"Take those two back."
If it had been any other members of the Night-Wing Dragon Clan, Balder wouldn't have cared. A bunch of stone gargoyles uglier than demons themselves, sprinkled with a hint of divine aura and calling themselves a "sacred race"? What a joke.
But these two were different.
Two Night-Wing Dragons who had broken their monastery vows — now that was interesting.
Perhaps, just perhaps, they could be led astray.
If he could tempt two Night-Wing Dragons into falling, Heaven would have to respond. After all, this would be a direct slap in the face of Heaven itself — and especially to the Archangel Michael.
"No! I'd rather die than surrender to you demons!"
The male Night-Wing Dragon struggled furiously, eyes burning with defiance.
Balder flicked his hand. Two demons holding the captives down immediately understood the gesture. With a sickening rip and a scream that tore through the night, the pair of dragon wings were violently torn from their backs.
Balder reached out with one slender finger, tracing along the female Night-Wing Dragon's cheek — feeling the softness of her skin, the trembling beneath her surface.
"You'll be obedient, won't you?"
His voice was quiet, teasing — dangerously calm.
"The Night-Wing Dragons may not fear death… but you don't want him to die, do you?"
The female trembled. She said nothing. But silence, in that moment, was an answer.
Balder smiled faintly and watched as the demons dragged the two Night-Wings away. Then, unhurried, he stepped toward the fallen Adam lying on the ground.
One stood looking down; the other lay looking up.
Their gazes met and locked in midair.
The Adam's eyes showed no fear, no curiosity — only quiet observation.
"You're lost, aren't you?"
Balder's tone was casual, almost gentle.
The Adam hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly.
"Humans don't accept you. And you don't accept them. Now you've encountered both demons and Night-Wing Dragons — and perhaps, deep down, you're wondering… maybe they would accept you?"
The Adam fell silent again.
Ever since the moment he was created, his own creator had rejected him — even hunted him across the world. He never fought back, not once. In the end, his creator — his "father," "master," his "god" — froze to death while chasing him through the snow.
To this Adam, that creator had been everything: father, master, deity.
And yet… his god had loathed the very thing he made.
He had no sense of good or evil — no one had ever taught him.
He had no purpose — no one had ever told him why he existed.
The demons had hunted him for two centuries. Yet he bore them no hatred. If anything, he'd developed a twisted sense of belonging toward them — as though being pursued at least meant he mattered to someone.
But that didn't mean he considered demons his friends. He'd slain plenty of them over the years.
Because the one thing all living beings share is the instinct to live.
A hand settled gently atop his messy hair.
"You've been searching for your purpose," Balder said softly. "But your goal has been wrong from the start."
The Adam looked up — for the first time, genuine curiosity flickered in his eyes.
"Every race has its branches and subraces. Humanity itself, for instance — yellow, white, black. Then within that: Indians, Jews, and so on."
The Adam listened closely. No one had ever explained such things to him before. Every word drew him in deeper.
"Look," Balder said, pointing at a figure nearby.
A wisp of hellfire leapt from his fingertip and struck the man. In an instant, the man's human form warped, twisting into a full demonic shape.
"See? You can call him a demon… but isn't he also simply a person with demonic power? After all, he can take human form."
To most, this was obvious nonsense. But to the Adam — who lacked a normal sense of right and wrong — the statement was profound. He fell into deep thought.
"Demons are just a race endowed with demonic power," Balder continued.
"The Night-Wing Dragons are a race blessed with divine power.
And you — you're a race of your own: the man-made, undying ones."
"In essence, demons, Night-Wing Dragons, and artificial beings are equals — the same order of existence."
He smiled faintly.
"The Jewish people will never fully recognize the Native Americans.
Blacks and whites still clash over what separates them.
So why, then, do you expect acceptance from another race — even one of equal standing, like demons or Night-Wing Dragons?"
The Adam was silent for a long time. Finally, his rough voice rasped:
"Then… what should I do?"
"The Night-Wing Dragons won't accept you — your very existence defies their faith.
If you truly want recognition and understanding, there are only two paths."
"What are they?"
For the first time, there was heat — desperate yearning — in the Adam's voice.
"The first — find your own kind. Your true kin."
The Adam blinked.
Others like him? Could there really be more?
"If there's one of you," Balder said, smiling, "why couldn't there be a second?"
The thought stunned him. And then, slowly, hope — raw and trembling — began to stir behind his eyes.
To seek… others like himself. To find his true race.
"And the other way?" he asked.
Even with so little human knowledge, he knew how hard that search would be. He'd already tried — for two hundred years. That was why he'd come to this ruined manor, digging up graves in the dark: to find his creator's old notes, to learn how he was made, and perhaps how to make another like him.
"If you can't find your own kin," Balder said, "then seek out a being of higher order."
"The Night-Wing Dragons won't do. They're not beyond you — their faith, their will, their powers all come from others. They don't even truly understand their own existence. How could they ever understand you?"
"Only one who surpasses you — surpasses humans, demons, and Night-Wing Dragons alike — can truly recognize you. Don't you think so?"
The Adam froze.
Two hundred years of confusion suddenly began to clear.
His heart trembled — because for the first time, something made sense.
He lifted his gaze, eyes burning now with something fierce and alive.
"Are you… that higher being?"
Balder's lips curved in a faint smile.
"What do you think?"
The answer was obvious. Yes. Absolutely, yes.
No one had ever spoken to him like this.
No one had ever looked at his stitched-together body without disgust.
Even those Night-Wing Dragons hadn't.
Even the demons hadn't.
Balder had.
"So," Balder said, extending his hand, "will you come with me?"
The Adam hesitated — just for two seconds.
Then he reached up and seized that hand tightly, desperately —
as though grasping the first straw of hope in two hundred years of existence.
~~----------------------
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