Era of the Demon And Angels

A Mother's Last Warmth

As the last remnants of their meal faded into the night air, a quiet sniffle broke the silence.

Miru's small hands trembled as she put down her tableware. Her chest tightened, her vision blurred, and then—the tears came.

"Miru?" Nimfa's voice was gentle, filled with concern as she noticed the little beastkin's shoulders shake.

Noir, however, remained still. He didn't twitch, didn't move, his piercing crimson gaze simply watching the girl in his lap as silent tears streamed down her face.

And then, in a voice so small and broken—

"Mother… I miss you."

A flickering image flashed through her mind.

A dimly lit cell. Cold air seeping through the cracks in the stone. The iron bars of a window barely letting in the moonlight.

And amidst the darkness—warm arms wrapped tightly around her.

Her mother.

Long brown hair, soft fox-like ears, arms so thin yet still strong enough to hold her close. She smelled of faded warmth, of a scent that once carried comfort but had long been washed away by suffering.

"Miru, you have to be strong," her mother whispered, her voice trembling from the cold.

She pressed Miru closer, wrapping every piece of clothing she had around her daughter's small body. Even if it meant she had to shiver in the biting air, Miru had to stay warm.

"You don't have to end up like me, right?"

Miru didn't respond—she was asleep, nestled safely in her mother's arms.

Her mother's lips trembled, her breath ragged.

She tilted her head up, gazing through the iron bars above, looking at the sliver of the moon peeking through.

And with a silent, desperate plea, she whispered—

"Oh, if there is a god, please… please protect my daughter from the dangers that will come for her."

Her vision blurred. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled down her hollow cheeks.

Then—a violent cough.

Her body lurched forward as blood splattered onto her trembling hands.

Her body was failing. The cold was merciless. The hunger unbearable. But—

No.

She shook her head.

"I have to be strong.

She clenched her fists, pulling Miru even closer, refusing to let go.

"I can't fall. Not yet. Not until she escapes this hell."

Her arms trembled, but she held on, forcing a weak smile as she cuddled her daughter through the night.

The Morning That Stole Everything

The first rays of morning light seeped through the cell's window.

Miru stirred in her mother's arms, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes.

"Mother?"

There was no response.

She shifted slightly—but the arms holding her didn't tighten.

They didn't move.

The warmth that had always been there was fading.

Confused, Miru turned around—and froze.

Her mother sat against the wall, motionless.

Her face was peaceful, her lips slightly parted as if she had only fallen asleep.

But when Miru shook her—

Her body was cold.

Miru's breath caught in her throat.

Her small hands gripped her mother's shoulders, shaking her harder.

"Mother…? Wake up."

Nothing.

"Mother…?"

Tears welled in her wide amber eyes, panic setting in. Her little hands pulled at the fabric of her mother's dress.

"Mother, wake up! Wake up!

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't understand.

"Please! Don't go! Mother!"

Her cries echoed through the cold, empty cell.

But the woman who had always held her—who had always protected her—never opened her eyes again.

Back to the Present

Wrapped tightly in a blanket prepared by Noir, Miru slept restlessly, her small hands gripping the fabric like a lifeline.

Beside her, Nimfa knelt close, gently brushing strands of hair away from the child's damp cheeks.

She let out a quiet sigh, her heart aching.

"This child… has suffered too much."

Her fingers wiped the tear stains from Miru's sleeping face.

"Why? Why must a child endure something so cruel?" Her voice was soft, but the frustration in it was clear.

Noir didn't answer.

He simply sat by the fire, his eyes watching the flames flicker as he idly poked the embers with a stick.

He looked distant—lost.

Because for the first time in a long time… something was stirring in his memory.

Something long buried.

A warmth, fleeting and gentle, flickered in his mind.

A woman's voice. A soft, tender touch. A warmth that had once belonged to him.

A blurry vision—a smile, warm and forgiving.

And then—a parting.

A farewell.

A sudden, unexpected pain lodged itself in Noir's chest, but he didn't understand why.

His grip on the stick tightened.

"Was that… my mother?"

A question drifted in his thoughts, unspoken.

His mind remained empty.

He had no answers.

Only the distant ghost of a memory that no longer existed.

And as the fire crackled, sending embers into the cold night air—Noir sat in silence, lost in the past.

The crackling of the fire softened into gentle embers, casting flickering shadows across the quiet campsite. The cool night breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves like distant voices of forgotten souls.

Noir sat still, lost in thought.

The warmth of the fire did little to reach him.

Something heavy stirred in his chest—a feeling he couldn't name, a weight he couldn't shake.

His crimson eyes, sharp and piercing, shifted toward Nimfa and Miru.

They were curled up together, wrapped in each other's warmth.

Miru's small frame tucked closely against Nimfa's chest, her fox-like ears twitching slightly as she buried herself deeper into the embrace. Nimfa held her gently, her golden hair cascading over the child like a protective veil, her breathing steady yet soft.

For a moment, Noir just watched.

He should've ignored it. He always did.

But instead—he moved.

He approached them with slow, measured steps, each stride silently against the cold earth.

As he stood over them, a strange, hollow feeling settled in his chest.

Without a word, he reached into his dimensional pouch, pulling out the last of his blankets. He draped it carefully over Nimfa's sleeping form, his movements precise, almost… delicate.

"I only have two blankets."

A quiet sigh escaped him.

"I guess I'm not sleeping tonight."

He meant it as a passing thought, but the words carried an unexpected weight.

His gaze lingered on Nimfa's face—soft, peaceful, yet marred by something painful. Even in sleep, her closed eyes glistened with unshed tears.

A quiet ache spread through Noir's chest.

He hesitated—then, before he could question himself, he reached out.

With the barest touch, he wiped away the tear that clung to her cheek.

A question settled deep in his mind, unspoken yet suffocating.

"You've never experienced this yourself… so why do you care so much about others?"

His voice was barely audible, a whisper lost to the night.

A bitter chuckle escaped him as he shook his head.

"Sigh… you're really a strange angel."

His mind flickered back—to that night.