Strangely enough, this whole demon was afraid of her, reacted far too violently, and now stood like a human who had just seen a monster before them. Not moving, not a word, not a breath, frozen like a statue.
— Greetings to you, demon.
And yet this had only started recently
It had been going on for two years. Just a grain of sand compared to her long life – insignificant, but for some reason it stuck. Two years of observing this demon. Strange, amusing, but still a demon.
It was like watching the life of a pet. No, more like an ant, tirelessly working day after day, not knowing that its existence already depended on someone’s whim. This demon was exactly like that.
She had found this place by accident. Passing by the great forest – thirty kilometers away – she caught a faint pulse of mana. Demonic. Curious. Then she decided to get closer. At first with the intention to kill. Ruthlessly, quickly, without even elegance or games. But something was off. The demon was kneeling before a tree, carving something into it, focused and patient. Such fuss… unnatural. Not for demons.
She stopped. Decided to watch.
And how fascinating it turned out to be.
The demon was terrible at sensing mana. Sometimes she deliberately released strong waves – no reaction whatsoever. No games, no pretending. She really didn’t feel it. That alone was amusing, made it easier to watch her trifling tasks. And then – it just became addictive.
And that year turned out to be the most fun in the last few centuries
The demon dabbled in everything: hunting, making bone figurines, clothes, stone tools. Funny. Especially when everything fell apart in her hands – then she froze, clenched her jaw, and kept working. Like with that large furnace – twelve failed attempts before it finally stood. The demon showed no reaction on her face, but through her actions a livelier gait could be seen, even her voice had changed somewhat.
Magic? Weak, primitive, but full of genuine delight. She rejoiced at every little thing: a successful spell, a new application, a fresh combination. Childlike joy, squeals, praising herself. Naive. Warm. Even touching… for a demon, of course.
This demon never gave up. Never. And even despite colossal mana losses and backlashes – she kept going. As if she believed she could do it. And indeed, some things worked out. The magic all this time remained imperfect, with the same massive mana expenditure, yet now… the control had improved, by a few percent, in her own immodest opinion.
Age? Strange. Outwardly – an adult, perhaps twenty or so. But by demonic standards – a child. Poorly trained, forgotten by her kin. Or a runaway? Not that it mattered.
Especially interesting was how she tried to decipher the elven language without knowing a single word. She made notes, flawed, meaningless – yet a few were close to the truth. Commendable. And her own speech? Utterly alien. Rough. Unnatural. And cold. There were no emotions in it, as if she was only imitating words. These sounds… they seemed not to belong to this world.
— "What kind of language is this?" — thought Serie, watching while standing literally next to Sefi.
Under an invisibility spell, she always watched her. Hidden, warm thanks to her protective cocoon, levitating above the ground so as not to give herself away by sound or tracks. Her vision and hearing were enhanced with spells, letting her notice every detail. Every breath. Every trembling of the hand. Every exhale. Everything the demon did belonged to her.
She is alive because I decided so
Because I got bored
Because she is – interesting
Sometimes she hid her mana, but more often – not. The demon didn’t sense it. Why be afraid? Mana itself scared off forest beasts. When Sefi went hunting, she completely concealed herself. Only so as not to ruin the scene before her. Sometimes she had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter, so ridiculous were her attempts at hunting, yet over time the technique improved. Commendable.
And especially – when the demon began to roast meat. She nearly choked in surprise. Demons, by their very nature, were predators. But this one ate like a human, modestly, little by little, often – plants. And now suddenly meat. Roasted. On a fire. No seasonings of course, just meat… but she didn’t eat it like a wild beast, rather properly: small bites, long chewing, even attempts to keep some kind of etiquette.
That was the first time in ages she felt something akin to astonishment
This demon was wrong
Too defenseless
Too persistent
Too… interesting
Also, the demoness herself possessed one astonishing trait. Or rather, a thing… that even she could not have created. The demon was able to create permanent, material objects out of mana – real, tangible, preserving the properties of the original. Not illusions, not temporary phantoms, but genuine things. They could be left behind, and even years later nothing changed. They did not fall apart, did not vanish, did not drain mana from her. Serie herself could also create things from mana, and such magic did exist. Yet the number of reproducible things was incredibly small: like “String Ice,” “Honey,” or similar spells, but none of them could create something else.
Her mana recovery was less than her expenditure. Natural regeneration. But that was only the surface effect. The main point was not that. The main point was potential.
The power of this demoness would manifest if she were given time
But now… now — one could afford to play
To watch. To talk. Language was no longer a problem.
