Elara didn't go out the next day. Or the day after that.
She locked herself in her room, like it was some sort of fortress. As though the four walls could protect her from whatever twisted fate had decided to crash into her life. But, deep down, Elara knew the truth — no door, no window, no lock could keep him out.
Zen.
The name still lingered in her head, buzzing like a sick joke she couldn't shake off. The first time he'd appeared in her room, she'd been so sure it was a nightmare. But that wasn't the case. It wasn't a bad dream. It was reality.
She hadn't asked for it. She didn't want it. But now it was happening. The devil had walked into her life, and apparently, he wasn't leaving anytime soon.
Zen had a way of showing up without warning, as though he owned the place. No knock. No announcement. Just a sudden burst of air that made everything feel colder. And there he was, like he'd always belonged. The devil in the room.
Elara could feel her heart hammering in her chest, but she wasn't about to let him see how rattled she was.
"You can't keep doing this," she told him, standing there with a toothbrush in one hand and a slipper in the other, ready for whatever chaos he had planned. She wasn't sure if she wanted to fight him or throw him out. Maybe both.
Zen leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, looking way too comfortable in her space. His smirk? It was a mixture of arrogance and amusement. "It's cute how you think you can stop me."
Elara rolled her eyes and took a step closer. "What do you want?"
"Thought we should talk," Zen said, shrugging like they were old buddies, not strangers in some messed-up mess. The way he said it, like they'd known each other for years, made her skin crawl.
She threw her slipper at him, not even caring how ridiculous she looked. The fact that she was fighting a devil with a house slipper didn't escape her.
Zen caught the slipper mid-air, a grin spreading across his face. "Cute."
"Stop calling me that," she muttered, yanking the slipper from his hand. "I'm not some pet."
Zen raised an eyebrow. "You'd prefer… sweetheart? Princess? Little Vance?" He said the last part with a playful taunt.
"Try Elara," she snapped, folding her arms. There was something about his teasing that made her blood boil. It felt like he was trying to take control.
His smirk faded slightly, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. "Fine. Elara."
There was a pause, and in that moment, Elara felt something she couldn't explain. A strange feeling — like a pull in her chest. A weird sensation, like hearing your name whispered in a dream that you couldn't quite remember. She hated it. Mostly.
"So…" Elara said, trying to ignore the strange feeling in her chest. "You said you're a devil. Cool story. What do you want from me?"
Zen didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked at her, like he was studying her face. Her eyes. Her soul? She couldn't tell, but she sure didn't like the way he made her feel like she was some kind of experiment.
"You're not like the rest of them," he said quietly after what felt like an eternity of silence.
Elara frowned. "The rest of who?"
"Your family," Zen said, his voice laced with something that sounded almost… bitter?
Her stomach twisted in a way she didn't like. "I don't even know my family."
"I know," Zen said, his gaze softening for just a second. "That's the only reason you're still alive."
Her breath hitched. Silence. Thick, suffocating silence. She hated how easily his words scared her, how they made her feel exposed.
"I didn't ask to be born into any of this," Elara said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this, but somehow it felt like she had to. "If they did something to you… I'm sorry. But I'm not them."
Zen's eyes softened — and for a fleeting moment, he didn't seem like the devil at all. He just seemed… tired.
"I know," he said, his voice almost gentle this time.
That was the moment everything shifted between them. Not dramatically, not in some earth-shattering way. It was more like a tiny crack in a wall, just big enough to let something in. Or maybe let something out.
That night, Elara sat on her bed, staring at the wall like it could give her answers. Maybe it could. Who knew? She didn't feel like she had control over anything anymore.
Why her? Why now? And, most importantly, why him?
She'd always thought her life was pretty average. She worked. She paid rent. Maybe she'd buy a cat one day. Nothing special. But now? Now she was tangled up in a mess that was bigger than her. Bigger than anything she could handle. Shadows. Smoke. Fire. And Zen. The devil himself.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
With a sense of dread, she picked it up. It was probably spam, maybe a prank from one of her friends. She wasn't in the mood for any of it.
