Chapter 14: Vegetarian

The courtyard was a bruise of gray in the pre-dawn chill, the kind of cold that nips at your knuckles and makes your breath puff out like a confession you didn't mean to let slip. Amelia swung her wooden sword, 

 thwack-thwack-thwack!!

 against the air, sweat pasting her shirt to her spine. Her arms burned, her lungs clawed for air, but she didn't stop. Couldn't. The ember in her nerves hummed, a live wire sparking under her skin, and it was THRILLING. Day by day, she was sharper, stronger—her blade slicing cleaner, her feet finding the dirt like they'd been born to it. Not months, like those smug-ass prodigies. Not years, like the knights who'd sneered at her clumsy grip two summers back. Day by freaking day. She was a marvel, and she knew it.

But then there was Aaron.

Her next swing faltered, just a hitch, and she gritted her teeth, pushing through. Aaron wasn't just growing—he was a goddamn avalanche. She could feel it now, that ember giving her eyes she didn't ask for. He grew when he shoveled eggs into his mouth at breakfast, yolk dripping down his chin. He grew when he tipped back a mug of ale, laughing at something dumb she'd said. He grew when he slept, sprawled out on his cot, one arm flung over his face like he was guarding secrets even in his dreams. It wasn't right. It wasn't HUMAN. And she—minute by minute, second by second, sweat stinging her eyes—was still choking on his dust.

WHY?! The question was a splinter, digging deeper with every swing. What was driving him? His mother—those quiet stories he let slip about her hands kneading dough, her voice soft as dusk? Or something uglier, something he kept locked up tight? She didn't know, and he wasn't telling. Her sword bit the air harder,

Whooooosshhhh!!!!!

 that sounded like a curse.

That's when she saw her.

The demoness—Seraphina—perched on the low stone wall like a cat that'd wandered too far from home. Her silk cloak spilled around her, dark as spilled ink, and her eyes were on the sky, tracing the first faint streaks of light. Sadness clung to her face, sharp and heavy, but there was anger there too, a ember of its own smoldering under her skin. Amelia's boots crunched gravel, loud in the stillness, and she was across the courtyard before she could think, sword up, tip hovering an inch from Seraphina's throat.

"If you touch him," Amelia rasped, voice raw from exertion, "I'll have your head before you can blink."

Seraphina's laugh cracked the air—a jagged, despairing thing, like glass shattering on stone. Not joy. Not even close. "Oh, child," she said, her gaze sliding to Amelia, heavy as a hand on her shoulder. "I'm already done for."

Amelia's grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "What's that mean?"

The demoness tipped her head back, a sigh slipping out like smoke. "Your man—Aaron—he's human, sure. Flesh and blood and all that mess. But what he DOES, what he SAYS....." She trailed off, rubbing her wrist where a faint glow pulsed under her glove, a slave mark Amelia hadn't noticed before. "It's beyond human. Beyond demons, even, and I'd know. He's got me leashed tighter than a dog. Can't breathe unless he says so. I'm just a purse with legs now, printing coin for his grand damn plans."

A pang hit Amelia's chest, small and sharp, like a pinprick she didn't see coming. She stamped it out fast. Demon was a demon—claws and lies and all—and Aaron was Aaron. He had his reasons, his ways, and she'd trusted them this far. She wasn't about to waver now.

"Stay away from him," she said, voice hard as the dirt under her feet. The sword dipped, but she kept it ready, eyes locked on Seraphina's face.

The demoness just nodded, slow and tired, her gaze drifting back to the sky like it might swallow her whole. 

But later, as the morning stretched thin, she caught Aaron in the doorway—just a flicker of silver hair and a shadow slipping away. His back was to her, shoulders tight, and something glinted in his hand before it disappeared into his pocket. 

The market hummed under the morning sun, a wild pulse of life throbbing through the stalls. Shouts overlapped—vendors barking about fresh bread, their voices hoarse and cracked, kids darting between legs, giggling like they'd stolen the day. The air hung thick with smells: dough rising, fruit bruising in the heat, the faint sour tang of sweat. Aaron wandered through it all, boots scuffing the dirt, his eyes skimming over tools—hammers glinting, blades winking like they knew secrets. But he wasn't here for that. His hands stayed loose in his pockets, his mind sharp, hunting.

Then he saw her. The clerk from the Slayer Guild, tucked by a crate of vegetables, her fingers brushing carrots like she was soothing them. No crisp white uniform today—just a plain dress, faded blue, the kind you'd miss if you weren't looking. But Aaron was looking. He'd felt it back at the guild, a flicker of 'something' during their last talk, buried under his distraction with Elyra. Now, with time heavy on his hands, he let his ember eyes flare. A glow pulsed behind his gaze, and there it was—not quite human, shimmering under her skin like a shadow dodging light. His lips twitched. Gotcha.

He paced over, lazy-like, snagging a tomato from the pile. "Well, damn," he said, tossing it hand to hand. "Didn't expect to see you here."

She glanced up, eyes widening for a split second before softening. "Oh—it's you." Her voice carried respect now, no trace of the old sneer, the way she'd sized him up like dirt under her boot. "The future slayer. Shopping early?"

"Tomatoes," he said, grinning. "Gotta eat, right?" He leaned an elbow on the stall, casual as a breeze. "What about you? No clipboard today?"

She laughed—soft, real, a sound that caught the sun and threw it back. "No clipboard. Just me." Her cheeks went pink, just a touch, and she tucked hair behind her hat like it'd betrayed her.

They drifted through the market together, Aaron tossing out lines like bait. "You tried making a dish out of these?" he asked, snagging another tomato, spinning it in the air. She giggled, flustered and bit curious.

He winked. "Stick with me, I'll teach you some recipes my ma used ." Her smile trailed them, light as bells, her guard crumbling with every step. He liked her like this—flushed, human, not the stone-faced clerk who'd judged him.

Time went by, exchanging recipes, jokes and some flirts here and there. Finally, At a butcher's stall, he grabbed a slab of meat, bloody and wrapped in paper, swinging it as they walked. Her eyes flicked to it, then away, her nose wrinkling like she'd caught a bad wind. He filed that away, kept the chatter flowing. "Market's alive today," he said, nodding at a kid haggling over apples. "Makes you feel like the world's still spinning."

She smiled, warm. "It does. Thank you—for this. For the company, its been a while, I laughed so much." 

They stopped where the stalls thinned, the crowd's roar fading to a murmur. The place where they finally parted ways. "My future feels brighter, knowing a slayer like you. Farewell. "

Aaron's grin stretched wide. "Aw, you're sweet." He held up the meat. "before you go, Here, take some. Bought too much—my eyes are bigger than my stomach."

Her face tightened, a quick flinch. "Oh—no, thank you. I'm fine."

"Come on, it's good stuff." He pushed it closer, voice teasing but firm.

She stepped back, hands up like a shield. "No, really. I don't—" Her voice cracked, sharp now, disgust seeping through. "I can't."

He watched her, ember eyes narrowing, the air between them snapping tight. She turned to go, quick steps kicking dust, but he called after her, voice low and easy, like he was remarking on the weather. "I guess elves really don't like meat, huh?"

She froze. Her breath hitched—a short, ragged sound, like he'd yanked the ground from under her. Slowly, she turned, eyes wide, wild, her laugh too high and brittle. "....What? Elves? That's—that's absurd."

***

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