"Look at this crowd, huh?" Himmel says, grinning as if it's all his doing.
His quick shift from groveling on the floor earlier to this smugness makes me question if it's the same person. But I keep quiet. The scene before me is far more striking.
A throng of people I've never seen. It's like the whole village is throwing a festival. Not entirely wrong, but it's different—strangers mingle with villagers, and unfamiliar stalls line the square.
"Today's one of the few times a year traveling merchants come," Himmel explains. "I wanted you to join in."
"Then just say so," I reply.
"Thought it'd be more fun to surprise you. Looks like it worked!"
"Your antics surprised me more," I say dryly.
He's smug, thinking his plan worked, but his earlier behavior was the real shock. My patience, already thin, is gone—or maybe it's more like a century's worth of affection cooling, as human books put it. Their writings aren't half bad.
"Where's Stroh?" I ask. "He's gone."
"Ran off already," Himmel says. "To kids, this is like a festival."
Stroh, who came with us, is nowhere in sight. Human kids can't sit still. It's a wonder they survive to adulthood—easy prey for monsters if you blink.
We wander the market, aimless. The energy—vibrant, unlike the village's usual calm—stirs me. Merchants call out, drawing villagers like insects to nectar. Stalls brim with exotic fruits, vegetables, clothes, antiques—treasures to humans, meaningless to a demon like me. Intriguing, sure, but nothing to fuss over. Or so I thought—
"…"
My eyes catch on something, just for a moment.
"See something you like?" Himmel asks, noticing instantly.
His intuition is terrifyingly sharp.
"…It's nothing," I say.
"No way. Let's see… Got it!" He turns to the stall owner. "Mind if we look at these books?"
"Sure thing!" the owner replies.
"Thanks!"
"Hey—!?" I protest.
Too late. Himmel dives into the books, ignoring my objection. Is this action-hero nonsense because he's a Hero or just him? Probably the latter. He's unstoppable, rummaging like a treasure hunter. Yes, the books caught my eye, but why's he digging in? I'm the one who should look—it's meaningless otherwise. Stunned, I watch. Minutes later—
"Here we go," he says casually, arms full of books. "Picked some you'd like. What do you think?"
"How… how do you know that!?" I blurt, shocked.
"What? We've lived together for six months. Obvious, right?"
His nonchalance floors me. This isn't normal. Grimoires, I get—he forced me to read those. But these? Books on the Goddess, laws, trials—some I've read, but he's chosen ones I haven't. How closely is he watching me? Even as a demon, I know this isn't ordinary.
"So… I don't know anything about you," I admit.
"Not true," he says, grinning. "But I'll work harder so you know me better."
My confession—meant to sting—somehow delights him. I take it back: I'll never understand him, not in a century. Then—
"A demon!?" a voice yells, sharp with fear. "Why's it here!?"
The nostalgic cry of human terror echoes through the market.
"It's really a demon! Look at those horns!"
"Why's it in a village!? Anyone here can fight!?"
The panic spreads like wildfire. Merchants recoil, fear and disgust in their eyes. I watch, detached. This is normal. My life here is the anomaly. My mistake was forgetting to hide my horns under a hood—I've gotten too comfortable, almost forgetting I'm a demon.
(Idiot.)
I mock myself. I'm no better than Himmel. The humans' fear and hatred wash over me—a demon's daily life. I should feel nothing, yet… a faint, unfamiliar sensation stirs. I don't know what it is. Before I can dwell, I start to leave—
"It's okay, merchants," a familiar villager says. "Aura won't attack. She's a good demon."
"Right, don't worry," another adds. "She's been here six months. First-timers get spooked, huh?"
"Of course," a third chimes in. "The Hero's with her, so it's fine. Right, Hero?"
Villagers calm the crowd. I stare, dumbfounded. The merchants are right to fear me—the villagers are the strange ones. The merchants still look wary, confused. Why are the villagers defending me? How foolish are they, tamed by just six months of coexistence? Why—
"Yep, I vouch for her as a Hero," Himmel says, patting my head. "Aura's one of us."
I freeze, letting him. Merchants and villagers watch, some with bemused warmth. The tension dissolves.
"Stop petting me," I mutter. "It's annoying."
"Not to your liking?" he teases.
Snapping out of it, I swat his hand away—too late. The crowd's gaze softens, the earlier panic gone. If this was his plan, he's a mastermind. But no, it's probably unconscious. I know that much about him.
"Sorry," he says. "As an apology, these books are on me."
"Is that okay?" a villager asks. "Don't strain your wallet."
"No worries," Himmel brags. "I'm a Hero—got plenty of royal rewards, even if I'm jobless."
"You're still sore about that, huh?" I say.
He's shameless, flaunting his unemployment and wealth. The market's back to normal. This must be why he's a Hero—not like the Demon King, but a human pinnacle. Not that it changes how I see him.
What follows is a whirlwind. I'm dragged to exotic food stalls, forced to buy a corset dress for some reason, and roped into showing off new folk magic when kids beg Himmel for sword tricks.
"Fun, right?" he says, beaming. "Nice change of pace."
