Chapter Text
A demon lurks in the streets of the village tonight, slinking between the small thatch buildings in the shafts of fading sunset. It has skulked about these paths many times before, but tonight...tonight, he’s going to put an end to it.
Perhaps he’s not the spitting image of a hero--a simple carpenter with a good life, a good trade, and a good family. But even though he’s satisfied with his life, dreams of knighthood had lingered in his head since he was a child. Protecting the village and slaying monsters, lofty ideals of bravery and recognition, it had all appealed to him for as long as he could remember. And he’d happened to be in the right place at the right time, if not a little rushed.
The demon living in the abandoned castle on the cliffside has no shortage of stories surrounding it, though few have seen it in the flesh. Some claim to have seen glimpses of it in the forest around town, while fewer others say they’ve seen it walking about town before wearing a mockery of a human form, casual as you please, before disappearing for weeks at a time. Several profess that the demon has stolen into their dreams before, and while he was originally doubtful of such outlandish statements, the descriptions shared between them are too similar to be coincidence. A few have gone up to the castle, but none have returned with anything useful to talk about besides a few burns.
He’d been lucky in that a good friend of his had apparently seen the demon wandering about earlier, and had thought to rush to tell him. Perhaps his makeshift weapon of a fire poker wasn’t the most gallant, but it was sharp, and he had some strength behind his arms. He couldn’t be sure iron would kill it, but didn’t have time to go get anything like silver or holy water, and it’ll make for good information if nothing else. He just has to make sure he sneaks up on the creature and attacks before it can work any of its magic...
“Excuse me. May I pass?”
The carpenter whirls around, grip tightening on the poker. On the path before him stands a figure he doesn’t recognize--androgynous in build, sporting a deep mauve suit-jacket and a red tie with odd gold markings. A fuchsia cloak is fastened around their shoulders with a gold chain, billowing past their ankles like wings. Their maroon hair flows down their back and tapers to a point that tips upwards as if in curiosity, and their face is that of an average, if sharp-featured, middle-aged human with reddish-tanned skin. However, the farmer immediately notices their brilliant crimson eyes and the horns that protrude from their forehead at slight angles, and his eyes go wide.
It doesn’t quite match the descriptions, but there’s no mistaking it.
“You!”
The demon, for it can be none other, takes a step back, brows arching into its hairline. A scaly, clawed red hand grips the strap of a lumpy satchel over its shoulder, doubtless full of materials for its fell rituals. “...Yes? I’d like to get home before nightfall, so if you wouldn’t mind…”
He fumbles for a moment, mind racing, before he manages to collect himself and point his poker forward. He tries to recall everything he’s ever read about brave knights and the way they spoke as the demon takes another step back, holding up a hand and frowning in puzzlement. “Back, you!” He wishes he sounded just a little bit braver. “This ends here!”
The demon stares at him, then lets out a huff through its nose. “...Hm. I was hoping I could get all the way home without one of these, this time.” A deep sigh, and it relinquishes its hold on its bag, holding out both palms as if to indicate it is unarmed. “I was just visiting the bookshop, that’s all. I don’t mean to cause a fuss.”
“A likely story!” He steps forward, but this time, it stands its ground. He very suddenly realizes just how tall it is--two heads over him, at least. “We are sick and tired of your reign of terror.”
Its eyes narrow. “My ‘reign of terror’.” The words are drier than old parchment.
“Yes!”
“And when was the last time I bothered any of you?”
“Oh, we know. We see you creeping about in the shadows, frightening our children. We know you sneak into our dreams and twist our thoughts to suit your ends, as you work your evil magics in the safety of that castle. We know you’re biding your time until we’re at our weakest, and you at your strongest--and then, you’ll strike. But I don’t intend to let that happen.”
“So...rumors and old wives’ tales.”
“That’s what you want us to think!”
Another deep sigh, and it mutters under its breath, holding up one hand with palm upward. He flinches and steps back, but instead of an attack, a little pale red light like a miniature star blooms on its hand, dancing along its fingertips.
“Really, I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
“Then surrender, beast! Lie down and die!”
“Hm. No, I’d rather not.” They raise their hand, and he finds his gaze unconsciously following the light. His eyes go wide as he realizes he can’t look away.
“Wh-what are you doing to me?!”
