"This is my current home."
Not a mountain cabin but a house in the forest outside the Holy Capital. Hard to navigate, no matter how often I come.
"Nice! Like a villa. Heiter should've told me about this."
"He probably thought you'd wreck it. Heiter said it's for retirement."
"Typical. Already planning post-retirement."
Himmel's eyes sparkle, oblivious to my thoughts. Same excitement as when we built the village house. What's so fun? Beyond even a demon's understanding.
This villa, per Himmel, is Heiter's recent acquisition—for leisurely retirement. Typical shady monk nonsense. Preparing for a life of drinking. Disgrace to clergy. Heiter's not here, claiming he'd be in the way and leaving. Same old Heiter. Anyway—
"You're always obsessing over death."
"Not true. Plenty left to do."
"Aura-sama's right. Before coming, he asked me to protect you if he dies."
"W-What!? Linie!?"
Himmel panics at Linie's bombshell, more than me. He never learns—Linie can't keep secrets. Such a pointless, meddling request. Always fixated on death. Does he want to die that badly?
"Fine. I'll rely on you then."
"Leave it to me, Aura-sama!"
"Really, you two…"
I use Linie, no need for formal orders. She's visibly eager—such a simple girl, barely grown despite appearances. Himmel watches us, amused. Who does he think he is?
"Isn't commuting to the Holy Capital tough from here?"
"No issue. I fly. Better than dealing with annoying humans."
"Magic's handy. Maybe I'll learn it."
"Just have Linie carry you."
"N-No thanks. I'm not Eisen. Falling again? No way."
"Warriors handle that. Himmel's unreliable."
Linie's cold attitude makes Himmel pale. Apparently, she nearly dropped him mid-flight during their travels—traumatizing. Eisen might shrug it off, but not Himmel. Linie can't grasp why.
Flight's like walking to us, not humans. Unlike Zoltraak, it'll take time to integrate into human magic. Anyway—
"That mustache still doesn't suit you. Shave it."
It's been six months, and it looks awful.
"No way. It's a hit in the capital. Like your title, rumors spread fast."
"Bad rumors. Heiter said it's no match for Eisen's. Mimicking the Southern Hero? Wasted on you."
"It's respect, not mimicry. Oh, my statue's up in the village. A masterpiece. Look forward to it."
"You actually built it? What a nuisance."
Himmel's narcissism is exhausting. The village statue, commemorating a decade of us living there, is done. Nonsense. Birthdays make more sense. He's built countless statues on our journey, yet it's not enough? I dodged one of me, but Heiter's planning the same in the Holy Capital. Are these friends obsessed with copying each other? I'll stop it.
The mustache mimics the monstrous Southern Hero. A monster imitating a monster. It's harassment—my trauma.
"It doesn't suit you, Himmel. And you're getting smelly. Stay back."
"W-What!? I take care of myself!"
"Idiot."
Linie echoes me, hitting harder. Age-related odor, probably. Her innocence makes it brutal. Himmel's frantic defense falls flat. I ignore him and enter the house. Our unchanging routine after a decade.
"What are you doing? Move the luggage."
I scold Himmel, pacing with bags—mine, his, and Linie's. They plan to stay here. The villa's big enough. Heiter might've planned this. Typical.
"Sorry, sorry. Feels like a secret base, right? This study's like a dungeon. Traps or gimmicks, maybe?"
"Who puts traps in their own house?"
Himmel's engrossed in the villa-turned-dungeon, especially the study, poking floors and shelves. No wonder Heiter hid this place. Who wants their home turned into a dungeon? If he loves traps, set a mimic. That elf might get caught by morning.
Linie's out fetching water and food—she's useless at organizing. Probably racing through the forest, half-wild. I worry about her corset dress tearing. She's far from ladylike. Maybe I'll give her my dress for her next birthday, though it's a bit big.
"Looks good, right?"
"Do what you want."
Luggage sorted, Himmel stands smugly. Acting like he owns the place. My rare solo life ends today. I've accepted it—months alone were the anomaly. Life here will mirror the village. I sigh, but—
"The garden needs more color."
"Huh?"
Himmel won't let me rest, spouting nonsense. I gape. What's he on about? His gaze is on the garden. Color. I get it. He's drilled it into me.
"More color, huh?"
"Shut up. Fine."
He repeats it, avoiding specifics. Infuriating. He'll keep at it unless I act. A waste of time. Reluctantly, I channel mana. A spell so familiar, I don't need a grimoire.
Flower field magic.
Blue petals storm the garden, forming a field of Himmel's favorite hometown flower, blue moonweed. Like our village garden.
"—"
Himmel's mesmerized, despite seeing it countless times. He loves this magic. His expression—same as always. I know now: he's thinking of that elf. Such a fool.
"It's been a while, but your magic's beautiful. Thanks."
"Magic's the same, whoever casts it."
"No way. It's about imagination. Your first try was a mess—growth, range, all over."
"You're insufferable."
"My pleasure. Blue moonweed's special."
Our usual banter brings odd relief. This is us. He's still creepily fixated on me.
"But it's a bit lonely. Did you know? This flower's nearly extinct."
"Extinct? Why?"
"Not an expert, but it can't survive the environment. Even in my hometown, it's dwindling."
"…So? It's just weak."
Himmel, uncharacteristically somber, shares this. Extinction—a species' end. Blue moonweed's fading. It's weak, that's all. Survival of the fittest. Nature's law. Caring about another species' demise? Humans are idle. Yet—
"No worries. You're here. A mage who can bloom blue moonweed."
He says, smiling, calling me a mage. I don't fully grasp it—or maybe I do—
"I'll die someday too. Just a matter of time."
"Maybe. So we entrust it to others, to outlast us. You could pass on that magic. Linie's closest, right?"
My denial is met with entrustment—a concept foreign to demons. I understand, or guess, it's what Serie meant: passing something to another. Pointless to us. Do it when I'm gone? Absurd.
"Why should I? Linie's not suited anyway. Tried once—failed. A mess to clean up, showing off for Lily."
"Rough road ahead."
Linie's unsuitable. Her failure wasn't about entrustment but her ego. Her mimicry magic doesn't fit this spell. If I passed it on, it'd be to someone suited. Oddly, I muse on a vague future when—
"Aura, if I die, make my grave a flower field. Okay?"
Himmel casually makes a ridiculous request. What's he thinking? Where do I start? I can't see his face.
"Stupid. If that happens, I'm free. No need to obey. You're gone—why bother?"
I refuse, staring at the blue moonweed. If he dies, I'm unbound. No reason to follow a dead man's orders. Doesn't he get it?
"Not an order—a wish."
"Same thing."
"Maybe."
Our usual exchange, but I avoid his gaze. His answer's different now. Order versus wish—like Eisen's "use" versus "rely." His attempt to understand me, a demon.
We stare at the blue moonweed field, silent, watching a sight soon lost to the world. Until Linie returns, bustling—
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