They Do Exist

We found a quiet corner in the back of the pub, away from the crowd, though not for mystery’s sake. The kid spoke so softly that I could barely catch her words over the clamor of voices, clinking mugs, and the occasional outburst from one of the more enthusiastic drunks.

She sat across from me, fidgeting with her hands, casting nervous glances around, as if something might leap out from the shadows. I waited, giving her a nod, and slowly, she began to speak.

“It started… maybe a few months ago,” she whispered, eyes darting up to meet mine before dropping back down to her hands. “Mama and Papa, they just… changed.” She said it quietly, but there was a tremble in her voice, like even saying it out loud made it real. “They look… wrong. Like, tired. Real, real tired. And their eyes—” She stopped, thinking. “They got these dark, funny marks under ’em. I told Mama she looked like she hadn’t slept in years, and she just… didn’t even laugh. She always laughs.”

I leaned forward, urging her to go on, and she nodded, swallowing hard.

“And when they talk… they talk real slow. Like… like it’s hard for them. Like they’re trying real hard to remember the words.” She paused, twisting a strand of her hair. “Mama told me to stay out of the basement, though. Said it was ’cause of a ghost down there.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper, like she was almost afraid to say it out loud. “I believed her… I mean, sometimes, I hear stuff down there—like voices. But not like Papa’s or Mama’s. Deep voices. Rough. I thought maybe… maybe she was right.”

She stopped for a moment, hugging her arms around herself, her eyes going glassy, distant. “Papa… he started bringing animals down there, too. Goats, chickens, even a dog once. He didn’t say why. But… but after he did, they’d come back upstairs and look… better. Happier, like. They’d smile a little more, and the dark under their eyes wasn’t so big.”

I felt a chill settle over me as she continued, and she looked up, her expression haunted.

“Then, one night… Papa called me down to the basement. It was his voice, but… Mama and Papa always said not to go down there.” She swallowed, her small fists clenching on the table. “But he kept calling, and he sounded like he really needed me. So… so I went.”

The child’s voice grew even softer, trembling as she relived the memory, and I had to lean in close to hear her.

“When I got down there,” she whispered, “I saw… I saw Mama… h-hanging, like… like she was a doll, with chains all around her arms and legs, holding her up like she couldn’t move. Her head was down, but she… she was breathing.” Her small voice hitched, and her fists clenched tighter. “Papa was right next to her. He was on his knees, crying, like he wanted to make it stop but couldn’t. He kept saying, ‘Please, please, I’ll do anything,’ like he was… like he was begging.”

Her eyes glistened with tears, but she pressed on. “In front of them was… was a woman. She looked beautiful, almost like a princess in a green dress… but her skin… it kept changing. And her face looked different, like… like it was Mama’s, but then it wasn’t. And her eyes… they were like they could see right through me.”

I felt an involuntary shiver run down my spine. I’d heard my share of children’s ghost stories, usually about strange “women” or “monsters” lurking in attics or under beds. But this? This wasn’t some shadowy beast or woodland creature driven mad with hunger. No, this thing sounded… calculated, like it had a purpose, a mind twisted around dark intentions and manipulation. That glint in the kid’s eye, that haunted expression—it told me she’d seen something no child should ever witness.

In all my years, I’d learned to categorize creatures, to keep them locked in neat little boxes in my mind. Beasts of claws and teeth? Easy. I knew their weaknesses by heart. Wraiths, night fiends, shadow crawlers—monsters I could face with confidence. But what she described… it was something else entirely. A presence that could shape-shift, distort reality, twist emotions… something with a level of intelligence and cruelty unlike any beast I’d ever hunted.

Was this… was this really a demon? I found myself searching my mind, grasping for some creature, any creature, that fit the description she’d given me, hoping that there was some rational explanation. A bog witch, maybe, or an enchantress with a knack for illusions. Yet nothing came close.

I forced myself to meet the kid’s wide, terrified gaze. She wasn’t making this up. I knew fear when I saw it—real fear, the kind that sticks in your bones long after it’s over.

