However, when Myma returned home, she was met with this sight—the little demon crouched on the table, head lowered as he tore into the prepared fish in his hands. He ate with such focus that he even devoured the seasoning stuffed inside the fish's belly.
Myma watched him with mixed emotions. She truly didn't believe she could snatch the food away from him—just look at those claws, covered in hard scales and sharp as iron hooks! A single swipe from those could leave her permanently disfigured.
In the blink of an eye, the little bandit had polished off the entire fish, bones and all, before reaching for the side dishes on the plate. Only then did he finally spare a glance at the red-haired girl beside him.
Myma met his golden eyes calmly.
It felt like staring into a blazing sun—a sacred yet dangerous fire that seemed ready to scorch the eyes of anyone who dared meet its gaze.
The little demon suddenly spoke, pointing at the empty plate. "More."
The demonic tongue had few verb conjugations, and his voice still carried a childish tone, yet his words dripped with command, laced with an oppressive force that made her skin crawl.
The girl stood up expressionlessly, reached into the water barrel, and hauled out a half-dead fish before slapping it onto the table with a wet splat.
"Here."
The fish twitched weakly on the table before lying still, resigned to its fate.
The little demon turned his head away in disgust.
A few seconds later, he turned back, still wearing that same look of disdain, and grabbed the stinking, still-living fish. He shoved its head into his mouth and began chewing loudly. Water and blood seeped between his fingers, dripping onto the table. He licked his hand clean, and soon, the sound of bones being ground to dust between his teeth filled the air.
The thick stench of blood once again permeated the kitchen.
"Uh…" Myma wasn't sure how to feel. "...That fish cost five copper coins."
"Tastes bad." He kept chewing while staring at her. "Make it like before."
Myma shot him an unimpressed glare. "Sorry. Can't do that."
The little demon glared back angrily, his folded wings suddenly snapping open with a bang—two massive scythe-like appendages, their bony protrusions sharp as blades.
He roared in threat: "Then I'll eat you!"
The entire room seemed to tremble faintly, the oppressive weight in the air growing heavier.
Myma took two steps back, her head pounding from the pressure, her knees threatening to buckle.
"If you eat me," she gasped, bracing herself against the wall, her thoughts a chaotic mess, "...then you'll never get to eat anything I make ever again!"
The little demon blinked at her, as if struggling to grasp the logic.
After a moment, realization dawned, and his face twisted into a mix of frustration and confusion. Clearly, he had no idea how to solve this infuriating dilemma.
"You," he finally growled, abandoning all thought. He straightened his spine and lifted his chin, as if mimicking someone from memory, adopting a haughty, commanding posture. His golden eyes bore down on her. "I order you—obey me."
That terrible pressure returned.
Myma had no idea how to reason with such an unreasonable creature, especially one whose brain seemed barely functional. Under the weight of his gaze, her head throbbed, but she clenched her teeth and retorted: "You have no right to order me around. You don't pay me, and you're not the lord of this place."
Ridiculous. She had finally escaped the Church's territory, no longer forced to play the devout believer or spew hollow lies every day. She refused to bow to some idiot demon—she had dealt with high priests who came to the academy to bestow blessings, and this brat couldn't possibly be worse than them.
The little demon scowled. "Then I'll kill—"
"Kill me, and you get no more fish. Didn't we just go over this?" Myma exhaled, flashing a triumphant smile. "Am I wrong, Mr. Demon?"
Grumbling, he turned away, trying to think of another solution.
After a long pause, he finally muttered, "I'm not a demon."
His face was human-like, appearing no older than eleven or twelve, with deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, and a lean, agile frame—though his claws were sharp, and his tail was covered in scales.
If not for the horns and tail marking him as a Nightkin, along with the dark sigils covering his body, he might have been a strikingly handsome boy.
Not a demon? Then what? A dark elf? A vampire? A ghoul? If he were a beastman—whether wolf, bear, or centaur—there'd be clear animal traits. But this little brat had none of those.
"Then what are you?"
He glared at her for a moment before hesitating. "I… I'm…"
"Listen," Myma sighed, adopting a lecturing tone. "You should go back to your parents. It's their job to feed you."
The little demon flicked his tail irritably. "Dad's gone. He's not coming back."
Myma caught his use of past tense. "...Where did he go?"
The little demon listlessly folded his wings and turned his head, gazing out the kitchen window at the distant sky, where white clouds drifted.
He lifted a hand, pointing toward the endless blue expanse. His golden eyes reflected the sunlight. "There."
She wasn't sure what it meant for a young demon to lose his father—their lives were nothing like humans'. Logically, survival shouldn't be too hard for them.
After all, among the Nightkin, demons were one of the strongest. Beastmen needed packs to hunt monsters, but demons needed no companions.
Still, she could tell he was upset. "Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."
The little demon just stared at her blankly, as if confused by the apology.
Outside, the blue sky darkened. The afternoon sun vanished behind gray clouds, their golden edges fading as rain began to patter against the window, blurring the world beyond.
For some reason, Myma thought of her own father.
He had been born into a high-ranking clan of the white elves, seen as a heretic by his own kind. They had exiled him for refusing to swear allegiance to the Deity of Light—though, not wanting to see a fellow clansman suffer worse, they had secretly sent him away. Only a few elders knew the truth of his banishment—until he married a half-dwarf woman.
It made sense. Many elves left their clans to live among humans, often due to mixed marriages. Humans were far more tolerant than other races.
But he had been the best father. Myma smiled faintly at the memory. He had endless adventure stories—of crossing deserts and wastelands, singing with mercenaries around campfires in snowy mountains, fighting hordes of beasts in rainforests. He had filled her childhood dreams with dragons roaring across the heavens, divine battlefields where thunder and hurricanes clashed, and the endless night of the abyss, where sinfire burned without end.
Myma let out a long sigh. "Sit down."
She resigned herself to cooking.
I must be a fool with too much sympathy, she grumbled inwardly. But when she glanced up at the little brat, now idly staring into space like an idiot, she couldn't help but think—he lost his dad too.
Half-asleep, she began gutting the fish. Blood coated her hands, seeping under her nails. She absentmindedly lifted her fingers—only to have her wrist suddenly seized.
The little demon, still perched on the table, gripped her with his sharp claws, tilting his head as he studied her bloodied hand.
Myma blinked. "If you eat my hand, I definitely can't cook anymore—hey!"
With a yank, he pulled her off-balance, sending her stumbling onto the table.
Then, without warning, he lowered his head—and his scorching tongue dragged over her fingers. The tiny barbs on his tongue scraped against her skin, sending an odd, electric tingle through her nerves.
"Ah—!" Myma shrieked.
His tongue burned like molten lava. That single lick felt like a branding iron searing her flesh—she wouldn't be surprised if her skin had been cooked.
The little demon released her wrist, licked his lips, and turned his attention back to the fish.
Myma resisted the urge to fling the fish into his face and instead marched toward the stove. The fire inside was dying—it needed another magic crystal shard, and those were expensive. Even a tiny, low-grade fragment the size of a fingernail cost several silver coins.
In the empire's major cities, that was a week's wages for an ordinary shop worker.
The little demon frowned at her. "Where are you going?"
"The fire's out. I need to relight it," Myma snapped. "If you can't cook, then just sit there and—"
Before she could finish, the stove suddenly blazed to life. A wave of heat surged out, filling the room with sweltering warmth.
Myma jumped in shock—then stared in disbelief. The flames roared higher than any magic crystal could produce, the kitchen's temperature climbing rapidly.
"You can use magic?!"