Darkness.
That was the first thing he felt after dying — an endless, suffocating void, heavy and cold.
So this is it, he thought. Hell.
It wasn't surprising. He'd lied, cheated, hurt people who trusted him, taken what wasn't his. If anyone deserved a fiery pit, it was him.
But what came next wasn't flames or screams. It was… warmth.
A gentle, muffled voice brushed against his ears — soft, melodic, and strange. Then light flooded in, blinding and red. He couldn't move, couldn't even lift his arms.
Something cradled him — enormous hands, warm and trembling with life.
"Look at him," a deep male voice whispered. "Our child… our little one."
A softer voice followed, filled with awe. "His horns are smaller than I expected."
Horns?
He blinked. Through hazy vision, he caught sight of faces hovering above him — a man and a woman with white milky skin, eyes glowing like embers. And yes — horns curved gently from their foreheads, glistening under the firelight.
Oh, shit.
He tried to scream, but only a faint cry came out.
I got sent to hell... as a baby?
The man smiled tenderly, completely missing the existential panic in the baby's tiny whimpers. "He has your eyes," he said to the woman.
"No," she giggled. "They're yours — dull and stubborn."
They both laughed, and it struck him how normal they sounded. Not devils with pitchforks. Not monsters from scripture. Just... people.
He blinked again. The world blurred in shades of gold and red — a warm fire, carved stone walls, faint runes humming softly around a cradle. Outside, faint crimson snow fell against a black sky.
Time blurred.
He slept, woke, cried, and slept again.
No fire. No torture. Just warmth.
---
In demorians tradition no one can meet newborns within first week except only parents.
Weeks passed.
He couldn't understand their words, but the tone, rhythm grew familiar.The woman hummed lullabies in a language that felt older than the wind. The man would lift him up, showing him the stars beyond their glowing window.
Why are they treating me like this? Isn't this hell? When is the punishment beginning?
Hell's really gone soft.
Yet, the care was genuine. Too genuine.
---
Their mother walked in, smiling faintly. "Girls, come meet your brother properly."
"Brother?" Tira gasped, eyes wide. "He's really ours?"
The father chuckled, resting a hand on her head. "Yes. From today, he's part of this family. No questions
Two children peeked through the doorway — both with small horns, both watching him curiously. One girl is small, eyes bright and mischievous. The other, taller and composed, smiled kindly.
The younger one leaned in close and poked his cheek. "He's so tiny!"
The older sister sighed, gently pulling her back. "Be careful, Tira. He's still fragile."
Tira pouted. "But he doesn't even cry like normal babies! Maybe he's broken."
He would've laughed if he could. Broken? You don't know the half of it, kid.
The baby — the man who once lied his way through life — stared up at them all, bewildered.
The demon family gathered close, their horns glowing faintly under the hearthlight.
And for the first time since dying, he didn't feel guilt. Or fear.
Only confusion... and a strange, unfamiliar peace.
---