I gave the kid a long, steady look, letting her story sink in fully. Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “And then… how did you get here?”

The kid’s gaze fell to the table, and she mumbled, “Papa saw me… as soon as he saw me standing there, he ran over and pushed me out of the room. He told me to run away and…” She bit her lip, her voice barely a whisper, “he locked the door.”

I held back a sigh, watching her as she twisted her hands in her lap, her eyes hollow. The desperation in her words—it was like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t just walk away from this, not when a kid needed help. And yet, my instincts screamed at me that this was more than I could handle alone. I didn’t have to be a genius to know that whatever was lurking in that basement was nothing like the beasts I was used to dealing with.

My gaze drifted toward the stairs where Roderick was no doubt snoring away, oblivious to everything. I needed help, and since my brother was out cold, I’d have to turn to someone else. Unless you are Rowan Hale, all the monster hunters were prohibited from working a mission alone. All for the good thing of course, because if you are dead, who would pick your body?

I turned back to the girl, softening my voice. “Alright then. Let’s get ready.”

Her face lit up, just slightly, as if clinging to some last glimmer of hope. I pushed my chair back, motioning for her to follow me. “But I’ll need some backup. There’s a spot over there where freelancers gather for work. We’ll see who’s around.”

As we walked, I looked down at her, noticing her pale skin and the faint hollows under her eyes. “Have you eaten?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No… but I don’t feel hungry.”

Of course she didn’t—she was scared half to death. I pressed my lips together but didn’t press the issue, deciding I’d see if I could sneak her a slice of bread or something once we had a plan in place.

We made our way to the far corner of the pub, where mercenaries and freelancers—“free-men,” as they liked to call themselves—gathered to wait for job offers. I scanned the tables, taking in the odd mix of people, each as dangerous-looking as the next.

There was a dark-haired elven warrior sharpening his slender, silvery blade, his sharp, hawk-like features fixed in concentration. Beside him sat a stout dwarven sharpshooter, tinkering with a set of gears on his crossbow, every inch of his attire bristling with bolts and pouches. Next to him, a giant human fighter with a thick beard lounged with his boots kicked up on the table, humming under his breath as he watched the room with a lazy, calculating eye.

But it was the orc sitting at the back of the room who caught my attention. Katsuro. At his full height, he was so tall I’d have to crane my neck to look him in the eye, and his frame was solid muscle beneath the deep green skin and tattoos that curled along his arms. His armor was crafted from dark lacquered plates, each piece fitted with precision, strapped securely around his muscular frame yet light enough to allow him swift, fluid movement. Across his back was a single long, curved blade—its hilt wrapped in fine, worn leather, and its scabbard adorned with subtle symbols of his clan, a mark of honor among his people.

Katsuro’s hair was pulled back into a neat topknot, revealing a face that was as sharp and disciplined as the weapon he carried. His expression was calm, almost meditative, though his dark eyes held a watchful intensity. He moved with a quiet grace, a kind of stillness that made him look more like a man about to perform a precise, practiced ritual rather than a brutal fight. There was an elegance to him, every movement economical and exacting, like he was guarding reserves of power that could be unleashed in an instant.

As I approached, he looked up, his expression softening into a faint, wry grin.

“Thalia,” he rumbled, his voice so deep it felt like it reverberated through the floor. He nodded at the girl lingering behind me and quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were bringing your daughter along tonight.”

I snorted, folding my arms. “She’s not mine, Katsuro. And you know I wouldn’t put my own kid through this life.”

He gave a slow nod, his tusked grin softening a bit. “A wise choice,” he replied, his eyes flicking back to the kid, his tone shifting to something almost kind. “So, if she’s not yours, what’s she here for?”

“She’s got a problem in her house. Something that’s a bit… beyond the usual beast.” I paused, then decided not to dance around the details. “I think it might be a demon.”

Katsuro’s eyes narrowed, his usual easygoing grin fading as he studied me. “A demon? Thought you didn’t believe in them, Thalia.”

“Didn’t,” I said with a sigh. “But… let’s just say I’ve seen enough tonight to think twice.” I nodded toward the kid, who was waiting quietly, watching us with those haunted eyes. “I can’t just leave her, and I can’t go alone.”

