“First period at sixteen—that’s severe malnutrition,” Eli thought, worry settling like frost, as he watched the warg mount sprawl and groom its shaggy coat.
Liqianyu gave a few instructions, then flew back to her own wagon, like a sparrow vanishing into dusk.
Everyone stayed to rest in place; not far off lay the Demon Bear’s camp, a dark knot that decided if they’d leave these borderlands.
Eli shook his head, lifted the curtain with a swish, and slid his head inside like a cautious fox.
Edlyn was bent over a chair; pain and blood loss had washed her face pale as paper.
She glanced at the reddened cotton, bit her lip, and her breath fluttered like a moth.
When had she, the great Demon King Pandora, ever suffered such humiliation, like thorns under the skin?
The pain rose from within to without, a slow fire, and as a first‑timer she tasted a thread of despair.
A storm in her chest, yet she took the clean cloth and muttered, “What did Miss Li say again,” like a student at a slate.
Confusion misted her eyes; she thought a moment, slipped off her trousers, wiped gently, and whispered, “Mm… it feels… strange,” like touching cold rain.
She drew a fresh strip of cotton; about to press it, she felt a ripple and turned to the door like a startled deer.
A long‑haired man poked his head in; he froze at her bare lower body like a struck statue, then snapped the curtain shut.
In an instant, stormclouds of feeling smothered Edlyn; she locked up where she sat, like ice on a pond.
Her heart flipped like waves in monsoon—anger, shame, killing intent, even a spark of self‑destruction.
In the end it all sank into wounded grievance; tears slid from her eyes like dew, and she wiped them away in a hurry.
She was the Demon King; what was there to cry about, just a glance, like an arrow that only grazed.
Back when she fought mages, her clothes burned off often, like ash in wind, didn’t they?
Yet somehow a few more tears dropped, like beads from a cut string.
Eli had braced with both hands on his head for Edlyn’s beating, waiting for pain like thunder, yet none came for a long breath.
He peeked inside again; the girl was dressed, sitting to one side, wiping tears like a child in rain.
His heart tightened like a fist; no jokes now—this was real trouble, like a crack in ice.
If she’d hit him, fine as a quick lash; but silence and tears meant doom, like a slow poison.
He slapped himself in secret, hurried forward, and doggedly offered a handkerchief like a peace flag.
Edlyn ignored him, scooted a little, and sat on the other side like a wary cat.
Eli blurted, “Edlyn‑chan, I’m sorry, really sorry, please forgive me,” the words tumbling like pebbles.
Edlyn frowned, anger stinging like chili, and turned her head away like closing a door.
“Hero… please step out for a bit; my mood’s a storm,” she said, her voice flat as winter water.
“I—” he started, the syllable hanging like a leaf.
“Out,” she said, a single knife of sound.
“Edlyn‑chan,” he tried again, a thread like smoke.
“Out!” she snapped, like a whip.
“Hear me out!” he pleaded, like hands reaching through bars.
“Out!” Edlyn turned, her eyes red and brimming like a pond in rain, a small figure ready to drown at the slightest shake.
“How many times do I have to say it,” she asked, the words falling like stones.
Eli’s heart shivered like a plucked string; he grit his teeth, her look burned into him like a brand, and he nodded, backing out slowly.
He didn’t leave; he stood guard before the wagon with a cold face, thoughts circling like crows.
Liqianyu led Angela over, her expression puzzled like a tilted head. “What happened to you,” she asked, voice light as wind.
Eli managed a bloodless smile like chalk. “Nothing.” He glanced at Angela. “Angela‑chan, go keep your sister company,” he said, like sending a lantern.
Angela tilted her head, puzzled like a sparrow. “Huh? What’s wrong with big sis,” she asked, eyes round as moons.
Liqianyu blinked like a cat. “Right. Little one, go check on your sister,” she said, waving like a reed.
“Okay,” she nodded, and climbed into the wagon like a kitten.
Liqianyu sat beside Eli, nudged him with an elbow like a sly poke, and grinned.
