Music Recommendation- Sayuri's Theme- From 'Memoirs of a Geisha'

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He walked from one village to another, looking for the demons who had been causing trouble to the mortal beings of the living world. His shoes, as well as the ends of his trousers, had turned wet and muddy while he carried an umbrella over his head, walking in the pouring rain.

He had heard about the disturbances and the dark energy that was hovering somewhere around. Though he had sent most of the demons back to Hell, there were still some who continued to persist and break the balance of the living world.

On the way, Michael heard a little commotion that was taking place somewhere far ahead of him. Even though the rain was pouring from the sky, blurring every sound from the surroundings, he could still pick up the faint sound of pain and anger from the alley. Heading in the direction, he didn't see anyone as the place had suddenly turned quiet. It seemed that whoever was here earlier had disappeared.

He then heard a gasp, his eyes falling on a young boy who was on the wet, cold and hard ground.

The boy had dark hair that covered the front of his forehead, which was stuck to his face, and there was also the smell of blood. Bruised and beaten, that is what the world had come to be. Michael wondered when things had begun to change so drastically. With the existence of vampires, werewolves, and demons who had started to live early in the living world, chaos seemed to be hard to deflect, especially with the humans' poor choices.

The boy seemed unmoving, the blood from his wounds oozing out and joining the water surrounding him.

He wondered what the boy had done to result in such a state. Michael's gaze lifted to look around the deserted alley.

Michael stepped forward, and he bent down to check if the boy was still alive or if his heart had stopped beating. For a moment, the boy didn't seem to be breathing. His heart had even stopped before he started to cough and lose consciousness again. A small frown came to form on Michael's forehead, his eyes subtly narrowed. Did the boy die before returning from death?

Though he was looking for demons, it would be very unlike him to leave the boy here without aiding him, thought Michael to himself.

He picked the boy up from the ground with one of his arms, while the other continued to hold the umbrella without moving its position from above his head. Finding where he lived, Michael walked with the boy before reaching the small house with its feeble walls as if it was waiting to break down with one heavy pour of water.

Lifting his hand, he knocked on the wooden door, and a young woman opened the door for him. The woman had the same dark hair as the boy, and Michael presumed that this must be the boy's mother. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of her unconscious son.

"My son and I are terribly sorry for troubling you. Thank you for bringing him home!" the woman bowed her head before raising both her arms to pick her son up.

Michael didn't say anything, but his eyes looked behind her, the small house she and her son lived in.

"Please come in! I cannot send you without offering you something to thank you," said the woman to him.

"It is fine," said Michael, his striking blue eyes looking at the woman. He was still working on finding the demons.

"I insist," pleaded the woman, stepping back from the door so that he could step inside. "The rain is going to turn heavier."

Michael stepped inside the house and getting in there. The house was over with a few steps because of the wall on the other side of the house.

He stood there, watching the woman close the door without locking it and went to place the boy in the next room. In the meantime, his eyes took in the scarce things that were in here.

"Let me prepare some tea for you," said the woman, making her way out of the room after she had changed her son's wet clothes to a dried one.

"It's fine," said Michael, noticing the kitchen that didn't have milk, and there was barely anything in there. He wondered if this was how difficult a mortal's life was to go through the tribulation of life before they would enter Heaven or Hell.

He wondered how she would make tea when the ingredients were barely there.

"Please take a seat, it is cold outside. Again I am sorry for the trouble caused by my son," she apologized before moving into the same room where the kitchen was, and she lit the wood before placing the utensil on it. The woman was lean in her physique, but she still looked pretty, almost doll-like.

Michael pursed his lips. He hadn't come here to drink tea but only to bring the boy to his home. His body was stiff with his expression cold, and the woman mistook it to be him feeling cold because of the rainy weather.

"Does he often get into fights?" Michael finally spoke, his voice gentle yet firm.

The woman smiled at the question, and she shook her head, "I believe he does, but I doubt it is because of what he does. It is my fault and not his."

Michael watched the woman who took the glass of milk that must have been the only one, and she poured it in the utensil, heating it along with the tea leaves. Once it was prepared, she handed the cup of tea to him.

Noticing the living condition of the family, he felt uncomfortable drinking it.

"He's usually a good boy. I should have asked him to stay inside when he said he was going out," the woman murmured at the end of the sentence, and she walked to where her son was, running her hand through his wet hair.

"Did you complain to the person who is in charge of the village?" asked Michael, not wanting to get personally involved in the matter.

The woman shook her head, "I doubt it would be of any help. They will only tell us to leave the village and live somewhere else. Cal, will be fine. He's a strong boy," she offered the stranger a smile.

"I am sure he is," replied Michael, his eyes moving to the boy who continued to remain unconscious. He wondered what had happened a few minutes ago in the alley.

"Are you new here?" she asked him.

"Is it too apparent because of my clothes?'' He hadn't bothered to wear a cloak to cover him, and his clothes were different compared to what any villagers or the townsfolk wore.

The woman smiled at Michael without answering his question. The reason was that if he was someone from the village, he wouldn't have touched her son nor troubled himself to bring Calhoun to her. People here didn't like associating themselves with her or her son.

After spending some more time until the rain slowly lowered down, Michael got up from the wooden chair, ready to leave.

"Thank you for the tea," he thanked the woman, and the woman offered her bow of gratitude.

But before leaving, Michael had tried to look upon the status of her afterlife, and he found it to be rather surprising that she didn't have a path paved for Heaven. He couldn't help but wonder why.

For the selflessness shown towards him by offering him something when there would be nothing left for her or her son, he had opened the path for her. Back then, Michael had no idea that she was the Devil's daughter, which was the reason why the path of Heaven had not been opened for her until he had made a way if she were to continue to walk in it.

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