Katsuro studied me for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got yourself an extra blade, then,” he said, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “For the right price, of course.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling out my coin pouch with a smirk. “You’re as merciful as always, Katsuro.”

But I was relieved. Katsuro had agreed to come along, and with him on my side, I knew I’d have the strength and steadiness I needed. He might not be as strong as my brother, someone rarely is, but he’s more dependable.

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Katsuro and I made our way back to the kid, who was still standing by the wall, her small form looking even smaller next to his towering figure. He approached her slowly, dropping down to one knee so that he was closer to her eye level.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he said in a deep, surprisingly gentle voice. “We’re here now. We’ll make sure everything’s all right.”

I watched, a bit taken aback. I’d been on enough missions with Katsuro to know his calm, unshakable approach to danger, but I’d never seen him this… gentle. I guessed even an orc might have a soft spot tucked away somewhere, though Katsuro had always been different from the rest of his kind—more disciplined, more reserved. Maybe that was why I trusted him as much as I did.

The kid seemed to relax, just a fraction, as Katsuro rose to his full height and nodded for us to follow. Together, we stepped out of the pub and into the winding streets of Caerwyn.

Despite the hour, the city was still very much alive. Vendors were packing up their wares by lantern light, while night merchants were setting up stalls with all manner of goods—mystery tonics, late-night bread, and trinkets that sparkled under the glow of lanterns strung across the streets. Shadowed figures moved about in clusters, laughing loudly or arguing in voices that echoed off the cobblestone alleys. And here and there, groups of adventurers roamed, swapping tall tales and boasting of monsters slain and treasure hoarded.

The air was thick with smells—the warmth of freshly baked bread mingling with the tang of spilled ale and the faint, metallic scent of smoldering lanterns. Even now, close to midnight, the pulse of the city seemed tireless, its energy swirling around us as we walked.

I could feel fatigue pressing down on me, but I pushed it aside. I’d handled worse—crawling out of marshes at dawn, trekking for hours after a night fight, even holding off monsters until Roderick got around to waking up. This was just another night in Caerwyn, and if I needed to stay sharp, I would.

As we made our way through Caerwyn’s winding streets, my eyes caught sight of a vendor just setting up for the night, his small cart gleaming with an array of treats I hadn’t seen in ages. He was selling sunfruit rolls, a local favorite—thin pastries rolled around slices of honey-soaked fruit, crispy on the outside but warm and soft in the center. They were small enough to eat in a single bite, yet sweet and rich enough to satisfy any hunger, even the type you didn’t feel.

I paused, handing the vendor a couple of coins and picking out a small bundle of the rolls wrapped in paper. They radiated warmth, the scent of honey and spices wafting up as I held them.

I glanced back at the kid, who was quietly shuffling along beside me, her hands folded tightly at her sides. She hadn’t eaten since who-knows-when, but the poor thing probably didn’t even realize she was hungry. I unwrapped one of the rolls and held it out to her.

“Here, kid. Try one,” I said, nudging her hand with the pastry.

She blinked at it, her expression uncertain, but I saw her gaze flicker with interest. “What is it?”

“Sunfruit roll. It’s sweet, small. Won’t weigh you down.” I gave her a gentle smile, hoping she’d take it.

She hesitated but finally reached out, taking the pastry from my hand. She took a cautious bite, her eyes widening as the warm, honey-soaked fruit melted on her tongue. For a moment, the tension in her shoulders softened, just a hint.

Katsuro watched, a faint, approving smile on his face. “A good choice, Thalia,” he murmured as we kept walking.

I just shrugged, already feeling the exhaustion kicking in again. But if a little food could bring her a moment of comfort in the middle of all this, I’d consider it worth it.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to reach the kid’s house—or mansion, rather. The place was larger than I’d expected, with gleaming windows and pristine white stone walls, polished to the point that they reflected the soft glow of the street lamps. Iron railings lined the balcony on the second floor, and the gardens, even at this late hour, were tidy and lush with fragrant flowers. Everything about the place looked clean, orderly, and proper—a far cry from the dark, twisted image I’d conjured in my mind when she’d told us her story. It was hard to believe that anything sinister could be hiding beneath such a spotless facade.