“What’s up,” she teased, her voice honey‑sweet like late tea.
“You look like a different man,” she added, the joke curling like smoke.
“Nothing,” he said, a flat stone on water.
Liqianyu shrugged like a loose cloak; if Eli wouldn’t talk, she wouldn’t ask, for the space between them wasn’t even friendship, just two boats passing.
Winter made night fall fast like a dropped curtain.
Liqianyu took Angela back to the old camp to sleep, and the girl shot Eli a strange look like a question mark.
Her sister hadn’t spared her a word, like a door left shut; what had Uncle Eli done, like a culprit with soot on his hands.
Eli leaned against the wagon’s front, rolling flame between his fingers like a firefly.
He thought for a long time, thoughts spilling like a river over stones.
Would Edlyn treat him like a stranger in days to come, like brown leaves in separate streams?
Would she lean into someone else’s arms, like a bird to another branch, and banter sweetly with someone else, like sugar melting on another tongue.
He couldn’t accept it, like a bone that wouldn’t swallow; yet what if it all came true, like a script written in ink.
At the last memory of her face, he jolted like struck metal, yanked the curtain open, and stepped inside.
The girl was curled up on the seat like a shrimp, her pale little face streaked with tear‑trails like silver threads.
At the sound she looked up, cold as ice, and her gaze cut like glass.
“Didn’t I tell you to get out; why are you coming in,” she asked, disgust flashing like a knife.
Eli said nothing; he sensed something wrong, a crooked note like sand in tea.
He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms like catching a falling cloak.
She slapped him once, tried to stand and fight, then froze and sat again like a stiff reed.
He held her as warm white light pooled in his hand like milk; he set it on her belly and murmured, “It still hurts, huh,” like soft rain.
She didn’t answer, yet his power eased her pain like heat thawing frost.
Eli tightened his hold and rested his chin on her brow like a roof.
“Sorry I didn’t help you right away.”
“Sorry about the afternoon.”
“I’m really sorry,” he said, words low as embers.
She gave no answer, yet the stiffness in her body loosened like a knot.
“Hey… forgive me, okay? I won’t dare do it again,” he said, his tone a willow branch.
She still stayed silent, and Eli didn’t press, letting the quiet sit like snow.
Power from Eli’s source warmed her belly, whose ache the cold had sharpened like a knife.
She rubbed her cheek lightly against his shirt like a kitten.
The pain had tormented her all day like gnats, and now rest was the right tea.
As for forgiving the Hero, she’d do it when her mood cleared like a sky after rain.
A tiny smile tugged at her mouth like a thread, and the girl sank into sleep like a stone into water.
For the year since meeting Eli, every night the girl dreamed a very short dream, like a paper lantern lit and gone.
There were two people in that dream, one the current her, and the other the former him, like twin shadows on a wall.
Every day they spoke, words trading like leaves.
The girl smiled at the youth. “I’m doing pretty well,” she said, voice bright as a bell.
The horned youth looked cold as iron. “I don’t see what’s so happy about it,” he said, like winter wind.
“I’ve done what even you couldn’t—made the Hero behave,” the girl said proudly, her chin lifting like a flag.
“You mean,” he asked, his tone a thin blade.
“I should say we mean,” the girl said smugly, her eyes curving like moons.
“So I don’t need to awaken fully for now,” he said, the question coiled like smoke.
“Well, at least don’t let that disgusting temper of yours rub off on me so fast,” she said, words crisp as frost.
“Oh,” he said, a short note like a plucked string.
“Sleep a while longer with peace in your heart,” she said, a lullaby like river hush.
“Heh,” he answered, a dry chuckle like sand.
The first time she saw the youth, he was both rage and cold, like fire sealed in ice.
The first time he saw the girl, she was timid and afraid, like a deer in reeds.
Over time the two seemed to blend, like tea and milk.
The girl grew more impish, and the youth wore more feeling and smiles like dawn light.
But Edlyn didn’t care much, waving it off like smoke, for to her it was only a boring dream.
