Sometimes it seemed that she was constantly doing the same thing, like a golem whose very essence was only to carry out orders. She would wake up, eat, and once again set out in search of something new: the discovery of some rare grimoire. These searches led her to all sorts of stories, strange and contradictory.
She saw a whole gang of bandits robbing a village. She intervened, saved the villagers, and in gratitude received not gold or honors, but only words and a strange gift as payment. She did not blame them, nor did she feel any resentment. A grimoire with the spell “Finding a needle in a haystack.” Some madman had decided to disprove the proverb and created this useless work. It gave nothing to the progress of magic. Nonsense, a waste of strength. She left, taking the book not as payment, but simply for her collection.
Another time she met a merchant’s cart, attacked by monsters. With one spell she reduced them to dust. The merchant, struck and smiling greedily, offered to take her to the nearest city. But from his face, from his eyes and his goods, it was clear: he was not an honest man. He traveled without guards only because he was too stingy. She knew such people, had met them more than once. And so she simply turned away and went her own road.
Chance led her to a nobleman praying on a hill at his father’s grave. He wept, consumed by grief and loneliness. No servants or family were nearby, and by his appearance it was clear: a lower-born of blue blood, not rich. His tears surprised her, for she herself had not felt such a thing for centuries. The last time sadness had touched her was only when, foolishly, she lost a valuable grimoire. And even then, she later made up for the loss in a few centuries. But this man wept… for nothing, without hope and without strength. Yet she passed him by. It was not her concern.
She saw a dwarf forging armor for a young man, laughing heartily. The armor was magnificent: masterful work, protective runes and enchantments able to guard even against a knight’s spear. And he gave it away for free, in gratitude to the boy’s parents with whom he once shared the dangerous roads of adventure. He said he reforged the old armor of father and mother into new, so that even in the other world they would protect their son. Sadness showed on his face after the boy left – after all, the dwarf was also of a long-lived race, and humans with their short lifespans… were no true companions, at least not for him.
At the edge of the forest she noticed a mother spoiling her child with a sweet: shaved ice sprinkled with honey. The first was magic, some little wonder and folly. Strange it was to see, for among the people magic was considered blasphemy. Yet even those who condemned it – kings and counts – used charms themselves for their “holy crusades.” Hypocrites. And the common folk also played with it, just as this child did with his sweets.
High in a tree, a swallow stubbornly built its nest. Twig and straw one after another, until a sudden gust of wind destroyed all its work. But the bird only chirped briefly and started again, making it stronger, sturdier, so that no storm could undo its home.
In a deep ravine she witnessed a battle of two dragons. One lay defeated and wounded, the other loomed over him, ready to do the last thing natural to their kind – finish off the enemy. The ravine itself was their creation: the earth split open, remnants of forest smoldering, rocks melted. The air was so hot it was almost impossible to breathe. But nothing could stop the victor from completing his furious work.
By a quiet lake she saw a cat creeping toward fish gathered at the shallows. With one leap it snatched its prey and proudly dragged it into the thickets. Seconds later came the squeaks of kittens. The mother stood by, proudly watching her young tear and eat the food she had brought.
In the sky she saw a flock of birds flying in a perfect wedge. Precise order, flawless shape. Perhaps this was exactly where humans borrowed their military formations?
But those same humans she saw in battle against each other. With rage and cruelty they cut down foes with swords and axes, pierced them with spears, crushed skulls with maces. They fought their own kind, as if they had no already deadly enemies. For somewhere far away, the Demon Lord was gathering his armies into a single fist to crush humanity. And if humans tore each other apart like this, could their victory still be possible?
And… this was a spectacle she had witnessed for hundreds of years, if not more. Thousands… Eras changed, people and animals came and went. Some species were exterminated, others disappeared on their own. But humans remained. And so did these events. She had already seen it all, and long ago thought that nothing could surprise her… yet she was mistaken. Gravely mistaken. Had it been a few centuries earlier, she would have laughed in her own face.
For she met a demon… No, she had encountered demons before. Over all the time there had been many: hundreds, thousands? Two or three thousand, if she counted. She amused herself with their reaction to her mana, with how they boasted of their magic. Their words, their flattery, since some tried to fawn before her, sensing her power. And when she deliberately hid it, then released it… they screamed so much their spittle flew in all directions. Beings similar to humans… but only similar. Their habits were clear, predictable. They were nothing more than beasts.
Though there was an exception. She had not seen him personally, but she knew the Demon King by rumor. Too “humane,” and at the same time utterly ruthless, for he had reduced the number of humans by almost a third. As if he were another kind of demon, alien to the rest. And since he existed, she chose not to touch him. Why should she? Humans themselves fought against him. And if they wanted war, they would invent new means and seek new paths. Sooner or later they would come to magic. And then it would be entertaining. Very entertaining. Watching the development of this science – that was her true joy. Perhaps her only one.