"More like a hassle," I grumble.
He's thrilled; I'm exhausted. That this only happens a few times a year is my only solace—any more, and I'd collapse. I just want to rest. Then Himmel stops abruptly. We've seen everything—what now?
"…What is it?" I ask.
His gaze fixes on a small stall with human accessories—jewelry, trinkets. Rare in this village, but irrelevant to us. Yet—
He stares, serious, unlike his usual self. Lost in thought, he doesn't notice me. What's wrong?
"…You okay?" I ask.
"Oh… yeah," he says, snapping back. "Since you humored me today, I'll get you a gift. Pick one!"
"What? Why? You already got me books—I don't need—"
"No arguing! I want to. Wait here, I'll choose!"
Ignoring me, he dashes to the stall. I don't care for accessories—unless they're magical, they're just trinkets, meaningless to demons. I got the books I wanted. But I can't stop him, so I wait.
It's agonizingly long—the longest part of the day. He's making faces, agonizing over choices, bewildering the stall owner. It's practically harassment. I stand there, restless, until—
"Aura."
Something's placed around my neck. A silver necklace with a floral design—nothing special.
"Looks good on you," he says, grinning like a kid, carefree.
"Great," I say flatly.
His smile makes me swallow my complaints about waiting. Fine, if it keeps him happy, it's a small price. Then—
"Hero, a moment?" a villager calls. "The merchants want to greet you."
"Got it," he says. "Aura, head back without me. Might take a while."
"Fine," I reply.
His playful air shifts to Hero mode as he heads off. Probably some human diplomacy nonsense—tedious. I don't care, but I almost pity him for it.
Left alone, I start home. It was a storm of a day. I glance at the necklace glinting on my chest. Just a metal lump. Why did he take so long choosing?
"Hey, big sis!" a voice calls. "You're here too?"
Not Stroh—Lily, the other kid who pesters me.
"Lily, huh? What're you doing?" I ask.
"Shopping with Mom," she says. "Where's the Hero?"
"With the merchants," I say. "Won't be back for a while."
"Oh," she says, shyly. Different from Stroh—maybe her personality, maybe her gender. Still, both steal my time.
"…What's that, big sis?" she asks, eyeing my necklace.
"This? Something off about it?"
"No, it suits you! It's a pretty flower accessory."
"Flower, huh? They're all the same to me."
Lily's eyes sparkle as I shrug. Flowers are indistinguishable to me—maybe harder than humans to tell apart. Colors, maybe, but this silver trinket lacks even that. Still—
"They're not the same!" Lily insists. "Flowers have differences! They have flower languages—meanings when you give them to someone!"
"Really?" I say. "You're a flower expert, huh?"
Her shyness vanishes as she rants. Right—she loves flowers, always begging for my flower field spell. But something piques me.
"So… what flower is this?" I ask.
"Um… probably freesia," she says. "But… sorry, I don't know its flower language…"
"Freesia, huh?"
"Maybe the chief knows! He has lots of books—I borrowed a flower one before."
"Hm…"
Lily's apologetic, but I got something. Freesia. I doubt Himmel thought that far, but then I recall—he's a flower nerd too. He called the flower field spell his favorite. He might know flower languages. That explains his agonizing at the stall—probably planning to tease me, knowing I'm clueless.
"Chief, I'm coming in," I say, knocking before entering his house.
I parted with Lily and came straight here. Himmel won't be back soon—perfect chance to investigate and turn the tables on him.
"Oh, Aura," the chief says, shuffling out. "Thought you'd be at the market."
"Just got back," I reply. "I need to ask something."
"Ask away…"
This house is my second home in the village—perfect for alone time, reading, borrowing books. A multi-purpose haven. But today's different.
"I want to know the flower language of freesia," I say, showing the necklace.
He's old but knowledgeable; Lily's tip should be right.
"Hm… bought at the market?" he asks.
"Yeah, Himmel gave it to me. Why?"
"I see…"
He falls silent, lost in thought. Is he senile?
"…Sorry, I don't know flower languages," he says. "But there's a plant encyclopedia in the study's back shelf. Can you check yourself?"
"Me?"
"Yes, I've got errands. Use the study as usual. Excuse me."
Before I can protest, he's gone, leaving me alone. For someone I visit so often, he's awfully trusting. But he was off—usually he'd help me look. Urgent business? Odd, but I head to the study. Gotta hurry before Himmel returns.
"There it is…"
The plant encyclopedia is right where he said, packed with flower and plant info. Freesia's in there, as expected. I find it easily, but—
"Freesia… an iris family bulb… flower language…"
My eyes widen. I'm stunned. Six months ago, Himmel spared me—a demon—and spouted some nonsense.
"…What an idiot."
He hasn't given up on that foolish dream, one even human kids wouldn't believe. He thinks it'll come true. Gifting me this, knowing I don't understand its meaning—what a jerk.
I close the book and shove it deep into the shelf. If I took it home, he'd never let me live it down.
Aura heads home, as if nothing happened. But the silver freesia—flower of affection—gleams on her chest.