As we approached the front door, Katsuro crouched down to the girl’s level once again, his voice low and gentle. “Stay here, little one. Don’t follow us in, all right? We’ll take care of things.”

She nodded, nibbling on another sunfruit roll, the warmth of the treat seemingly comforting her, if only a little. Katsuro gave her a small, reassuring smile before he rose, and together we stepped inside.

The entry hall was grand, with high ceilings and dark wood paneling, the floors polished to a mirror-like shine. Ornate tapestries hung on the walls, and a few family portraits were lined up in neat frames, all of them radiating the quiet dignity of wealth. I almost forgot what we were really here for, but the thought of that basement lurking somewhere below snapped me back to the present.

As we walked deeper into the house, I glanced sideways at Katsuro. “Didn’t know you had a gentle side,” I said, keeping my voice low.

He raised an eyebrow, his face as impassive as ever, though I caught the faintest hint of a smile. “Everyone has their soft spots, Thalia,” he murmured. “Even orcs.”

I opened my mouth to press him for more, but we both fell silent as we turned a corner, and there it was—the basement door.

It looked perfectly ordinary, plain wood with a brass handle, no scratches or marks. But something about it felt wrong. It was as if the air around it grew colder, heavier. All my instincts screamed at me to stay back, but I forced the feeling down. I looked over at Katsuro, who was already watching me with that unspoken readiness in his eyes.

“Well,” I whispered, taking a slow breath. “Here we go.”

Katsuro took a deep breath, steeling himself, and reached for the door. With a firm push, he swung it open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. The room was silent at first, just a void of shadow and stale air, but then I heard it—a faint, choked sob coming from somewhere within.

Slowly, we stepped inside. Katsuro led the way, careful and deliberate, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. I muttered a quick incantation under my breath, feeling warmth gather at my fingertips as I summoned a light spell. A soft glow bloomed in my palm, casting a sphere of golden light that expanded slowly to fill the room, illuminating the dark corners.

The light revealed a sight that made my chest tighten: the kid’s father, kneeling on the ground, his arms wrapped around his wife. She lay limp in his hold, her head tilted back, her face pale and empty, her lips tinged blue. She wasn’t breathing. The father rocked back and forth, his shoulders shaking as he clutched her to him, murmuring apologies that barely made it past his lips.

I took a step forward, but Katsuro raised a hand, signaling me to stay back. His eyes narrowed, watching the man with a deep, somber understanding that I could feel but not fully share. So I stayed still, keeping the light steady, my gaze fixed on the broken figure before us.

The man’s sobs quieted as he sensed our presence. He didn’t look up, but he spoke in a cracked, trembling voice, each word heavy with regret. “I… I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have let it consume me,” he whispered, almost to himself. “If I hadn’t… if I hadn’t envied him—envied my own brother… if only… she’d still be here. We’d still be together…”

His voice broke, and he buried his face in his wife’s shoulder, his hands clutching her lifeless form as if she might somehow come back to him if he held on hard enough.

Katsuro stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “We’re here to help,” he said, his words carrying a grounded assurance that only he could manage. He crouched down to the father’s level, speaking softly but with intent. “But to help you, we need to know… who, or what, we’re dealing with. Can you tell us that?”

The father shuddered, drawing a shaky breath. He glanced up, eyes hollow, searching for something in Katsuro’s face before he finally spoke.

“Her name is… Lavael,” he whispered, the name tumbling from his lips like a curse he wished he could swallow back down. “She… she promised me everything I ever wanted. Said she could make it happen—make me better than my brother, make me richer, more respected.”

He closed his eyes, as if the memory of her words burned him. “She appeared… beautiful, like… like a vision. Her skin shimmered like green glass, and she… she looked like everything I wanted. Everything I didn’t have. She said she could give it to me, if I just… if I just gave her what she needed.”

