A boy lay on the snow-covered road, his frail body trembling as icy winds clawed at his skin. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one feeling like it might be his last. He gazed up at the dark sky, the snowflakes gently descending, thinking, Am I really going to die like this? Is this how my story ends? In the distance, he could hear laughter and music spilling out from a nearby house. It was Christmas, and while others celebrated warmth and joy, he was fading away in the cold, alone.

As his vision began to blur, a shadow loomed over him. A man in a mask stood there, his presence both mysterious and unnerving. "Do you want to live or die?" the man asked, his voice calm yet compelling.

"I want to live," the boy whispered, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

When he opened his eyes again, sunlight streamed through a small window. He was in an unfamiliar room, wrapped in warm blankets, his clothes changed into clean, dry ones. The scent of herbs lingered in the air. Sitting in a chair by the window was the masked man, silent and still.

The boy struggled to sit up. "Why did you save me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

The masked man didn't answer. Instead, he turned his gaze to the snow-covered world outside.

"How long have I been here?" the boy pressed.

"Two days," the masked man finally replied.

Before the boy could ask more questions, a sudden knock at the door shattered the fragile quiet. The masked man's demeanor shifted instantly. "Hide," he commanded.

The boy hesitated, but the urgency in the man's tone compelled him to obey. He slipped under the bed, his heart pounding in his chest.

Two men entered the room. They were dressed in heavy cloaks, their faces stern. "Have you seen a boy?" one of them asked. "He has white hair and red eyes."

The masked man leaned back in his chair. "What happened?"

"That boy is a demon child," the other man said, his voice filled with disdain. "He's the one who destroyed the orphanage and the church. Dozens of people died because of him."

Under the bed, the boy's breath hitched. Demon child? he thought. They're talking about me?

The masked man didn't flinch. "I haven't seen anyone," he said simply.

The men exchanged glances, suspicion flickering in their eyes. "If you do see him, tell us immediately. He's dangerous," one of them warned. "The priest is offering a reward for his capture."

The boy's blood ran cold at the mention of a priest. Memories of flames, screams, and accusing eyes surged back to him. He clenched his fists, his body trembling with fear and anger.

After the men left, the boy crawled out from under the bed. "Why didn't you tell them?" he asked, his voice shaking.

The masked man turned to him, his expression unreadable behind the mask. "Because I don't believe in judging someone without knowing the truth," he said. "Now, tell me… what really happened?"

The boy's eyes welled with tears as he struggled to find the words. "I… I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I don't even understand what I am. All I know is that people look at me like I'm a monster."

The masked man regarded him for a long moment. "Then perhaps it's time to find out who you really are," he said. "But first, you'll need to stay hidden. The world isn't ready to understand you yet."

And so began the boy's journey—not just to survive, but to uncover the truth about himself, and to determine whether he was truly a demon… or something more.