I like quiet, like a lake at dusk.

With Ferrel, I’ve quietly watched countless human dawns and dusks, joys and sorrows turning like pages in a windless book. In the hush, beauty slows enough to savor.

Yet there’s such a thing as an eerie quiet, like the pause before a storm.

At the town’s heart, Nivifar went on a massacre, scything through reality to raise a temple. Until we put her down, she killed less than one twentieth of the people.

Less than one twentieth… a delicate number, like a scale that won’t settle. To a politician, that cost against a natural calamity is small. But the dead tie to the living, thread to thread, web to web. Through six people you can reach anyone, they say. That’s the way of bonds, a wide-sky truth.

In practice, it becomes hatred that spreads like wildfire.

I drift, my thoughts fluttering like sparrows. I tell jokes that aren’t funny and toss mild snark. The mood won’t lift. Princess Golia drinks and tears into roast meat as if the world were still. Stini and Nivifar look listless under a hundred heavy eyes.

Cheer up, Nivifar. You’re a one-in-ten-thousand upper retainer, a Bronze Age kind of apotheosis. Pretty strong. No need to envy Stini.

Demonfolk teach human ecology: a course called Resonance. Compassion, empathy, celebration sit under that banner. Hatred is a specialty in Degradation, though the Resonance professor mentions it in passing.

We’re the heroes who saved this city. I say it, my gaze sweeping the crowd like a broom.

After the battle, everyone planned to celebrate us. But when I brought Nivifar in, the air turned to ice. They kept it polite, mouths shut, yet their eyes shouted.

Get out!

Die, murderer!

Why is this monster still alive?

Why did you bring her?

You’re not welcome here!

And countless other faces twisted like knotted roots.

Nivifar flattened a town, raised a ring of craters, reshaped land; her power boomed like thunder and brought fear. She killed many, and grief iced outward to more and more people; her sin bred hatred.

I kept explaining—lying—that Nivifar was controlled by Demonfolk and this wasn’t her will. Civilians don’t grasp philosophical justice. They know their kin died and their property vanished. Nivifar did it, so they hate her, like rain that remembers only the fall.

Only Stini and I were witnesses, and we kept to one story: controlled, not fallen. People still hated as they wished. No one meant to forgive. When city-saving heroes sit with a city-wrecking monster, the stares land like arrows, full of dread and doubt.

So then… merit and sin don’t cancel in common eyes. The balance tilts and sticks.

Sometimes I think it was all Nivifar’s fault, and hating her feels right, a blade with a clean edge.

But if a Hero’s companion is ever controlled by the Demon King, forced into ruin, then rescued—civilians see the same picture as today. The same hatred follows like a shadow in noon sun.

We reaped evil from evil. Does a true Hero reap evil even from good?

I shake my head, a sigh whispering like wind in reeds. For justice, purity and harshness share one blade.

Good thing I’m the villain. I don’t have to nod at injustice born of justice, and my grin sits like a mask.

“Don’t brood. You did nothing wrong… by the book.”

Her last words come small, her tone careless, ash brushed off a sleeve.

Yikes, this Hero has no zeal for justice? I welcome that, like shade on a hot road.

Stini seems to sense my mood. She fills my cup, wine glowing like red dusk, and says:

“Nivifar won’t make mistakes again, right? She’s repented. I think we can trust her.”

She beams at me, goofy as a sunflower.

To trust others, to trust even a betrayer again—thought near madness, kindness near blind light.

Stini looks frivolous, like a streetwise punk. But at her core she’s a Hero guarding the world. In her bones lie warm embers: acceptance, trust, love.

—But that’s also why you lost an ear in your previous life. I drain my cup, silent as a shut door.

Click. Nivifar pushes back her chair and stands, face set like steel, ready to leave.

“Sit.” “Hey, Nivifar.” Stini and I speak at once, twin ropes tugging.

The Demon King’s command to a retainer makes her sit by instinct. I believe the retainer rite shifts rank and soul, and with consent, washes the mind like ink in water.

Conversion demands are harsh, its gains rich. If I order Nivifar to kill now, she won’t hesitate. But she and Vega’s lot are different—not shattered then remade. They keep an ember of humanity.

She still knows honor and shame. Being hated under a hundred eyes pricks like needles.

She won’t betray, but I should keep my girl’s mood right. A cold bed during a tumble is just sad. Being a Demon King isn’t easy; plates must keep spinning.

What a hassle, thorns in the sleeve.

I lean to Nivifar, arm around her shoulder like a cloak, and say:

“This is all your fault.”

Her body, small yet older than her years, trembles like a trapped bird.

“But what do you expect? Kill people’s kin, lovers, friends, and still want smiles? You’ve already seen my truth—darkness. Don’t cling to impossible moonlit wishes.”

