"Laundry goes here?" Eisen asks.
"Yeah," I say. "I'll dry it with magic later, so leave it."
I reply offhandedly as Eisen hefts a basket of laundry. He's back from washing at the river—his physical stamina is unreal. It's been a week, but he's an outlier, even among his party. Physically, not mentally. No point overthinking—he's just built that way. Still, him handling laundry helps. Since arriving, the load's doubled for four, and it keeps growing. Why? Never mind. With washing done, I'll dry it with magic—same as always.
"You always do this?" he asks.
"Yep," I say. "Thanks to someone. What a nuisance. Work, right?"
Eisen watches, intrigued, as I dry clothes with magic. Is it that rare? Civilian magic's human, isn't it? So's "work"—a human concept demons lack. Dwarves might have different customs, though.
"What's Himmel like in the village?" he asks. "You do all the chores?"
"He was called jobless, a freeloader," I say. "Now he's doing… something. Helping people's his job, I guess."
I speak my mind. Himmel was mocked as a leech, but it spurred him. His "work" varies—helping others, often for free. Typical hero nonsense. Are all heroes like that?
"Sounds right," Eisen says. "He always took detours on our journey."
"Yeah," I say. "But his 'atonement' drags me into it. Annoying."
His party got roped in too, no surprise. Add Heiter's hangovers and that elf's oversleeping—how'd Eisen endure a decade? I'm no better off. I might face worse detours, for reasons I can't grasp.
"Atonement?" he says. "Who told you that?"
"Who else?" I say. "That rotten priest. You knew, right?"
"So Heiter told you that much," he says.
"Yeah," I say. "Unprompted, while drunk. Figures."
What's surprising? Eisen's deep in thought. Did Heiter spill too much? Drunk as he was, it's possible. I can't tell what's too much, though.
"But why does that mean family roleplay for me and Linie?" I say. "Himmel dodged my questions. You know, Eisen?"
I ask on a whim—Himmel's incomprehensible push for "mother" and "family." He evaded me; he's not answering. Eisen might know. But—
"No idea," he says. "How's Himmel at home? Happy?"
"Obviously," I say. "Can't you tell?"
"If you say so, it's true," he says. "He's probably thrilled, like he's got a family."
"Family?" I say. "Him and me? He said friends, not that?"
"Friends, huh," he says. "Very him. Maybe, but living together might've changed things."
His answer veers off, adding questions, not answers. Not just me and Linie—Himmel wants us as family? Nonsense. Friends was bad enough. Why's he thrilled? It's all incomprehensible.
"Why's he doing this?" I say. "If he wants family, he's got his precious mother, right?"
If it's about atonement, why me? He should do it with her.
"…He lost his parents young," Eisen says. "Grew up in an orphanage. Probably craves family."
So his beloved mother's gone. Good call asking Eisen—Himmel wouldn't want this discussed. Like keepsakes, it's touchy for humans. Still, it's absurd. He lectured me on family while clueless himself?
"So he wants me as his mother?" I say. "If he wants family, make that elf do it."
"You know about her too?" he says. "Her as a mother? Hard to picture."
"What's her deal with you lot?" I say.
Heiter called her cold; Eisen says she's no mother. How's she treated? Family's mates and kids, right? Himmel loves her—let her play family. He asked if I liked him to confirm that, yet it's all contradictory.
"Sorry, but humor him," Eisen says. "He's pushy."
"No need to tell me," I say. "I'm stuck obeying. It's an endurance game till he's bored."
"…Right," he says. "Tough when you return to the village."
That's it—an endurance game, a deception. What's tough about the village? No matter. My goal's escaping the hero, same as Linie.
I end the fruitless talk and head to an open area—my recent routine. The usual scene unfolds.
"Hold it shorter," Himmel says. "Our sizes differ, Linie. Copying me exactly wastes movement. Smaller swings."
"Like this?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says. "Quick learner. Remember that move."
"Got it," she says.
Himmel coaches Linie, who swings a wooden sword, curious but obedient. Their daily master-disciple routine—self-proclaimed master and reluctant pupil.
"You two are late," Himmel says. "We started already."
"Who do you think you are?" I say. "We finished work while you played."