Until meeting that demon, she was no different from those she had slain hundreds of times. A face, hair, arms, legs, horns on the head… But the essence was that at first she didn’t notice her. Simply didn’t notice. Even though that one deliberately released so much mana that the forest trembled. And yet, she could not feel it.
And in her own way she lived, like a farmer. She hunted, sometimes amusingly. She chopped trees, built, made figures out of bone and wood, and placed them across the land. Was she trying to be human? Perhaps. But most fascinating of all was watching her magic.
Watching how it developed: from the simplest – up to a level strange, but still not entirely ordinary. Watching how she created from mana something completely alien. Matter. A thing she herself could never create.
There was also a strange language, and human habits… All of it was unfamiliar and captivating. Even the way she ate. Perhaps this was exactly how human explorers felt when they discovered something new. Two years… two years she watched as that one grew: from a tiny cave to a small house.
And then they met face to face. She was no longer an observer, but simply revealed herself. And not once did she regret it. Since then everything had become better. No, not like that – things had become fun.
The strange care of the demon, her fright when she tried meat. The way she offered her clothes. The way she called her to dinner. How she asked to be taught. How in her meals there were too many berries… All of it turned out to be surprising. Captivating, as she would have once said. And all of it passed far too quickly.
By her standards – a mere moment. Just a month. But during that time she even managed to feel fear. Not deadly, not the kind that arises before battle. But simple, from the unknown. Ordinary. And yet, the demon awakened it in her…
And… and… this… is interesting
Then came the end of the moment, the instant when she herself showed weakness and mercy at once. Allowed the demoness to leave, so that in the future she would not bring… something worse. It had been her responsibility, and yet she acted otherwise.
She could not…
She could not end the demon’s life
How shameful and insulting: in just a few pathetic years she had become so weak toward this… demoness. Yes, now not just demon, but precisely demoness. She had the power to kill her and forget, but she could not. What foolishness was this? Was this not hypocrisy? Fine for those two years, but for a single pitiful month? What was it in her…
Now it was all over. That demon might never reach her goal, might die on the road, might fall to beasts… And yet she believed she would survive. More than that – she was certain of it. She wanted it. She simply did not want to admit it. Base of her. At first she wanted to kill her, dissolve her into nothingness… how… foolish.
And yet…
— I’m here again, — said Serie, once more finding herself in that forest, before the cursed… no, good, but small house. A cottage, really. Just two rooms: in one, the kitchen, in the other, the bedroom, separated by a wall. One part for sleeping, the next for storage, like a pantry. Compared to the palaces she had seen, this was a miserable likeness. But somehow this place was warmer than they.
Though made of plain wood, though not raised by a skilled master, it was home. The one she had grown accustomed to.
She opened the door and went inside. All was the same as before. Two rooms. In one, a large table, chairs, shelves – this was the kitchen. In the other, the bedroom. A bed with a mattress of wool and hides, a blanket of thick furs. Somewhere there, a chest or box with needed things… and with that grimoire which had set the strange yet true course for that demoness.
— Only she is missing… — Whispered Serie. No matter how warm it was here, it was her absence that was felt. Yes, she was selfish. How could one feel warmth toward a home in whose building she had not invested a single drop of effort? How could one feel attachment if she herself had driven out the mistress and taken her place? Selfish. Perhaps a hypocrite. — Her… and her food.
She had tried cooking. Tried to repeat the taste the demoness achieved. But she failed. Even with the finest ingredients she could not do it. And that one had cooked from what she found: drawing sugar from berries, drying leaves, searching for eggs in nests… And still her dishes tasted better. Did she miss her? Or was she simply too proud to admit it?
Perhaps
What were all these feelings for? For centuries she had been only an observer, and now… Ha. Fascinating, really. Magnificent. And she was certain that soon she would meet her again.
— And I will ask your name, — she said quietly, approaching the bed. She sat, then lay down. Comfortable. She could wait a very long time, almost an eternity. But not this place… no, it could not be left to the mercy of time. In centuries entire kingdoms crumbled, and such corners could not endure unless they were properly cared for.
She rose and walked through the room. With a light wave of her hand she swept the dust from the shelves, cleaned the wooden floor until it shone. All with magic. Outside she cut the grass, not allowing it to choke the view of this place. She walked along the wall, scraping away old grime from the hollows of the wood. Yet even that was not enough to preserve the warm corner; it had to be done with certainty.
— Spaichen. — From her fingertips slipped a soft wave of mana, almost invisible. It flowed into the wooden walls, strengthened the beams, preserved the grain of the wood from rot and time. The same energy touched the roof, shielding it from moisture and corrosion. But this was not the last precaution. — Schutz. — If the first magic merely flickered, the second seemed to ignite. It was a protective barrier, letting nothing through, not even nature itself. It embraced the house and part of its grounds: a small store of supplies, that very little cave.
She returned again to the bed, lowered herself upon it, and, pressing her palm to the pillow, reflected. The place truly was remarkable… it could not be compared to anything.
— Home sweet home, — she whispered.