"…Wake up."
A voice calls me, my consciousness hazy. Something bad happened, didn't it? What was it? Awareness creeps in—I'm still in bed. I stirred a few times but fell back asleep. Memories trickle back. What happened yesterday?
"Wake up."
A small, unfamiliar voice shakes me. Someone's gently trying to wake me—not Aura. She'd be harsher, and lately, she barely touches me. It's Linie, coming to rouse me. Yesterday's "father" comment hit hard, but I can't wallow. Thinking I'd outshine Eisen as her "father" was arrogant. I have my role with her—I need to find it. With renewed resolve, I'm about to wake refreshed when—
"Wake up, idiot."
"I'm not an idiot—!?"
Himmel faces the worst wake-up of his life—
"You're finally up, Himmel," I say. "Breakfast's over."
"It doesn't matter!" he says. "What did you make Linie say? That was the worst wake-up ever!"
I'm baffled by Himmel's whining, bedhead untouched, clearly rattled. Linie's unfazed, staring blankly, not grasping the situation. It's like having two kids. If Heiter were here, it'd be three—unthinkable.
"You slept in forever," I say. "And you are an idiot, aren't you?"
"N-no!" he says. "I might be, but that's not the point! I told you kids mimic everything. If you call me that, Linie—"
"Idiot," she says.
"See!?" he says. "Stop it!"
"Don't care," I say.
Himmel's desperate over nonsense. I just ordered Linie to wake him since he was sulking (Eisen's words). "Idiot" was a side effect—though it worked perfectly.
"Mother, I woke him," Linie says.
"Good job," I say. "But I'm not your mother."
She reports her task, but that part doesn't change. Himmel wants this family charade, but it's meaningless. I asked Eisen about mothers and family—still incomprehensible. Wasting time like this is pointless. We need a demonic framework.
"…? Where's Father?" Linie asks.
"No idea," I say. "He left after breakfast. Ask that idiot over there."
Linie ignores my thoughts, seeking Eisen—her "father" now, apparently. A blow to Himmel, unexpected but fitting.
"Idiot, where's Father?" Linie says.
"I'm not an idiot!" he says. "I'm Himmel! H-I-M-M-E-L!"
"Too loud this early…" I say.
"Yeah," Linie says.
"What is this nightmare?" Himmel says.
The hero despairs in his endless nightmare—mother, father, idiot. That's Linie's logic. Not entirely wrong.
"Give it up," I say. "Her hierarchy won't change. Were you that desperate to be her father?"
"N-no!" he says. "Just… a little wish. I wanted her to warm up to me!"
He spills his pathetic heart—right in front of her. Shameless. Her not understanding is his only saving grace.
"Too bad," I say. "You said Eisen's the father. No way you win."
"That's true, but…" he says. "You're calling Eisen by name now, Aura."
"So?" I say. "Problem?"
"Nope," he says.
I tilt my head at his pointless question. Calling Eisen by name's just easier—no deeper meaning. He's hung up on trivialities, as always. Then—
"…Stop it, annoying," I say.
Linie clings to me, worse than before. Eisen's influence? She's not just clinging—she wants to be held, climbs my back, grabs my accessory and robe. What's this harassment?
"She's curious about your accessory," Himmel says. "Kids want everything. Let her borrow it."
"No way," I say. "It's mine. Why should I?"
"Cold mother, huh, Linie?" he says.
"Yeah," she says.
"You…" I say.
Himmel taunts me, roping in Linie—unheroic pettiness. Exasperated, a new day begins—
"There it is," Himmel says.
Following him, I look where he points. He's guiding us to Eisen's supposed spot. He's stayed here before, knowing Eisen's haunts. I wasn't interested, but Linie's restless search for Eisen and Himmel's annoying insistence left me no choice. Letting them go alone was tempting, but this morning's chaos made it clear that'd be a mess. Joining was less hassle. Then—
The ground shakes like an earthquake.
Birds scatter, a roar echoing. The closer we get to Eisen, the worse it grows.
(What's that…)
At an open clearing, I'm stunned. A massive cliff looms, endless, unnatural—like it was carved into the forest. Flashes and dust rise with a volcanic roar. Not a natural disaster—a man-made one.
"You guys," Eisen says.
The culprit approaches, axe on shoulder, calm, not a drop of sweat. Impossible. My eyes aren't lying—he was swinging that axe. How'd this happen?
"Morning, Eisen," Himmel says. "Still doing your routine?"
"Warriors do," Eisen says.
Himmel chats cheerfully, Eisen unfazed, while I stand frozen. They're insane. Am I the odd one? What's a warrior?
"Your routine?" I say.
"Look," Himmel says. "Eisen trains here daily. See the marks?"
The unwanted truth: Eisen's training caused this. Fine—warriors swing axes, make cliffs or valleys. No point thinking deeper. Humans and demons don't mix.