"Not true," he says. "I'm training Linie. Proper work, right, Linie?"
"Yeah," she says.
"You guys…" I say.
I'm baffled—Himmel's taming Linie. Village heartthrob, works on demon kids too? She's just easy to fool. Like kids bonding. He was jealous of her mimicking Eisen, so he's teaching her his moves. He even got her to say his name, not "idiot." Tearful effort—use it elsewhere.
"Shoulder okay?" Eisen asks. "No pain?"
"Fine," Linie says.
Eisen's fatherly, unlike Himmel, who pivoted fast—hero-like adaptability.
"Only three days, but she's quick," Himmel says. "My top disciple."
"From 'father' tantrums to this?" I say. "Why top? Planning more disciples?"
"Nah," he says. "Sounds cooler, right, Eisen?"
"Obviously," Eisen says.
"Pointless, then," I say.
The frontliners bond over some obsession—master-disciple, like family but about skill, not blood. Demons teach magic, but not like this. Human customs are baffling.
"You okay with this?" I say. "She started mimicking you."
"Fine," Eisen says. "My moves and weapon don't suit her. Himmel's swordplay fits."
"Hm," I say. "If you say so."
I don't get warriors, but he's probably right. Lucky for Linie—mimicking Eisen's moves might've been bad. Ironic.
"She's a girl," Eisen says. "Can't drill warrior teachings into her."
"Warrior teachings?" I say.
"Get up no matter how many times you fall," he says. "Never stay down. That's a warrior's way. Even for a demon, I can't do that to her."
"…Only you can," I say. "Brain made of muscle?"
Warriors are so unlike us. Only Eisen and that old man could do that. No one else—humans least of all—could be his disciple.
"She'll live with you," he says. "Himmel's better for her."
"So, roleplay continues," I say. "He really thinks mimicking makes it real?"
Himmel's bleak reality hits—village life means more roleplay, now with Linie. A joke? I recall his words—can demons become family?
"What's that?" Eisen asks.
"Rambling," I say. "Training a demon? You're heroes, aren't you?"
"He's the leader," he says. "Coming from a demon, that's convincing."
"Right back at you," I say. "Rotten priest's friend, alright."
His amused retort mirrors Heiter. No doubt that elf's my nemesis too.
"Hey, Eisen!" Himmel calls. "Help with sparring practice."
"Father, come," Linie says.
"Got it," Eisen says. "Hit me hard. I'll take it."
"…Seriously?" I say. "Use a tree."
Eisen rolls up his sleeves, ready to take Linie's sword with his body. Insane. Even for a kid, it's mad. Himmel's no better, acting like it's normal.
Thus begins a new routine, sparked by Linie—
"Mother, what's wrong?" Linie asks.
"Nothing," I say. "And… fine."
She calls me "mother" again. I start to argue but give up. Countless times, it's pointless. I don't accept it, but correcting her wastes time. Let her be—harmless enough.
(Been a while since we were alone…)
It's just me and Linie. After training, the muscleheads went foraging. Linie'd be in the way, so I'm stuck with her. How do I handle her?
"I just want to survive."
Her demonic truth, drawn by my magic. No lie—she's deceiving Himmel's group, acting like a human kid, a disciple. Same with me. Pointless for a demon—she's too young to know or just follows my mana. She'd be a minion, but she's useless now. Himmel wouldn't allow it. What to do?
She stares with mana-reading eyes—at my chest, no, my silver accessory.
"…Want this?" I say.
"Yeah," she nods.
She's always fixated on it—my robe, bag, my things. Himmel said kids want everything—human kids. Demons too? Or my stuff as a fellow demon?
"…Fine," I say. "You can borrow it."
I take it off and place it on her neck, like Himmel did. Not because he said to, but no reason to refuse. It's mine, but just metal decor—worthless.
She holds and stares at it, likely clueless. I see myself in her—before I knew freesia's meaning, gifts, a human concept. Mimicking it to understand was pointless. Nothing felt.
(Atonement's better than this…)
I watch Linie run around, bored of the accessory, and conclude. Atonement—Himmel's human concept. I've studied it this year—books, human reactions. I don't get why, but I grasp trials, laws, sin, punishment, fairness, order. I owe Himmel no atonement, but he thinks it's his sin. Loves pointless things. Eisen called it human strength—more like a flaw.
