered child.
She wrapped her arms around him, absorbing the blows meant for him, her veil fluttering like a tattered banner.
This was her brother now.
Her mother had commanded it.
But more than that—
—she pitied him.
Once, she had been a Blessed of Light.
Once, she had hoped.
But hope withered in the face of human cruelty.
These slaves, broken by chains, now broke others in turn.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
A rock struck her shoulder.
Another grazed her cheek.
She didn't flinch.
Instead, she held Anik tighter, her tears mixing with his in the dirt.
And then—
—warmth.
Anik, trembling and bloodied, clung to her like a lifeline.
Two lost souls, starved of mercy, finding solace in each other.
"STOP THEM!"
Mad Dog's roar split the air.
He barreled forward, his axe deflecting stones, his face twisted in fury.
Raiders surged past him, clubs rising and falling as the slaves—weak, unarmed—were beaten into submission.
Their screams were shrill, desperate.
Lily paid them no mind.
Gently, she lifted Anik to his feet, one arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders.
"You're safe now, Hound," she whispered.
"We'll keep you safe."
Step by shaky step, she led him back to the crimson carriage—
—to the demon who called herself his mother.
And with every footfall, shame festered in Anik's chest.
He was walking into the arms of monsters.
And worse—
—he was grateful for it.
Lady Rose emerged from the carriage, her silken robes whispering against the bloodstained earth.
Without hesitation, she pulled Lily into an embrace, tenderly wiping the blood from her eldest daughter's brow.
Then, in a gesture that defied her station—the feared leader of raiders kneeling in the dirt—she cupped Anik's face, her thumbs brushing away his tears.
Anik couldn't meet her gaze.
Shame coiled in his chest, warring with something else—gratitude.
This… this was what his father had spoken of.
Unconditional love.
The kind that would sacrifice honor, pride, even life itself.
Rose studied his red-rimmed eyes—not from being branded a barbarian, but from weeping until his soul felt hollow.
"Listen well, my son," she murmured, her voice a paradox of gentleness and steel.
"Humans are fickle creatures. They forget sacrifices. They crave benefit without conscience. They scorn what they don't understand."
Her fingers traced the curve of his cheek, leaving streaks of cleared skin amidst the grime.
"But this weakness is also their charm. They make life… interesting."
A chilling smile touched her lips.
"So become powerful. So powerful that the world dares not judge you. Where your every whim—kind or cruel—becomes law."
With that, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Anik's eyelids fluttered shut as enchantment dragged him into dreamless sleep.
Rose lifted him effortlessly, cradling him against her chest as she strode toward the lavish tent awaiting them.
Over her shoulder, her final command lingered like smoke:
"Let him rest."