"Let's ea—"
I catch myself mid-phrase, realizing there's no need for it this morning.
"I've got errands, so I'm heading out early. Don't just read books—do your work properly."
A note on the table, dripping with Himmel's usual provocation. Even when he's not here, he's infuriating.
"…Delicious."
The word slips out as I bite into the apple pie left for me. I freeze, glancing around—luckily, I'm alone. If Himmel heard that, I'd never live it down. Relieved, I keep eating. Azeliyuze's magic makes apples suppress my urge to devour humans, but plain apples don't fill me up, and they're getting old. Hence, this apple pie—a solution I'd never admit pleases me, especially since Himmel came up with it. It's my favorite now, though I'd rather die than say so. He mentioned his favorite was… Luf omelets, right? Tried them—didn't care for them.
(Come to think of it, he's been quiet lately… What's he up to?)
Eating alone, the silence feels off. It's not just his absence today—over the past few days, he's been subdued. Normally, he's so annoying I can't stand it, but this restraint is eerie. It throws me off. What's he scheming now? I'm bound to get dragged into it, so I'm already dreading it.
(Whatever. I'll never understand what he's thinking. Might as well read while it's peaceful.)
Seizing the rare calm, I reach for a book from the new shelf—then freeze. The note flashes in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. He's read me like an open book. Going to work feels like losing to him, but reading now risks his smug lecture later. Advance or retreat? Book in hand, I hesitate—
"Good morning, big sis! I'm here to play!"
A third option—playtime—crashes in, shattering my brief peace.
"…You again? Don't you ever get tired of this?" I groan.
"It's fun hanging out with you!" the straw-hatted kid chirps. "And my name's Stroh, remember? I keep telling you!"
"Names don't matter," I snap.
My irritation bounces off him. He's worse than Himmel—my natural enemy, ignoring me completely. I give up, shelving the book and clearing my breakfast. Himmel threatened to order me if I left it messy, so I comply. Names, huh? Maybe I should learn his, but human names feel pointless. Memorizing a book's contents is far more worthwhile.
"Where's the Hero?" Stroh asks.
"Who knows? Probably off saving someone. What a chore," I say, genuinely meaning it.
This past month of observation has shown me Himmel's do-gooder nature is abnormal. If he's like this in one village, his travels must've been insufferable. I almost pity his old party for that alone. Then—
"So… are you and the Hero fighting?" Stroh asks.
"What…?"
His nonsense leaves me dumbfounded.
"What're you talking about? Why would I fight him?"
"'Cause he's been down lately," Stroh says. "You can't fight! You gotta make up!"
I'm baffled by his misguided concern. Why would we fight? We're enemies—fighting's redundant. "Making up" makes even less sense. But there's truth to his words—Himmel's been acting strange. Does this kid know why? His "making up" solution is incomprehensible, but—
"Making up, huh? What do I do?" I ask.
It's not ideal for this to drag on. His quietness is convenient, but the unease is worse—it's messing with me.
"It's easy!" Stroh's eyes sparkle as he proudly shares his plan for reconciliation.
"Here you are, Hero. I hope it's to your taste."
"Thank you, Chief. Sorry for barging in so early."
I sip the tea he offers, its sweetness and warmth soothing me. My expression must show it, because the chief smiles warmly, like a parent watching a child. I feel a twinge of embarrassment, as if I've regressed to childhood.
"No trouble at all," he says, sitting across from me. "It's rare to get time to talk with you."
His words humble me. I should've made time sooner, but a month slipped by in a blur. I get caught up in things—my old party always scolded me for it. I need to be more mindful.
Then I notice the room's decor. I'm in the chief's study, surrounded by books—expected, but their content stands out. Many are about the Goddess, and a small altar sits nearby, filled with religious items.
"Chief, this is…" I start.
"Yes, as you see," he says, a touch embarrassed. "I used to be a priest. It's mostly ceremonial now."
It makes sense. His gentle demeanor always felt distinct, and now I understand why.
"But I think I can still help you," he continues. "You're here about Aura, right?"
"How did you—"
"Priest's intuition," he chuckles. "Joking aside, Stroh's worried. He thinks you and Aura are fighting."
"Stroh, huh?"
I'm surprised my troubles were so obvious, though I tried to hide them. A child's sensitivity, maybe? It's not a fight, just my own one-sided struggle, but I feel bad for worrying him. The chief might've seen through me regardless.
"Well…" I begin.
I lay out everything to his kind gaze: how we got here, our life together, our interactions, that night. It feels like a confession—a first since becoming a Hero. It's different from talking to my old party. The words flow with surprising honesty.
"Since then, I don't know how to face her," I admit. "Some Hero, huh?"
Her words from that night still sting.
"I'm not Frieren."