(Family, gifts…)
Himmel's new concepts here. Unlike atonement, books and Eisen don't help. I can't feel it. Experience is needed, but this is the result. No surprise—I expected nothing.
Linie trips, overzealous. I watch absently.
"…It hurts," she says.
"What're you doing?" I say.
She glares, like it's my fault. Nonsense—she ran, fell, and blames me? She stands as if nothing happened. Then I realize—she expected me to pick her up, like a mother would. Foolish. We're demons, not humans. Doesn't she know?
I approach to check. No injuries, but she's muddy from training—body and clothes. I recall Eisen's words. It's annoying, but worth trying.
"You're filthy," I say. "Follow me."
"Where?" she asks.
"Bath," I say. "Your shoulder's fine, right?"
She blinks, clueless. I head to the river—to try what I couldn't before.
"Cold," she says.
"Deal with it," I say.
I ignore her complaints, washing her. Her shoulder's healed—demon resilience and Eisen's care. In the shallow river, I clean her methodically, both of us bare to avoid wetting clothes. More laundry's pointless. She resists, splashing me—annoying. Why do human mothers bother?
(What's the point? Linie's the only one gaining…)
I finish washing her—bathing, not laundry—and dry her long hair with a towel. She's given up or tired, letting me. I hoped experience would reveal something—nothing. Her mimicry has purpose; my roleplay doesn't. Swords and bathing aren't comparable.
Linie gains; I don't. Why do mothers do this?
I compare our bodies—human-like, but demonic. Different instincts, values. No wonder I don't get it. Why's Himmel doing this? Why am I?
"Father, Himmel," Linie says, pointing.
"Huh?" I say.
I follow her gaze—Himmel, frozen, eyes wide, like he's seen the impossible. Only difference: Linie's beside me, Eisen beside him.
"…How long you staring?" I say.
"N-no!" Himmel says. "We were fishing, not peeking—agh!"
"Washing, huh," Eisen says. "Sorry, didn't notice."
"Peeking?" Linie says.
"No, Linie!" Himmel says. "Eisen, was that necessary?"
"Stay down," Eisen says.
Himmel, staring, is slammed headfirst into the ground by Eisen, lightning-fast. I brace; Eisen's eyes are closed. Linie mimics, clueless. Eisen's pinning him, fearing he'll sink into the earth. Warrior strength.
"Don't care," I say. "I'm used to it. Too much for our pure hero?"
"…Himmel?" Eisen says.
"It was an accident—!" Himmel says.
"Right," I say. "He only gets excited flipping that elf's skirt. Forgot."
"Sinful man," Eisen says.
"Just kill me," Himmel says.
"Pervert?" Linie says.
Eisen hauls the lifeless hero away, no mercy. Linie watches, curious. Even demons know he's bad for education. I release my gripped clothes and dress Linie—
"Welcome back," Himmel says. "Dinner's ready."
"Thanks," I say. "Wash your face—still got dirt."
A side note—atonement or not, Himmel's cooking unasked. Obvious guilt. Dirt's still on his face. Eisen quietly helps with chores. Seeing a woman's body's like Azeliese to men? Seduction equals my magic? Insulting.
"Aura washed you, huh?" Eisen says. "Nice."
"Yeah," Linie says. "Washed."
"…Never again," I say.
Eisen checks Linie; her words annoy me. True, but still grating. I did it myself, but no more, even if asked.
"…? Aura, where's your accessory?" Himmel asks. "Took it off?"
Nosy guy—misses nothing. Why not earlier?
"…Shut up," I say. "Loaned it to Linie, as you wanted. Happy?"
I snap back. Linie didn't ask, but she wanted it—no complaints. He called me cold. My mistake—not just the accessory. Mimicking humans is for deception, not this. It's betraying my demonic nature. Contradictory. I scoff, but—
"She's not wearing it…" Himmel says.
"What?" I say. "I put it on when I dressed her…"
Shock wipes my thoughts. I stare at Linie's chest—nothing. It was there.
"…Gone," she says.
Matter-of-fact, demonic. Aura, the demon, stands stunned—
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