After all, she was a great mage of the mythical age, who had lived for more than a thousand years – perhaps longer. Translation magic? Trifles. Just a few phrases were enough to catch the structure, rhythm, syntax. And then… everything became clear…
***
— You don’t understand my words, do you? — she said with a light laugh.
The demon flinched but quickly waved her hands, putting the sword away. She glanced around – not fearfully, no. There was something else there… something she couldn’t quite define yet. But it was definitely not fear, nor rage. Curiosity? Perhaps. Or maybe an instinct of survival, expressed in a strange form.
The demon quickly pulled out some kind of leather trinket and wrapped it around her neck
— "That’s her super-translator…" — Serie smirked to herself, noticing the thin etched patterns on the surface of the amulet. Crude work, but the concept was interesting. She had even managed to think of using formulas and runes to cut down the cost. Promising.
What logic was she following when she created this?
Judging by her observations, magic for the demon was an expression of imagination, images, desires. A correct vector. But her spells were extremely inefficient, chaotic, and therefore demanded colossal expenditure.
An intuitive, foolish, yet understandable step. Such an attempt to speak deserved praise. Especially considering she knew nothing about the language of this world.
A systematic approach would come later – with further training she could cut losses tenfold. The demon was already moving in that direction: slowly, clumsily, but steadily. A few years and the results would be stable. Her magical items – though costly to create – worked almost flawlessly. She clearly had an inborn talent for magical engineering.
But still… the trinket was far from perfect
First, the spell inside it was just a function. It wasn’t rooted in the structure of the item. Which meant it wasn’t durable – no, not that. It was too noticeable.
Second, the mana consumption was monstrous. Disproportionate to the effect. This thing was the most unstable of everything she had made. Its creation had cost so much strength that the demon was bedridden for a month, unable to walk or eat. Her health had deteriorated, and overall it brought more negative than positive effects. Serie had never seen mana drop into negative values before; her body was literally draining the environment just to survive, and knowing she was a demon… that was deeply harmful.
Third, the item wasn’t protected. Its enchantment was exposed, radiating mana like a beacon. Perhaps the demoness herself didn’t even realize it. Naive. Foolish. Or simply lacking knowledge. Likely the latter.
But the main thing – the enchantment was far too easy to dispel, without any effort at all. Her months-long labor could vanish with a snap of the fingers.
— "If I wanted, it would already be crumbling into dust right there on her neck." — Serie thought, watching as the demon prepared to speak, clearing her throat a few times. She cast a “Purification” spell on herself and stood proudly. — "She lives because I allowed her to live. She learns because I find it amusing to watch. And this amulet – it only works because I allow it to exist."
And indeed, it was she who had shared a fragment of her mana so that this demon survived; otherwise, she would have crumbled before her eyes.
— "She is a child. Amusing. Talented. But if I wish it, everything she has created will vanish."
With a single touch. With a single glance
But for now – let her play
***
— Greetings… — Sefi began, standing right in front of the woman. She tried to appear friendly, because… well, that was what one was supposed to do? Probably. She felt nothing, she just wanted to create the right impression to start a normal dialogue. Her accessory had to work – she believed in that. — Miss?
— Serie, — the other said crisply, with a hint of arrogance. Still, Sefi wasn’t affected. Anger was inefficient. She should continue. And she felt not a trace of offense.
— When did you arrive? Could you share that? — she asked, still keeping her distance. She drew a breath – not out of necessity, but as part of the ritual of normalcy. — I did not notice your arrival.
— I came… about fifteen minutes ago. While you were busy, — Serie answered calmly, unhurriedly, scanning the room. — Cute little home you’ve got. Why live in such a place?
Sefi did not answer right away. She evaluated the tone, the content, possible motives. Then decided simply to be honest.
— If you wish, I could tell you in more detail. — She carefully walked around the table, pulled out another chair and sat down. Serie observed her with faint amusement. They ended up side by side, a meter apart. Not directly opposite, but not exactly neighbors either. — In truth, the setting isn’t the most welcoming. How about tea?
— I won’t refuse.
Sefi rose without delay, took a kettle, and poured water from a flask into it. The fireplace was fitted with a grate – she used it to set the pot. The kettle was clay – she had shaped and fired it herself. The handle was reinforced stone. A rational choice, since there was no metal here.
— Please, come to the table. Or, if you prefer, I can move you together with the chair, — she offered, standing nearby. Serie considered the offer for a second and nodded. — Understood.
Sefi easily lifted the chair with her guest as if weight did not exist, and placed it by the table. Serie said something approving – Sefi didn’t catch the words, but the intonation was neutral, almost good-natured.
