Elias had faced down corrupted beasts, ancient plagues, and a flesh-eating tree once mistaken for a sacred artifact.
None of that compared to walking through the front gates of Ashvale with a demon child holding his hand.
"Smile," he whispered through clenched teeth, forcing his face into something that might've been mistaken for friendly.
Rhea, wrapped in a brown cloak with her horns tucked beneath a scarf, grinned wide. Unfortunately, it was the kind of grin that made small animals run away.
"…Less teeth."
She tilted her head, lips still curled in that same toothy crescent. "But smiling means friendliness. I read it in your book."
"Yes, but yours says 'impending murder.' Dial it back."
She tried again. It looked more like someone holding in a burp.
"…Close enough," Elias muttered.
The guards let him through with a nod—he was still technically a Guild Healer, after all. But their eyes narrowed at the little cloaked figure beside him. No one said anything. Not yet.
But the whispering would start soon.
He could feel it.
The Guild of Restoration headquarters was located on the east end of town, nestled between a potion shop that always smelled faintly of goat sweat and a bakery that never seemed to open before noon. Elias pushed the door open and was immediately greeted by the same chaos he'd left behind a week ago.
"Elias!" barked a familiar voice. "You better have brought results, or so help me I'll—!"
Guildmaster Tyrin froze halfway down the stairs. His eyes locked on Rhea.
"…Who's the girl?"
Elias smiled, wide and falsely cheerful. "My niece."
Tyrin blinked. "You don't have a niece."
"I do now."
"…You adopted?"
"Yep."
"From where?"
"Uh…" Elias took a breath. "I found her outside the ruin. Half-demon, abandoned, cold, hungry. Couldn't leave her there. Poor thing was just a scared little scrap of life. So I, uh… took her in."
Tyrin stared at him.
Rhea blinked up at the older man with her huge red eyes. "Uncle Elias feeds me soup."
"…Huh," Tyrin muttered. "Didn't think you had the guts to adopt."
"Me neither."
"Is she safe?"
Elias flinched. "Yes. Totally. Very safe. Harmless."
Rhea smiled sweetly and waved.
Her scarf shifted slightly, revealing the tiniest glint of a horn.
Tyrin's eyes narrowed.
Elias coughed loudly. "Anyway, mission's done, ruin's clear, didn't find anything cursed or illegal, haha, I'll file the report later, thanks for your time—BYE!"
He dragged Rhea away by the hand before any more questions could be asked.
Ashvale was a small town, and small towns loved three things:
1. Bread.
2. Gossip.
3. Judging people.
By midday, the rumor mill was churning.
"Elias brought back a demon girl!"
"I heard she breathes fire!"
"She bit an alchemist!"
"She's actually his love child with a succubus!"
Elias trudged down the market street, shoulders hunched as Rhea clutched a sweet bun in one hand and a suspiciously pointy stick in the other.
"You can't just take weapons from the blacksmith's stall," he whispered harshly.
"He said 'look around.' So I looked."
"And then ran."
She grinned. "He yelled loud. It was funny."
Elias groaned and pulled the stick—okay, it was a dagger—from her hands. "No more theft. Or stabbing. Or threatening shopkeepers."
"But I didn't stab him."
"That's not the defense you think it is!"
Elias's home was a one-story cottage tucked just beyond the herb fields, modest and quiet. Or at least it had been quiet, before a magical child with spontaneous reality-bending mood swings moved in.
He opened the door, let Rhea scamper in, and shut it behind them like he was bracing for a siege.
"Okay," he muttered. "Okay. This can work."
Rhea flopped onto his old couch, accidentally crushing a pillow with residual magical energy. It squeaked and deflated into a puddle of glitter.
"…Oops."
"I didn't even know that one was enchanted."
She rolled over, feet dangling off the side. "Is this my new den?"
"It's a living room."
"I claim it in the name of Queen Bun-Bun."
"We are not using that name."
"You're just jealous."
After a dinner consisting of slightly burnt soup and bread Rhea declared "too crunchy," they settled on the floor with a chalkboard Elias had borrowed from a nearby schoolhouse.
"Alright," he said. "Lesson one: how not to terrify the townsfolk."
Rhea raised a hand. "Don't talk?"
"No, you can talk. Just maybe… don't mention blood pacts or soul contracts."
"But those are our thing."
"Exactly, which is why they should stay our thing."
She slumped dramatically.
"Lesson two: if someone calls you a name—like 'devilspawn' or 'horned menace'—you do not hex them."
"…Even a little?"
"No hexing!"
She sighed. "Fine."
"Lesson three: if someone asks what kind of magic you use, you say—?"
"I dunno. Firecrackers?"
"…Good enough."
Later, as Elias cleaned up the chalkboard and Rhea chased a moth around the room like it owed her money, he couldn't help but smile.
Weirdly, impossibly… this was starting to feel like a home.
She tripped, fell, and rolled into a blanket heap.
"Rhea?" he called.
A small voice from under the blanket: "I live here now."
He laughed.
Maybe, just maybe, he could make this work.
But deep down, he knew this peace wouldn't last. Not forever.
Sooner or later, someone would notice the rune on his hand. Someone would recognize the power leaking off the girl in waves. Someone would connect the dots he was praying stayed scattered.
But for tonight, she was just Rhea.
Just a weird little kid with demon blood, a stolen dagger, and a blanket fortress.
And he was just the idiot who brought her home.
To be continued…