If there was one thing more terrifying than an overpowered ex-Demon Queen with a sweet tooth, it was an overpowered ex-Demon Queen trying to make a friend.
"Do I offer tribute?" Rhea whispered as we stood by the school courtyard. "Is that how mortals initiate alliances? I have cookies."
"Tribute's not necessary," I muttered, adjusting her tiny backpack. "Just say hi. Smile. Maybe don't mention disembowelment."
"Hmm." She squinted toward a group of students gathering in the grass. "So... no severed finger jokes?"
"Hard pass."
Today was Rhea's second attempt at social integration following The Nosebleed Incident. Miss Arlen had cautiously allowed her back into school grounds under the strict condition that she wouldn't bleed on anyone magical.
We had a chart now: Magic-Free Days Since Last Arcane Mishap (Currently at: 2).
I pointed toward a quiet girl reading under a tree.
"That's Lina," I whispered. "She's in your age group. Likes runes and... moss, I think?"
Rhea narrowed her eyes. "She smells like cinnamon and sadness. I approve."
"That's not weird at all," I sighed.
Lina looked up from her book—something about elemental bird migration—and blinked shyly at Rhea.
Rhea, with all the subtlety of a charging griffin, stomped up, tossed a cookie onto Lina's book, and declared: "This is a token of my goodwill. Accept it and you shall be spared during the coming reckoning."
There was a pause.
Then, incredibly, Lina giggled.
"Okay," she said softly, holding up the cookie. "Does the reckoning come with more cookies?"
Rhea's eyes sparkled. "It can if you sign a treaty. I have a glitter pen."
The two sat under the tree, heads bent over doodles, cookies, and mock-serious declarations of friendship. Lina even offered her lap as a pillow when Rhea got sleepy. I watched from afar, pretending not to cry like a proud single dad at a recital.
"Elias!" Rhea yelled across the courtyard. "I made a pact!"
"That's called a friend, Rhea."
"She says we're bound by the Law of Sweets!"
"I... don't hate that, actually."
It would've been perfect—if the bullies hadn't shown up.
Three kids. Older, taller, meaner. The kind who always traveled in packs and smelled faintly of privilege. One of them—the leader, judging by his unnecessarily smug walk—was the son of a minor noble. The others were his echo chamber.
"Hey, elf girl," the noble kid sneered. "Talking to the weirdo now?"
Lina shrank against the tree, her leafy bracelet trembling.
Rhea stood.
And for the first time in hours, her smile disappeared.
"I advise you to leave," she said, stepping between Lina and the trio.
"Oh? And who're you supposed to be?"
Rhea tilted her head. "I'm the thing your nightmares check under their beds for."
The noble kid snorted. "You've got crumbs on your shirt."
"From your funeral feast."
Lina tugged her sleeve. "Rhea, it's okay. They're always like this..."
"They hurt you?" Rhea whispered, her voice suddenly dark and quiet.
Lina hesitated. "Sometimes they... throw my bag. Or hide my runes."
That was enough.
Rhea raised her hand—and the air temperature dropped. Shadows slithered along the ground like smoke in reverse. Her eyes pulsed violet.
The bullies froze.
She began to whisper a spell. Old words. Forbidden ones.
I recognized the cadence.
A shadow curse.
I teleported across the courtyard faster than I've ever moved in my life.
"NOPE." I tackled her.
"Oof—Elias!"
"You don't curse middle schoolers!"
"They were about to smudge her glyphs!"
"That is not worth eternal shadow boils!"
"They said she smells like dirt!"
"She—likes dirt!"
The bullies screamed and ran. One of them actually dropped a shoe. Lina stared, eyes wide, clutching her bag like a shield.
I held Rhea tightly. Her fingers still twitched with residual spellwork.
"Calm down," I whispered. "Breathe."
She trembled. "I wasn't going to kill them. Just... make them itchy forever."
"I know." I exhaled. "But that's still not okay."
"Why not?"
I let the silence hang before answering.
"Because mercy isn't weakness," I said. "It's control."
Rhea blinked. "What?"
"When you're strong—really strong—you don't have to use it to hurt people. You use it to protect. Mercy isn't about letting people walk all over you. It's about choosing not to become the thing they fear."
She frowned. "But they deserved it."
"Maybe. But if we handed out curses for every insult, the whole world would be cursed."
"...Is that how it is now?"
"Kind of feels like it, doesn't it?"
She sniffed. "I didn't like feeling helpless. When I saw Lina scared... I remembered being alone."
That hit harder than I expected.
We sat on the grass, quiet for a bit.
Eventually, Lina approached. She reached into her bag and pulled out two things: a rune stone and a stick of jerky.
She handed both to Rhea.
"Thanks," she whispered.
"For the curse or the cookies?"
Lina smiled. "Both."
The teachers later "strongly recommended" I teach Rhea better conflict resolution skills.
I agreed—after hiding the glitter pen she'd used to write "HEX ME AND DIE" on her pencil case.
That night, Rhea scribbled something in her journal before bed.
"What're you writing?" I asked, brushing crumbs off her pillow.
"Friendship log," she mumbled. "Today I got my first real friend. And nearly committed a war crime."
"Progress?"
"Big progress."
And as she fell asleep, snoring softly and dreaming of cookie diplomacy and hex scrolls, I found myself smiling.
It wasn't a perfect friendship.
But it was hers.
And that made all the difference.
To be continued…