— Unfortunately, I have little in the way of sweets, — she demonstratively placed small crystals on the table. It was sugar, evaporated from berries. Structurally like candy, but not candy. Also a single bun, made from flour she’d obtained from her miracle-wheat. She had ground the flour the hard way: by hand, pressing the grains into a millstone kept in the shed. — You came unexpectedly, so I can only offer yesterday’s bun. My apologies, Miss Serie.
— That’s fine, — the elf replied, carefully biting the bread. The taste didn’t impress, but it was acceptable, especially considering the baker was a demon. Without poison, surprisingly. Her poison-detection spell didn’t react. With her other hand, she tossed a crystal into her mouth: pleasant crunch, a hint of sourness. Tasty.
The kettle boiled. Steam signaled it. Sefi approached, took the vessel, and poured the water into cups. For tea – dried leaves with a soft minty aroma.
— This is all I have at the moment, — she said with a polite smile and sat across from her, watching as Serie slowly tried the offering. After a few minutes, the small meal ended. — If you allow… please understand my situation. I found myself in this forest with no memories. I don’t know the cause. I know little of this world, and I would like to hear about it from you, Miss Serie. Also, given the circumstances, I need education – learning the writing and language of this world. For now, I am speaking to you only thanks to this thing. — She tapped her choker. — And finally, I would like to know… my nature. If you deem it possible, tell me who I am.
Serie thought for a moment, narrowing her eyes. Truly impressive: a demon who knew nothing of herself. Or… one pretending very well? Whatever it was, she had never heard of such a thing, almost laughable.
— Well, well… — she murmured, setting down her empty cup. — You understand that answering your questions will take time? I’ll explain history to you. But language – that’s not a one-day matter. Even I can’t manage that. — She spoke with lazy interest, but her eyes betrayed a spark of scholarly excitement.
— I understand. Forgive me, — Sefi fell silent, then poured more tea into the elf’s cup. — Your efforts will not go unrewarded. Sadly, I have no local currency, but I can pay with goods. And if money is preferable, please point me to the nearest settlement, so I can sell part of my belongings. — Everything was spoken evenly, without intonation. Yet her gestures – fingers playing, tapping the table, hands clasped – betrayed her concentration. — Also, while you reside here, I guarantee you won’t be disturbed by beasts or other forest threats. Food will be provided. As for entertainment, there’s little available. But I will do my best to ensure your comfort. — She fell silent, awaiting a reply.
Serie was in no hurry to leave. Something about this demon stirred either excitement or a vague foreboding – as though she sat across from something merely pretending to be a rational being. And that something hadn’t yet decided what it wanted to be… or rather, it had decided to be normal, but couldn’t, bound by its true nature.
She watched as Sefi refilled her cup again. Exact, careful, without spilling a drop, as if measuring milliliters with her eyes. The smile – perfectly even. The posture – impeccable. The words – polite, yet empty, as though the demon had memorized that this was how one should act.
Serie tilted her head, catching a gesture. Sefi clenched her fingers, then released them. Repeated. Nervousness? Or… simulation? Hm.
— You, — she said calmly, setting her cup aside. — You know how to obey, don’t you?
— Yes, — short and immediate. No hesitation, no pause. Straight away, without asking why such a question.
— Good. Then… I’ll have a small request. — Serie’s smile was almost kind, but her eyes were not. — I left my bracelet in the forest. About three kilometers from here, at an old dry oak. Bring it to me.
Sefi did not move. Silent evaluation. A pause. She felt no irritation. She felt nothing. She just processed the task. Retrieve the item. Goal: deliver it. Terrain: forest. Possible threats: beasts, but no problem.
— All right. — Her voice didn’t waver. She stood and walked toward the exit. Clenched fists, the woman herself felt nothing. She only wanted the elf to trust her more.
— Stop. — Serie halted her with a tone that demanded no glance back. — I lied. There is no bracelet. I wanted to see how you’d react to a deliberately false request. Would you still go now?
Sefi stopped. Slowly turned. Moving without sound, as if her body wasn’t alive, but a mechanism. She looked at Serie… not angrily. Not stubbornly. Just… like a machine given a new variable.
— Do you want me to go? — she asked. The elf flinched at the question – there it was. Demons didn’t know feelings, for them there was no such concept.
— I want to know why you would go, — she asked, still evaluating her.
Pause
— Because you asked. My task is to maintain comfort. If lying is part of your comfort, I will go. If you take pleasure in testing me, I allow myself to be tested. But… — here she tilted her head slightly to the side, as though calculating something, — I know how to do such things properly. At first, I believed you had lost a bracelet, and since it was… an important accessory, since you asked me to find it, that is why I went without hesitation.
Serie was silent. A couple of seconds. Then she smirked, but there was a trace of… unease in it. Yes… no matter how unusual this demon was, they were still demons.