It's not her fault—it's mine. I projected Frieren onto her, assuming what worked for one would work for the other. Arrogant of me. And realizing Frieren's gone… it hit me harder than I expected.
"No, you're every bit a Hero," the chief says. "This is likely a human-demon issue."
"Human and demon…?"
"Yes. As I said before, she's a demon. Those words weren't meant to hurt you. You felt that, didn't you?"
"I…"
He speaks as if he'd prepared the answer. It dawns on me—he's right. Aura didn't mean to wound me. She seemed unbothered afterward, as if the words were nothing special, just fact. To her, they were.
"Demons lack what we call 'malice,'" the chief explains. "I knew it in theory, but talking to her confirmed it."
No malice—or guilt, perhaps.
"I once asked her about the humans she's killed," he continues. "She said she felt nothing. No remorse, just natural."
I can picture it. To demons, humans are food, nothing more. I forgot that—or wanted to. Aura's life in the village, however superficial, made me want to deny that truth.
I recall that night—a burning house, a girl in a demon's arms, a murdered chief. I gave up on understanding demons then. Connecting meant I couldn't fight them. But I've been pushing that atonement onto Aura. Just as I start to give up again—
"But, Hero, that's not a bad thing," the chief says.
"What?"
His words stop me.
"When she begged for her life, I suggested giving her a chance to atone. I was wrong. Demons don't have the concept of atonement."
He speaks calmly. You can't create what doesn't exist. Frieren was emotionally distant but not devoid of feeling. Demons are. You can't raise them like children.
"I was wrong too," he says. "Making demons atone is our arrogance, our human bias. We must live with them, understanding what they are."
I'm speechless. Demons don't have sin—it's our human metric, forced onto them. They can't become human, nor we demons. It's obvious, yet I don't know how to face Aura now. I can't change her—never could. Was saving her a mistake?
"It's okay, Hero," the chief says, as if reading me. "You're already changing her."
"I…?"
"Look at these," he says, standing to spread out books. "These are what she's been reading. Notice anything?"
They're texts on the Goddess, trials, and laws—topics that don't suit her.
"At first, she read randomly," he says. "Lately, it's been these. She may not realize it, but she's drawn to them."
It clicks. Her magic, Azeliyuze, reflects her nature, Frieren once said. Unique magic mirrors its user's traits. Aura's scales might reveal her unconscious curiosity. But how does that relate to me?
"When she first borrowed books," the chief says, "she said she wanted to know what 'atonement' means."
That's the answer I've been searching for.
"She may never understand it," he continues. "But her trying matters, doesn't it?"
Trying to understand. That's what counts. I need to try to understand her too.
There'll be disgust, moments our feelings don't reach. But we must coexist, or the conflict with demons won't end, even without the Demon King. That's my duty, having spared her.
"Thank you, Chief," I say. "I think I can be a bit more heroic now."
"I'm honored to help. But don't bear this alone. The village—us—are with you."
"Of course, I'll count on you."
No clear answer, but a path forward. I'll keep going. My old party's gone, but I have new allies here.
"By the way, you're impressive," I add. "My priest friend's just a drunk monk."
"Compared to Heiter, I'm nothing," the chief laughs, ignoring my last jab.
I think of that self-proclaimed priest, probably causing trouble in the Holy Capital. He could learn from the chief. I thank him again and leave, the sky feeling clearer than usual.
"I'm back—"
Evening's fallen by the time I return to the inn. Helping the village ate up the day. I meant to check the fields, but no chance. Not sure if Aura worked, either. I take a deep breath and enter—
"Welcome back, Himmel. You're late."
Her voice, unexpected, stops me cold.
"—"
I freeze. It's like a dream. Her appearance is… bizarre.
She's in an apron—hilariously ill-suited, even for someone like me who praises women's outfits. Behind her, the kitchen's a disaster, unrecognizable. On the table sits a charred lump—supposedly food.
"…No good," she sighs, shrugging. "It didn't fix anything. That kid's full of nonsense."
I'm stunned, unable to process.
"…Aura, what's this?" I ask.
"Oh, this? The kid said it'd make you normal again, so I tried. Total waste, though."
She spills the truth without hesitation. The kid—Stroh, probably—wanted us to "make up," as the chief said. Dinner prep is very Stroh, but Aura's ruined it and owns it shamelessly. More importantly—
"You okay, Himmel?" she asks.
She doesn't realize why I'm shocked. Was it Stroh's idea, or unconscious? Asking would ruin it.
"Nah, just very you," I say. "Did you actually go to work?"
"Shut up, I did!" she snaps. "Anyway—"
I tease her as she fires back, the usual rhythm. My doubts are gone. Our one-sided fight ends with my one-sided reconciliation. She's oblivious, but that's fine. She's changing, even if not in a human way.
If we ever become friends, maybe she and I—
Dreaming of that distant future, I bite into the charred Luf omelet—my favorite.