But then the voice came. It was low. Raspy. A whisper that slithered down her spine.
"You shouldn't trust him."
Elara froze, her heart skipping a beat. She felt her pulse in her throat. "Who is this?" she demanded, but the voice was already gone. The line went dead.
She stared at the phone, her hands trembling. Her mind raced. Who the hell was that? And why did it feel like it was more than just a random call?
The next day, she went out again.
Not because she wanted to. She had no desire to face whatever madness was out there. But she couldn't sit still. She couldn't keep pretending that she was fine. She needed answers. She needed to figure out what the hell was going on.
And she knew exactly where to go.
There was an old bookstore near the edge of the city. It looked like it hadn't seen a customer in years. Dust covered the shelves. Some of the books were half-falling apart. It was the kind of place that felt like it held secrets — things most people would never believe in. Occult books. Ancient rituals. Things that normal people didn't believe were real.
But Elara wasn't normal anymore.
The bell above the door chimed when she stepped inside, and the smell of old paper hit her. She could almost feel the weight of centuries pressing down in the space, like the books themselves were watching her.
The old man behind the counter didn't even bother to look up. He was too busy flipping through a tattered newspaper. She didn't bother him, though. She wandered through the aisles, her fingers tracing over the dusty covers. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she had to find something. Anything that would explain the chaos her life had turned into.
Most of it was junk. Old spellbooks. Strange trinkets. But then — something caught her eye.
A red book.
It was tucked in the back corner, wedged between two other ancient-looking books. No title. Just a strange symbol on the front.
A flame, wrapped in a serpent.
Her breath caught in her throat. There was something almost magnetic about it. She felt like she had to open it. Like the book was calling to her.
She reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as though afraid the book would bite. She flipped it open, page by page, scanning the ancient text.
And then she saw it.
There, on one of the pages, was a description. A creature. A demon. A being with silver eyes. Smoke. Fire. Hate. Beautiful and terrifying all at once.
It was Zen.
Her pulse quickened, and she slammed the book shut. This wasn't what she needed. She wasn't prepared for this.
But before she could even think about running, she heard a voice behind her.
"Find something interesting?"
Elara whipped around, her heart leaping into her throat.
Zen.
Again.
He had a way of appearing out of nowhere that was starting to get under her skin. He looked at her, a mischievous grin curling on his lips. "Calm down. Not here to kill you. Yet."
Elara didn't even have the energy to scream. She just stared at him, trying to get her bearings. "Stop saying that," she snapped. "It's not funny."
Zen raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm funny?"
"No," she said flatly. "You're a nightmare."
Zen didn't flinch. Instead, he glanced at the red book she had been holding. "Ah. My fan club," he said with a chuckle. "I see you're getting curious."
"You're in this?" Elara asked, her voice tight.
Zen nodded. "Parts of it are true. Most of it's nonsense. Humans love making monsters out of things they don't understand."
Elara shot him a glare. "You're not exactly a kitten, Zen."
"No," he agreed. "But I'm not what they say either."
He took a step closer, and for the first time, Elara noticed something in his eyes. Something other than arrogance or annoyance. Something deeper.
"You think I chose this life?" Zen asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper.
Elara paused. "Didn't you?"
Zen clenched his jaw. "I chose revenge. Not… whatever this is now."
She stared at him, her mind racing. He was a devil, but there was something more to him than just evil and anger. There was a depth to him, a weight he carried that Elara didn't understand.
"You could've killed me already," she said, her voice small.
Zen didn't respond, but his eyes softened, if only for a moment.
"Why are you still here, then?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Zen stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Because fate is cruel, Elara."
He was gone before she could say anything else.
Just like that. Disappearing into thin air.
Elara stood there for a long time, holding the red book to her chest, heart pounding.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she wanted to run from the devil…
…or run to him.