— You don’t know how to think like a living being, do you?
— Perhaps. — Sefi sat back down. Straight, without emotion. — I think it’s tied to the fact that my feelings have atrophied, for reasons I don’t know, so now I mostly act from memory of what is right and wrong… But I don’t see the point of your questions. I am a living being: I think, I eat, and I breathe. If so, then I am alive… Why say such unfounded things?
— To be like us. — Serie crossed her arms, studying her more closely now. — Isn’t that what you want?
— No. — Again, short, without flourish. — I want to be… correct, that’s all.
It wasn’t a threat. Not even philosophy. Just a statement of fact.
For the first time, Serie didn’t know what to say. She had no ready answer. The demon looked at her with the same blank expression as before.
— You’re frightening, — she finally said, almost in a whisper. This was a first for her; the demon had no power, none at all. She simply spoke what she wanted… and it was unknown. A lie or truth. The unknown was frightening.
— I see. My apologies, Miss Serie, I did not wish you any harm, — Sefi lowered her head in feigned modesty. — If you wish, I can leave and let you be alone until you feel comfortable again speaking with me.
— No need. It’s just a fleeting feeling, and it shouldn’t affect the essence of the conversation, — the elf casually crossed her legs, settling more comfortably in her chair. — So then. I accept your offer. I will stay here for a month. However, I have one condition.
— Thank you. Please, tell me what it is – if I can, I will fulfill your request, — Sefi exhaled and unclenched her fingers. Her shoulders lowered slightly. Perhaps relief, or simply good habit.
— I will tell you who and what you are only at the very end, — Serie said. The demon blinked in confusion, then obediently nodded. — Excellent. Then I’ll begin the explanation from the very start.
***
They talked until late at night. Only when Serie’s voice grew tired did Sefi suggest postponing the conversation until tomorrow and taking a little rest. There was only one bed in the house – Sefi, without hesitation, gave it up to her guest, laying a few hides on the floor for herself. She fell asleep on them without taking off her clothes.
The history of the world turned out to be simpler than expected. It was created by a goddess in a mythical era, and at the same time the first demons appeared – sentient beings capable of using speech as a weapon, and will as magic. They became the natural enemies of humankind. Lying monsters, for whom deceit was the same as breathing.
In those times, powerful states existed as well. In one of them served a sage named Evig – a man who developed the foundations of magic and created many grimoires. However, everything changed when the Demon King appeared – a monster that united all demons and began a war against humans. The strongest and wisest of demons, he managed to reduce humanity’s influence by nearly half. A third of all lands were destroyed, cities emptied, population exterminated. Thus began the war, which continues to this day.
But there was another important rule. After the mythical era, magic was declared taboo and has since been punished by death. Apparently, this was linked to superstitions and fears, for demons also used magic as their main weapon.
— "It’s good that I’ve learned such important information," — Sefi thought, coldly, methodically. — "Miss Seri… that is, Serie, agrees to accept goods. Therefore, upon completing my studies, I should remain here – for at least several years. Master combat without magic. Probably a spear. Or a sword. Or both." — Everything was logical. Since magic was forbidden, a demonstration of power could cause suspicion. Taking something non-magical in her hands was normal. — "What will Miss Serie do if she learns the truth? She looks like an influential person. Judging by her cloak and behavior. Perhaps I should discuss this tomorrow, I hope she will not tell that I am a mage."
***
— Miss Serie, please wake up, — Sefi was shaking the elf, who had wrapped herself in the blanket like a lump of pancakes. She had been trying to wake her for ten minutes. In response she only received a sleepy: “Five more hours,” which was worrying – the guest completely ignored the flow of time.
— I prepared you breakfast. It’s tastier while warm. Please, wake up.
The guest reluctantly stirred awake. Sefi wiped her face with a damp cloth, then her hands – for this she had preemptively applied the spell Purification to the cloth, then also to the lady herself. Then she seated her on a chair. Breakfast was simple: buns, berries, crystallized berry sugar and hot tea. The same as yesterday.
A sleepy Serie snorted discontentedly at the repeat, Sefi replied calmly:
— I will expand the assortment of dishes. I’ll take care of it today. For now, please eat. — Still, she didn’t move. Sefi had to gently break the bread and feed her by hand. Blowing carefully on the tea, she brought the cup to her guest’s lips. — Thank you. Now, please, dress warmer. I don’t understand how you endure with such a poor set of clothing. I prepared for you a cloak from a monster’s hide. Don’t worry – there is no smell, nor allergens. The material has been tested. — With these words she wrapped Serie, who immediately dozed off again. — This... is somewhat inconvenient, — Sefi said, looking at her, without irritation, but without tenderness either.