He broke off, his voice catching as he looked down at his wife, a fresh wave of grief washing over him. “I thought… I thought it was just animals. A goat here, a chicken there… small things, sacrifices to show my… my commitment, she said.” His hands trembled, his fingers grazing his wife’s still, pale face. “But… it was never enough for her.”

He choked back a sob, his voice barely audible. “When I couldn’t give her any more, she said I’d have to offer something bigger. ‘One last sacrifice,’ she called it. I didn’t… I didn’t know she meant…” His words dissolved into silence as he lowered his head, consumed by guilt.

He looked back up at Katsuro, his face etched with despair. “Please… you have to stop her. She’s… she’s still down here somewhere. Watching. Waiting. She said there would always be another sacrifice…”

“And you are correct,” came a voice, low and smooth, drifting through the shadows like smoke. It slithered around the room, cold and mocking, making every hair on my arms stand on end.

I turned, heart pounding, as a figure began to materialize from the far wall, like ink bleeding into water. At first, she was just a dark outline, shifting and warping, until finally, she took form. She looked… human, almost painfully so, but there was an unnatural beauty to her that made my skin crawl. Her skin was a deep, iridescent green, glistening like scales under moonlight, shifting ever so slightly as she moved. Long, black hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid shadow, and her eyes glowed with a faint green fire that seemed to pierce right through me.

Her face changed subtly as I looked at her, as though it couldn’t decide which shape to settle into. One moment, she looked young and beautiful, with high cheekbones and a cruel smirk that hinted at power; the next, her features grew hollow, her eyes becoming cold and empty, like a mask that had lost all warmth. She was familiar somehow, like she was blending a dozen faces I’d seen before into one uncanny figure, flickering between them as though she were wearing people’s memories as disguises.

I couldn’t help but analyze her instinctively, my mind running through the catalog of monsters I’d hunted, each with its own weaknesses and strengths. She moved with an almost predatory grace, like a wraith or a night fiend, but more tangible. Her voice held the same hypnotic, enchanting quality I’d seen in shadow sirens, demons that lured their victims to their doom. But she was no ordinary monster, and as much as I wanted to find a flaw, some weak spot—perhaps near her heart, if she had one—I was painfully aware that this creature was something beyond any beast I’d fought before. This must be Lavael.

Katsuro straightened beside me, his posture snapping to rigid attention, one hand resting on his weapon as he prepared himself, his gaze fixed and steady. My own grip on my staff tightened as I watched her, every muscle tensed and ready.

Lavael’s eyes shifted over to the kid’s father, a sneer twisting her lips. “So quick to regret, aren’t you?” she purred, her voice thick with mockery. “You begged for wealth, for status, for everything you thought you deserved. And now, you mourn your own actions. Pathetic.”

She took a step closer, her form shimmering as though the air itself recoiled from her presence. “Did you really think I’d simply grant you every desire without expecting a payment worthy of my time?” Her voice dripped with disdain as she looked him up and down. “Weakness and jealousy—such fitting qualities for a mortal, and yet you wear them as though they could ever make you more than you are.”

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stand still, my fingers tightening around my staff. I’d dealt with creatures who enjoyed tormenting their prey before, but none with quite this level of venom.

Lavael’s piercing green eyes drifted over to us, her gaze predatory and gleeful. Her twisted smile widened as her focus locked onto me, her face shifting slightly as if savoring some sick, private joke. Instantly, Katsuro moved, stepping between us, his broad shoulders blocking her from my view as he stood like a shield. I could feel the tension radiating from him, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready for whatever she’d throw at us.

“Well now,” she purred, her voice dripping with mockery. “You bring me a real meal.” Her words slithered around the room, thick and oily, each syllable steeped in a dark hunger.

Then, with a delighted, sickening laugh, she let her head tilt back, the sound filling the room like a chorus of nails scraping across stone. The walls seemed to vibrate with it, amplifying the unnatural pitch until it felt like the air itself was splitting. That laugh clawed its way under my skin, digging deep, and for the first time, I felt a prickle of doubt gnawing at the back of my mind.

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To be continued...