"Welcome back, both. I've been waiting."
Himmel greets us as we enter, his voice overly familiar.
"You haven't changed. Same as ever," he says.
There he stands, still posturing. Just heard similar from Heiter—birds of a feather. But his appearance has changed drastically.
Shorter than Linie and me now, he's shrunken, forcing me to look down to meet his eyes. Unlike Heiter, his head's bald, beard longer. Only his eyes remain the same. Fifty years later, he's unrecognizable. Humans age so fast. How did we lose to such a frail species? Are demons weaker still?
"You're the one who's changed—old and withered. Didn't we just meet?"
"Read the room, Aura."
"I've grown!" Linie chimes in.
"Hahaha, same as ever," Heiter laughs.
Yes, he's changed. I haven't. Acting like it's been decades—when we met a month ago. Linie's in her usual mode, flaunting her growth. Heiter watches, amused. They've not grown, not really.
"Even old, I'm quite the looker, right?" Himmel boasts.
"What happened to 'dandy'?" I retort.
"The beard suits you. Bald, though," Linie adds.
Himmel's back in form, ego soaring. His narcissism never fades. Posing with his beard, no hair left. Where's the 'dandy' obsession? Finally realized it didn't suit him, switching back to 'handsome'? Shameless. Linie lands a critical blow—maybe the hero's true nemesis.
"There's charm in baldness."
"Aura, show some respect for us elders," Heiter says.
"Don't lump me with you. I'll kill you."
"My bad. Three days of silence again? Spare me," Heiter pleads.
"A week."
Heiter casually calls me old. Infuriating. Equating a demon—a great demon over 500 years old—to human standards? If I were free, I'd make him regret it. Ignoring's my only option. Seems it hit Heiter—three days, not a week. Who's he mistaking me for?
"You two haven't changed either. Your rumors reach the capital," Himmel says.
"Fifty years together. Who'd have thought I'd live with a demon in the Holy Capital?" Heiter adds.
"Right back at you. What a nuisance," I snap.
Himmel watches, pleased. What's he playing at? I don't care about the rumors—probably nonsense. Heiter's worse than the gossip. Who'd imagine fifty years with him? He's jerked me around more than Himmel.
"No way. I'm truly grateful. You've saved many—something we couldn't do," Heiter says.
"What? I haven't saved anyone."
He's cryptic again. I've done nothing—acted for myself, under obedience. They saved themselves. None of my business.
"That's why you're revered," Heiter insists.
"Creepy. What's your scheme?"
"I'm a bishop. I don't lie."
"You lie better than demons."
"Heiter, no lying!" Linie scolds.
A bishop claiming no lies—hero party's monk, now Holy Capital's bishop. The end times. Even demons would flee him. Only that eccentric researcher could match him. Both a hassle. Linie calling him out? He's done for.
"Got me there. But it's the truth. As an orphan, living with someone this long is new. Got carried away," Heiter confesses.
Orphan—like Himmel. Normal for demons, not humans. Eisen said something similar. Heiter, a lifelong bachelor cleric, yearning for family? Foolish.
"What? Got something to say?" I ask Himmel, who's staring.
"Just thinking you're amazing. You've changed not just my life, but many others'."
Same old line, countless times. Exaggerating fool.
"Again? Don't you tire? Getting senile?"
"Harsh. There's nicer ways to say it."
"What about me, Himmel?" Linie asks.
"You too, Linie."
Linie perks up, thinking it's praise. Their bond's unchanged. They call it master-disciple; humans see parent-child, like my bond with Linie. But Himmel's aging makes it grandfather-grandchild.
"Because of Heiter, it took ages to get here. My butt hurts," Linie grumbles, rubbing it.
The journey from the Holy Capital—by Heiter's carriage, fitting for an aging bishop. Linie wanted to fly him, eager for the capital and hating the carriage's jolts. Her butt suffered.
"Sorry, but no more flying," Heiter says.
He's traumatized from Linie's flight attempt. No need to ask—only Eisen would shrug off a fall.
"Unladylike, Linie. Stop," I order.
"Mmph…"
Even for a demon, rubbing her butt's too much, even with just old men here. She stops, maybe seeing it as an order. Stroh's skirt-flipping isn't the cause, but her lack of modesty's a problem. Serious enough to consider new orders.
"Why'd you come, Heiter?"
"To escort you properly."
"I'm not a kid."
"A man's duty to escort a lady."
"Reeking monk."
I redirect, but he dodges breezily. Where's the line between jest and sincerity?
"Here you go, Himmel," Heiter says.
"Thanks. Sorry for the trouble," Himmel replies.
The mana binding me shifts—obedience's transfer, not the first time. So that's why Heiter escorted me? Quite the effort. But why now? I usually use obedience magic only in the Holy Capital. Often, I move without transfers if timing's off. Why this time?
"No trouble. Your recklessness is old news," Heiter says.
"Don't treat me like a stray dog or cat!"
"I like cats!" Linie adds.
I protest their old habit of treating me like a pet. They don't care. What do they think I am? Linie's clueless, making my head ache. What'll become of her?
"Time to go," Heiter announces.
"Already?" I ask.
"Can't intrude on family time. Don't want to be kicked by a horse."
"You…"
"No horses here!" Linie says.
Heiter rises, as if planned. I expected him to stay, mooch food—sober now, but still. His reason's a jest, knowing I'd get it. Infuriating. Linie's oblivious, swayed. I give up.
Heiter approaches, bending to our height, like a human parent to a child, for both me and Linie.
"What? Something on my face?"
"Just memorizing your faces. So I won't forget."
"What's that mean?"
"Your breath stinks," Linie says, turning away.
Heiter compares our faces. What's he thinking? Asking's pointless. Heiter and Himmel smile, satisfied.
Heiter heads to the door, back turned. We see him off as usual. At the last moment—
"Aura, Linie. Until next time."
He turns, smiles, and leaves.