The woman left the house and set about fulfilling her promise – to expand the breakfast menu. Promises must be kept. She wanted to make pancakes, but there was no milk.
— Perhaps eggs? — She flew around the nearby trees in search of nests, but they were empty. — Hm... magic? Should I create an egg with magic? But that’s irrational... spending twenty percent at once, hm... alright, never mind, tomorrow I’ll make her pancakes.
She returned home. Time was approaching noon. There were no successes, but there was progress – Sefi carved a small pan out of stone to cook more conveniently.
— I have flour. I have salt. No sugar. But there are berry crystals. Perhaps reddish pancakes will be edible... hm...
Thus a new breakfast assortment was born, even if at lunchtime. Cooking it now was not an option, so Sefi took a piece of meat from the cave, cut it, fried it, seasoned it with salt. No spices – bitter herbs had not yet grown, spring had only just begun. The stores hadn’t been preserved.
The meat sizzled. Sefi wondered what to replace tea with – after all, repetition always lowered satisfaction.
— Lemonade. — The idea came spontaneously. — I’ll create ice. Water is available. Fruits... absent. Only berries. — She reconsidered everything. — I’ll try.
This was not just lunch. This was an act of service. Whether successful or not – time would tell. But Sefi carried out tasks methodically. As always.
When the meat had fried to a crisp golden crust, Sefi carefully transferred the pieces to a wooden plate. She took flour from storage and baked several flatbreads; animal fat was used to wipe the griddle. The final element was an improvised “lemonade”: cold water with berry extract and a faint trace of artificial sour aftertaste. It was not a refined dish, but in terms of nutrition and composition – it matched the basic norms of a meal, though admittedly low in greens. Dinner must include a salad, that was essential.
Serie was still asleep, half-submerged in the blanket, sprawled like a lazy animal. Sefi stood beside her, looking at her without irritation. Just as at a task with a motionless object.
— Miss Seri. — The voice was even, neither warm nor cold. — Your lunch is ready. Please get up. Food loses its properties when cooling.
Serie barely stirred. From under the blanket came a muffled:
— I can’t... I... I’m still resting... It smells... too delicious here, but I’m too tired to get up. — Yet she had done nothing to be tired.
Sefi silently approached, took a spoon, and, kneeling beside her, gently brought a larger piece of meat to her face.
— In that case, I will continue feeding you. You need energy. Your body has not received calories through the night.
— Oh, you’re so... persistent, — Serie mumbled sleepily, opening one eye and curiously glancing at the offered food. — What is this? Is it meat?
— The meat is fried to readiness. Water with added juice. Hand flatbreads, and also I do not recommend drinking the cold beverage quickly. — Serie sat up and, pulling the tray closer to herself, began to eat, sluggishly but without fuss. Then she slightly smirked:
— You would make an excellent maid in some royal house. — She said, biting into the meat, chewing and swallowing unemotionally, though it was good. Not wasting food.
— My purpose is to complete tasks, ensure order, and maintain stability in your environment. This is not tied to my place of belonging, and I want to make your life more comfortable. — Sefi answered dryly and placed a bowl of berry drink next to her. — If the food is not to your taste, I will note the parameters and make adjustments.
— No-no, everything’s delicious, just... unusual. — Serie squeezed the bread with her fingers, tore it, and shoved a piece into her mouth, chewing with a thoughtful expression. She was surprised that of all beings it was a demon who cooked for her. In a sense she was surprised, even too much. Especially since the food was good, the meat excellent unlike breakfast. — You cook well, where did you learn this?
Sefi did not answer immediately. She stared at the floor, somewhat pensive, and after a sigh she spoke:
— My parents taught me. — At these words Serie flinched. For demons, the word parents did not exist; it was merely a way to elicit empathy or confusion in humans, then kill them. How this demon said it, learned to... speak. Remarkable. — My mother taught me how to cook properly, I will never forget her meals, they were very tasty. — This could have stirred some feelings in Serie, yet the demoness spoke of it as if giving a report, without hesitation or emotion.
— I see, — the guest uttered and fell into thought. — "Is she telling the truth or what? I can’t tell." — Her experience was vast, no living being could compare; nonetheless, this monster, who had cooked her food, still managed to put her into a stupor. — "What even is she? How did she come to be?"
— After lunch you must speak with me again. I must clarify information about your status. — She spoke again, then fell silent, awaiting confirmation.
— Mm-hm, mm-hm, — Serie muttered, lying on her side. She needed to think about this revelation. — But first... lie down a little longer...
Sefi nodded and silently began clearing the dishes