“I…”

“If you want to apologize, climb on the table and do it, idiot. If you want to curse, grab a collar and curse, fool. Where’s your hard-faced villain mask? Think a pale pear-blossom look earns forgiveness? Honestly, you’re ugly as sin right now.”

“Andor, that’s too much!”

Stini rises angry and slaps the table; wood rings like a bell. Princess Golia drinks and eats beside us, a pond unruffled.

“Sorry…” I let go and slump onto the table like a fallen cloak. “My words were heavy.”

Fine, then call Vega. I match a bard’s limp drumbeat, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm, dust motes dancing.

It’s our agreed signal, a flare in fog, calling her to save the scene.

I considered teaching the maids Morse. Sadly, the Shadow Realm swells like a storm-tossed sea, and precise pulses won’t carry.

Most importantly, the maids are dumb and can’t learn it, harsh but true like a cracked bell.

As my thoughts wander, space ripples. A child-sized figure drops from midair like a falling star, obeying gravity. She smashes our table. Her maid outfit is blotched with dust, wine, and meat grease.

I send Berenz a Shadow pulse, a wave across night.

[Hmm? Vega didn’t come?]

[She’s guarding Miss Raven.]

Right, I did ask Vega to protect Raven as a friend, a string tied around a promise.

I feign panic—face dead as a mask, at least let my voice quiver like a leaf.

“Berenz! What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in the City of Heroes?”

“Something happened, Master. Please hurry back, Miss Raven is about to be killed!” Her words cut like a knife at the throat.

Berenz weeps, snot and tears, her eyes darting like sparrows for me. She spots me and dives into my arms.

Not bad acting, silk over thorns.

“Slow down! What exactly happened!”

Berenz explains the feud and war between the Truth Seekers Assembly and the Heretic Inquisition. The more we hear, the darker our faces grow, clouds piling.

“We have to return now.” Stini declares it, her voice a drawn blade.

I haven’t steered them yet. That decision bolts like a spooked horse.

“To save Raven?” I ask, arrow loosed.

“Of course. I don’t believe she’s a heretic.” Stini flashes me a radiant smile, sunrise pouring over stone.

Sorry, but Raven is a grand heretic personally named by Wisdom God Haydon.

“Do we leave now?”

“I trust you aren’t short on money for teleport scrolls, Andor.” Coins clink in the air.

“No problem, give me a moment.”

I signal Stini, then grab Nivifar’s hand and run to the Mercenary Guild… or where its ashes lie.

“Eh, wait… Master—Andor, what are you doing?”

“You’ll know in a minute.” The curtain is about to lift.

The counter clerk glares at us, especially Nivifar. This place sits near the battle’s core. From rooftops to foundations, all gone; some staff likely died, so her malice spills, rain on strangers.

“Miss, I’d like to place a commission.” I pull a coin pouch from the Shadow and toss it; it hits with a stone’s thud.

“What commission?”

Thanks for working steady even when you dislike me, a candle that doesn’t flicker.

“I want a bounty-style commission. Three hundred Colonna gold. Join me to strike the heretic Truth Seekers Assembly and rescue my friend Raven.”

“Location?”

“Sunset Hills near the City of Heroes.” The sky blushes at the name.

“Too far! Even with three hundred Colonna gold…” the clerk says, eyes like saucers.

“Thanks for the warning, even while annoyed. But I insist on posting it. Look, someone’s already accepting.”

Under a hundred eyes, I push Nivifar forward and whisper in her ear, breath like smoke:

“Share it with your mercenary mates. Buy your parents good gifts. Leave this town a beautiful, proud silhouette of your back.”

“Is this… buying me?”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you already mine?” A ring that isn’t a ring.

“Exactly, exactly.” She laughs aloud, loops her arms around my neck, and gives me a hot kiss, a firework in daylight. “I’m joining today, my dear master.”

She registers with the clerk, grabs the purse, and runs off like a fox into tall grass.

“Hey, wait, Nivifar.” I call, hand waving like a flag.

“What else?”

“If you feel nostalgic, take a few more looks at this place, just for today. No need to fake strength. Raven’s case is urgent, but an hour to breathe your hometown’s air is fine.”

Nivifar, beyond naive thoughts, is a good kid who hates worrying others. I’ll let a good kid leave with flair. And I’ll tie a gentle reminder to her kite string:

“After all, we may never come back.”

“No, there’s no nostalgia.” she says with a bitter smile, a loneliness even she can’t read trailing after her words.

“But the corners of your eyes are red.”

“That’s… the wind and sand are too strong.” A desert veil for tears.

Nivifar barks a rough goodbye, waves at me, and runs off. Her final look regains her old swagger. No fear, no retreat. She strides brave and strong, keeping her austere grace, a falcon cutting wind.

Even if her face scares people from speaking, a villain’s mask, it’s the road she chose to keep.

It really is beautiful, like a blade catching moonlight.