"Every wound was caused by someone else's sin"

Chapter 1 – Found Beneath the Rain

Jayden

The rain poured down relentlessly as I took another step. I pulled my cloak’s hood tighter over my head. I was too exhausted from just finishing a demanding task to spare any extra energy on drying my hair. I did my best not to soak my sweater.

As I kept walking, something entered my line of sight besides the wild plants and trees of the forest — a struggling figure: a child.

I quickly approached. In that moment, I noticed a shadowy presence around him, but I chose to ignore it and knelt down beside the child — my mind liked to play tricks on me from time to time; I assumed this was one of those moments.

As I knelt down, the first things I noticed were the severe beating he had endured… and that he wasn’t human. He was either a demon or a hybrid. Since he hadn’t healed himself, he was likely a hybrid — maybe even a weak variant. But I didn’t have the luxury to ponder that. The child was on the verge of losing consciousness. I immediately checked for fatal wounds — there were none — so I undid the ties of my cloak, slipped off my sweater, and carefully dressed him in it. I lifted him gently, doing my best not to cause him any pain, and walked quickly toward home.
I didn’t run — I didn’t want to hurt him more or worsen whatever damage had already been done to his tiny body.

When I arrived, the first thing I did was clean his wounds. The cuts on his body weren’t deep enough to need stitching, but there were so many bruises and contusions. Whoever had done this...
In that moment, I wanted to rip them apart.
Why would anyone do this to a child?
What could he possibly have done?

As I examined the bruises around his neck and shoulders, I realized something I hadn’t at first — they weren’t normal bruises. They looked more like... bite marks.

Disgusting creatures. How? Why?

My blood boiled. I realized I’d been holding my breath out of rage and forced myself to take a few deep breaths. I needed to stay calm — for the child’s sake.

I gently bandaged the cuts, trying to be as soft and careful as possible. I didn’t want to scare him more or push him into shock. Lastly, I placed a small bandage on the cut on his forehead. His snow-white hair hid it from view. I dried his hair slightly and brushed it so it wouldn’t fall over his eyes. Then I took a dark navy sweater from my closet and gently pulled it over him.
It was far too big, of course, but I folded it at the waist and sleeves so it wouldn’t restrict his movements.

Then I took a dagger, moved behind him, and carefully cut slits in the back of the sweater at shoulder height. His wings emerged. They, along with his horns and tail, were black.
His eyes were completely black as well, the irises empty and hollow — not like a child’s, but like a being forced to keep living.

I sat him on the couch and gently wrapped a blanket around him. The house might be cold — I was used to it and didn’t feel it anymore — but the child was already shivering. I couldn’t risk him falling ill; he needed warmth.

Now what?
Food!
He had to be hungry. He was clearly exhausted.

I headed to the kitchen and opened the wooden cupboard. As expected, there wasn’t much — despite three of us living here. Just a few pastries and some fruit Luke had gathered, though I had no idea when he found the time.
Speaking of the three of us... how was I supposed to explain this?
Bringing the child here hadn’t exactly come with a plan.
How would they react?

Zane, despite his intimidating appearance, had a kind heart — most of the time. My real concern was Luke.
He wasn’t cruel enough to suggest throwing the child out, but he might not want him here either. And understandably so — this child couldn’t even take care of himself. He would be a burden.
Worse yet, Luke hated demons. Hated them to the bone.
And we still didn’t even know if the boy was a hybrid or a full demon…

For now, I pushed the thoughts aside, grabbed a plate, and returned to the room.
The boy hadn’t moved. He looked exactly the same — frozen in place.
Either he was terrified, or he was too exhausted to react. Probably both.

I placed the plate gently on his lap and spoke softly, trying not to sound cold or intimidating:
— “You must be hungry. I brought these for you. If you need anything, just say the word, okay? There’s no need to be afraid.”

At that moment, I heard the door open.
They were back.

I stood up, glanced one last time at the boy, and headed to the entrance. Zane was there, his boots caked in mud. He stepped onto some old papers to avoid dirtying the floor, hung up his cloak, and straightened his clothes.
Though the black streaks in his white hair stuck to his face, his light blue eyes still sparkled. With his usual smile, he turned to me and shrugged:
— “Don’t even ask about Luke, Jay. He disappeared last minute again — probably off picking fruit or something.”

He was walking inside as he spoke. I needed to stop him and explain, but he kept going:
— “Zane—”
— “And, and, and I swear—”
— “Zane!-”
— “And I promise that this week I’ll—”

Right then, he entered the room where the child was. I was still trying to explain when he saw the boy and froze.
His expression shifted to curiosity, and he turned back to me:
— “Uhm... Who’s this little guy?”

I let out a deep sigh, pinched the bridge of my nose, and gently pulled him back out of the room. He tensed — odd for him, since he usually loved physical affection — but that wasn’t my concern right now.
I took another deep breath and started explaining.

After I finished, Zane’s face had taken on a more thoughtful look. He rubbed his chin for a few seconds while I stood with arms crossed, waiting.
Then he looked at me, his expression softening, and gave a small nod:
— “He can stay. No way we’re tossing him out. I’ll help you take care of him. And don’t worry about Luke — he’s not heartless. I’ll talk to him.”

That eased me, even if just a little. If anyone could talk to Luke, it was Zane. They were childhood friends — they had a bond I never quite understood.
Noticing my relief, Zane smiled, glanced at the boy, and patted my shoulder. Normally I wouldn’t have allowed it, but this time I let it slide. He grinned in satisfaction and headed to his room to change clothes.

I returned to the child. He had eaten most of the food on the plate — only a few pieces of fruit remained. He’d placed the empty dish beside him. I picked it up and asked:
— “Do you want anything else?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at me with those empty, hollow eyes.
My heart sank for a moment, but I composed myself.
I adjusted the blanket that had slipped from his shoulder, then went back to the kitchen and put the plate away.

When I returned, Zane was sitting next to the boy, seemingly trying to talk to him. The child was facing him — not entirely vacant anymore.
He seemed to understand Zane, but for some unknown reason, he still didn’t respond or change expression.
Zane was speaking in a big-brotherly tone, warm and playful. I could tell he had already started to feel for the boy — it was just in his nature.

Standing in the doorway, I watched them for a while, lost in thought. I didn’t even notice how much time had passed.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.
Luke had arrived.

I could hear him removing his cloak and boots. I took a deep breath. Zane must have heard it too — he stood up and headed to greet him. I followed close behind.

The first thing I noticed was that Luke was limping.
His expression, as usual, was hard to read — the black cloth mask covering his mouth, the dark navy and teal-streaked hair tied into a low ponytail, the strands falling over his left eye…
I knew his right eye was amber. Zane once told me that the way Luke dressed and hid himself was his own choice — and that I shouldn’t pry. I hadn’t.

As Luke entered, Zane asked:
— “Luke, what happened?”
— “It’s nothing. I just tripped while walking. Nothing serious.”
— “But you’re limping—”
— “I said it’s nothing, Zane. Drop it.”

Despite his limp, Luke moved quickly into the room. When he saw the child, he froze for a moment.
He looked at Zane, then at me, and then back at the child.
His gaze lingered for several seconds longer than expected.
Then he turned back to us:
— “The hybrid is your responsibility. Don’t drag me into it.”

As if we’d already told him everything and he was just giving his verdict.
It was odd.
But I was grateful nonetheless — at least he wasn’t stopping us.