"Got it… it's incomprehensible," I say. "But these ground holes? Not from your axe."
I shift from the cliff to countless ground craters—not axe marks, but like something fell.
"My jumps from the cliff," Eisen says. "Warm-up to check my body."
"Nostalgic," Himmel says. "Heiter freaked out every time. Good memories."
I'm speechless. Eisen's warm-up—jumping off cliffs. Fine—warriors do that. Himmel said he's fine with any fall. No issue. I get Heiter's reaction—he's human. What'd that elf think? Probably that warriors are like this.
"…? Linie, what's wrong?" I say.
She's frozen, eyes wide—not the human-mimicking child anymore. I know what this means.
(Like before… it's her magic.)
It's Linie's demonic side—not deception, but a mage's drive. Like when she reached for Eisen's axe.
"Need the bathroom?" Himmel says.
"Her wounds acting up?" Eisen says.
They worry for different reasons. Obvious who's who. No wonder he's called an idiot.
"…I want to see more," Linie says.
No pretense—her raw desire.
"Linie asking for something?" Himmel says. "Eisen, how about a mock battle?"
"Why?" Eisen says.
"She wants to see," Himmel says. "I'm rusty—need to sharpen up."
"Fair," Eisen says. "I want to move seriously too."
"Deal," Himmel says.
Himmel's sparked by Linie's request—rare for her. I recall something similar with me. He's sharp about this. Eisen agrees, likely routine for their travels. But I soon learn—
Their daily life is our nightmare.
It's instant. "Stay back, it's dangerous," they say. I obey, and Himmel vanishes—too fast to see, like wind. My old arm scar aches. His sword swings at Eisen—not a mock battle's pace or power. It'd cleave my neck instantly.
Eisen blocks it, unharmed.
"…What?" I say.
Am I seeing right? Himmel's sword—blocked, not by the axe, but Eisen's body. Metal clangs, sparks fly. Impossible. Eisen counters, his axe shattering the ground. Himmel dodges by a hair, striking again. Eisen parries with his body, countering. Himmel weaves, slashing.
I'm stunned. What am I seeing? A bad dream? But the wind, the dust—it's real. My foolishness hits—thinking my undead army could beat them. Not just Himmel—Azeliese won't work on Eisen, humanity's strongest warrior. No way I could subjugate him.
(Even if I did… I can't cut that muscle freak's neck.)
Himmel's sword couldn't. Is he even alive?
Facing their absurdity, Aura seriously considers changing her title from "Guillotine" to "The Scales"—
"Phew," Himmel says. "Still sharp, Eisen."
"You too," Eisen says. "Worried you'd gone soft this year, but you're fine."
That world-shattering scene was just their daily routine. A nightmare.
"You okay, Aura?" Himmel says. "You look pale."
"Just… confirmed you're monsters," I say.
I was naive to think I could fight them alone. Even multiple great demons might lose. The Southern Hero crushed half the Seven Sages, even Schlacht. My thinking was shallow. Facing all four at once—out of the question. Like that elf, demons need ambushes. Realizing this justifies my subjugation.
Linie stumbles toward Eisen—or his axe.
"What?" Eisen says. "This is dangerous."
"She wants it?" Himmel says.
They misunderstand. They can't sense mana or think like demons.
"No," I say. "You wouldn't get it. She wants to use magic."
Linie's instinct—craving her magic.
I hand her a stick—manageable for her. Her mana shifts, eyes seeing something else—likely mana flows. She mimics perfectly—Eisen's exact movements.
"That's… Eisen's moves?" Himmel says.
"She's copying—mimicking—his movements," I say. "She's good at reading mana flows."
Her magic: mimicking moves through mana. A warrior's magic for a mage—frontline, in human terms. She could be useful when grown.
Relishing her magic, Linie repeats the moves. Was I like that? I don't recall. Eisen watches, stopping her for her shoulder wound. That's a father—family. So annoying.
"Alright," Himmel says. "What about my moves? You saw them."
"Didn't," Linie says. "Just Father."
Himmel's crushed—not even named, just "idiot." Fair—Linie likely saw Eisen before, drawn to his axe and calling him "father." No point telling him.
"…I see," Himmel says, smiling. "Eisen's really her father."
"…? Expected you to sulk," I say.
"Nah," he says. "I'm relieved her magic's not like yours."
"Then release me," I say. "Use her instead."
"Can't," he says. "Promised to look after you till I die."
"You idiot," I say.
He shrugs off my jab, citing that old audience promise. A joke—better be. He's enjoying this. What an idiot. But the "father" fight's over. Small win.
That's the day's end—Linie's magic revealed, her place set.
A week later, Linie's mimicking Himmel, guided by the idiot hero—
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