Chapter 13: A Demon

The tower's silence pressed down like a hand on Aaron's throat, making every breath a fight. The walls shimmered with damp, cold as a grave, and the air carried the sour tang of mildew and something older—magic, maybe, or regret. Shadows flickered in the corners, restless, like they were waiting for someone to break.

Evelyn stood there, a storm wrapped in flesh—tall, broad, her glasses glinting sharp in the dim light. Her voice cut through the stillness, soft but deadly. "You called my name before, How do you know my name?" She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "It's not something I leave lying around for village brats to pick up."

Aaron leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight to hide the twitch in his fingers. "I've got my ways," he said, forcing the words steady. His eyes flicked to the side, just for a second—a crack in the mask.

She stepped closer, the hum of her staff buzzing like a swarm of wasps trapped in his skull. "Your ways?" Her tone dropped, heavy with suspicion. "And the slavery spell—how does a kid like you know that kind of magic? Dark, forbidden, the kind mages like me have chased for centuries and still don't grasp. Slavery's a wound this world doesn't talk about, and here you are, rattling it off like it's nothing. Explain."

Aaron's jaw clenched, a spark flaring in his chest. He pushed off the wall, standing straight, his voice a low hiss that scraped the air. "I don't need to show proof. I just need to change the world. That's what a slayer does, right?"

The words hung there, raw and jagged. Evelyn blinked, her stern face twitching with something—surprise, maybe, or the ghost of a smile. "Bold," she said, almost to herself. "In this world, results are the only currency that matters." Her eyes locked on his, and for a moment, she saw it: the fire in him, bright and reckless, a kid's delusional confidence burning through the doubt. It hit every mark she'd learned to look for over decades of breaking people down and building them back up.

She reached into her robe, pulling out a card—thick metallic like card, three golden circles pressed into it. One circle already glowed with a stamped seal, intricate and alive. "To be a slayer candidate, you need three stamps," she said, handing it to him. "One from a slayer—me. One from a well know, worthy king. And one from yourself."

Aaron took it, his fingers brushing the stamped circle like it might bite. He frowned, confused, then grabbed the stamp from her desk and slammed it down on the third circle. Nothing happened. The circle stayed blank, mocking him. He grinned, lopsided and sheepish. "Well, had to try."

Evelyn laughed—a real laugh, bright and sudden, slicing through the tower's gloom like a knife through fog. "Not that easy, kid. The last stamp's a test. Being a slayer candidate's a mountain, and a slayer's a damn cliff. But this—" She tapped the card in his hand. "This is a start. Your name's on it, and my mark's there. That's enough for now."

Aaron slipped the card into his pocket, the weight of it settling against his hip. He turned to leave, then stopped, a spark of mischief flickering in his gut. "Hey," he said, spinning back. "Want to grab a drink? Talk about… ways to shake the world…?"

Evelyn's eyebrows shot up, and she laughed again, softer this time, a giggle that didn't fit the cold stone around them. "What's this? Asking me out?" She leaned in, studying his face—sharp cheekbones, messy hair, the flush creeping up her neck. "A romantic gesture from the revolution boy?"

His face didn't budge, piercing her gaze with his own, but he didn't back down. "Just strategy," he muttered, eyes steady. "Luring you in."

She smirked, stepping back. "You've got potential, Aaron. Fire and guts and a head full of dreams. Come back when you've grown into them a bit more."

Amelia, who'd been a shadow against the wall, let out a small, sharp breath. Her fists were balled tight, knuckles white, her lips pressed into a line. Aaron caught her eye, and something flickered there—guilt, maybe, or a plea he didn't know how to answer. He smirked instead, covering it up, and headed for the door.

The night air hit them like a slap, cold and biting, as they stepped out of the tower. Aaron pulled the card from his pocket, staring at the single stamp glowing against the dark. One down. Two to go. The road ahead was a beast, long and snarling, but he'd walk it—every step, every stumble—until he made it or broke apart trying.

She snatched it from him, fingers brushing his, and the weight hit her first—solid, unyielding, not like the flimsy mercenary tags or adventurer chits she'd thumbed through a hundred times. This was different. The metal was cool, strange, etched with symbols that seemed to hum under her touch, alive in a way that made her skin prickle. She traced the stamp, the raised edges biting into her fingertip, and her gut twisted. He did it. He actually did it.

Her lips twitched up, a smile fighting through the shock. She was glad—hell, she was proud—but something sour coiled beneath it, tight and cold. Fear. Aaron was moving fast, a wildfire tearing through dry grass, and she could feel the ground slipping under her feet. What if he ran too far? Left her choking on his dust? She bit her lip, hard, the sting grounding her. No. She wouldn't let that happen. She'd claw her way up, twice as hard, ten times if she had to. She'd stay with him.

Shoving the card back into his chest, she forced a smirk, mirroring his. "Don't get too full of yourself, Aaron. I'll get one too." Her voice wobbled, just a hair, but she straightened, chin up. "Not today, maybe, but I'll catch on. Watch me."

He cocked an eyebrow, that flicker of something soft in his eyes again—gone before she could grab it. "Yeah? Better hurry, 'Melia. I don't wait."

She laughed, sharp and real, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. Stepping in close, her fingers grazed his arm, the air between them buzzing like a live wire. Then, quick as a snake, she lunged, teeth sinking into his shoulder—hard, aggressive, a flash of desperation under the playfulness. He yelped, jerking back.

"Ow! What the hell?"

She grinned, pulling away, her eyes glinting with mischief and a shadow of something heavier. "Just marking you. So you don't forget me when you're out there with…..slayers."

Aaron rubbed his shoulder, scowling, but a laugh slipped out, low and rough. "Like I could."

.

.

The air hung thick, fragile, until a groan cracked it open. In the corner, the demoness—Seraphina—stirred, her silk cloak snarled around her legs like a trap. She bolted upright, eyes wild, hands clutching her head. "Where the fuck am I?" Her voice was raw, panicked, until her gaze landed on Aaron—scratching his head with that damn card again—and she jolted, a startled squeak escaping her. She dropped into a bow, forehead nearly kissing the floor, the sack of gear she'd dragged across town spilling beside her.

"M-master," she stammered, voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. "I—I'm sorry. The spell—it was too much. I couldn't think straight. But I got the stuff, I swear—" She gestured at the sack, ether dust and rune coils glinting faintly in the dim light.

Aaron blinked, head tilting. "What stuff?"

Seraphina froze, her brows knitting. "The… the list? You told me—ether dust, coils, all of it—"

"Ohhh." He waved a hand, cutting her off, a grin splitting his face—teeth and no mercy. "Nah, didn't need that. Just wanted you there, at the exact location, looking all pathetic, when I showed this off." He tapped the card against his palm, the sound a soft clink in the quiet. "Demonstration purposes. You nailed it, though."

Her mouth opened, questions piling up behind her eyes, but nothing came out. Confusion twisted her face, then resignation as the slavery spell tightened its grip. Aaron stood, stretching, a laugh bubbling up like he'd just heard the best joke. "Good job, Sera. Really. Now, about that money—I blew it all on registration."

Her eyes widened, darting to the card, then back to him. "Slayer Guild?" she whispered, realization sinking in like a stone. Her hands shook, but her body moved—spell-driven, mechanical—digging into her cloak for a small pouch of bills. "Wait, wait—this is it. All I've got left. We still need to travel—"

Aaron hissed, snatching the money from her trembling fingers. "Then earn more. Figure it out."

She flinched, the pouch gone, her hands empty. "But—"

"Earn. More." His voice was flat, final, and he turned away, already moving toward the door. The card flashed as he scratched his head again, a careless habit that made Amelia's stomach twist. She watched Seraphina sink to her knees, breath hitching, and something ugly bloomed in her chest. Aaron was a bastard sometimes—brilliant, unstoppable, but a bastard. Still, she said nothing, just balled her fists, nails biting her palms.

"C'mon, 'Melia," he called, not looking back. "Let's go. tonight, we eating goooood."

Her boots dragged, just a second, her eyes on his back—broad, unyielding, moving too damn fast. She followed anyway, heart pounding with a mix of love and dread. She'd catch up. She had to.

Behind them, Seraphina stared at the floor, hands limp, the faint smell of burnt toast drifting from somewhere deep in the guild—like a ghost of the life they'd left behind. Her breath steadied, slow and shallow, and a quiet spark flickered in her chest. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, she'd break that spell. She had to.

***

You can read chapter 14 – 17 at royal road, link down below, and I will be uploading there daily starting next day, so please like and follow this novel at royal road, I would really really really appreciate it, thank you.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/108931/my-childhood-friend-doesnt-know-i-was-the-demon