“I’d say it’s nothing dreadful, but you wouldn’t believe me. There’s no point in convincing any of you when you’re like this. I’m not sure where you all keep getting these sorts of stories, anyway.” A pause. It tilts its head. “Oh, you probably shouldn’t be holding this.” It reaches out and plucks the poker from his hands with barely an effort. He fumbles desperately to grab it, but it’s already out of his reach. It shrugs, planting the poker in the ground at its side as it lowers its hand and the little star closer to his eye level.
“Y-you won’t get away with this,” he sputters.
“I probably will. Tum somnum.”
Ajisai snaps their fingers, and the little light vanishes as the hapless man slumps to the ground, unconscious. Their lips purse as they regard the human, then the sharp iron rod--yes, definitely for the best that they took that away from him. Humans are fragile things. He could’ve seriously hurt someone.
Not them, of course. It’s almost funny how the humans still think it’s possible to harm them--or, it would be if the humans didn’t use that justification to bother them at any opportunity.
Ajisai sets down the iron rod and easily gathers the sleeping man into their arms, carrying him off the path until they reach a house they can lean him against where he probably won’t be disturbed. They set him down in what they hope is a somewhat comfortable position, and pat his head with a clawed hand as they stand, a smirk coming to their face. “Don’t worry. It was all just a dream.”
They turn and continue on their way towards home. Maybe they could’ve gotten by without the dramatics, it’s true, but--is a bit of flair yet another crime, these days? If the villagers are going to have such a misguided view on them, at the very least they can have a bit of fun with it now and again.
Maybe they do have a bit of a mischievous streak. They’re still a demon, after all, even if they aren’t exactly keen on attending the Prince’s parties these days.
No, they much prefer the little life they’ve carved out for themself here--a castle, run-down and too large for them but still serviceable, on the cliffside overlooking the little village; a collection of books and an equally large collection of plants that they’ve sunk all of their pride into. The man’s words do have some sort of twisted truth somewhere in them, as they do tend to alarm people they run into in the village, and their magic does have quite a lot to do with the realm of dreams. And, yes, maybe they sometimes go poking around where they shouldn’t, but--never with any sort of malicious intent. If anything, it’s easier for them to speak to people in dreams than it is in reality. Charisma and social aptitude are two different things, and while they’ve been told they have the former in spades, the latter is...lacking. It suits them well enough most days.
But they shouldn't have to worry about any further social interaction, now. Aside from this incident, they’ve made it through another excursion into town without any major problems, with a new set of books in their satchel and a couple of packets of seeds from the market. As the moon begins to peek over the horizon, Ajisai looks forward to spending the evening curled up in their study with one of their new purchases, as they spend most nights.
After all, why would things be different this time?
If you asked Ajisai, red wine had to be on the short list of things that humans had come up with that was truly an excellent idea.
They don’t drink it constantly, of course. They do also enjoy a good cup of tea on the rare occasions they decide to indulge in human drink, and they’ve got a cellar of other spirits they have the luxury of allowing to age for as long as they need to--it’s not like they’re short on time. But deep in the quiet nights like this one, they’ve found there’s nothing quite like red wine. They’ve retired to their immaculately-kept study, lit by candles too dim for human eyes to read by, and have settled in a comfortable chair with one of their newly-purchased books in their clawed hands. On the table next to them, they are accompanied by a glass of the singular vermilion drink--this one a lovely bright, light flavor with hints of cherry and notes of spicy warmth underneath.
Ajisai is looking forward to reading this particular story, a fictitious tale of a lady framed for killing someone in a magical duel, fraught with intrigue as she tries to investigate the truth and clear her name. it’s not exactly within their normal tastes, but the book had been enthusiastically recommended to him by the bookseller, one of the few people who respected them if only by necessity of their constant visits (though they’re beginning to wonder if some of her respect stems from other sources. They do suppose they find her rather endearing, at least.)
Ajisai isn’t sure how long they spend engrossed in the tale, their wine nearly forgotten beyond the first couple of sips. But about a quarter of the way into the book, their focus is interrupted by an insistent ringing in their head, causing one of their ears to twitch as somebody rings their magical ‘doorbell’--or, more accurately, somebody tried to sneak up to the front of the castle and got ensnared by one of their magical wards.
They let out a long groan, grinding their teeth as they slip their favorite sun bookmark carefully between the book’s pages and set it aside. This happens on occasion, usually some misguided villager intending to ‘slay’ them or somebody trying to pick some of their flowers (apparently, it’s become hearsay around town that taking one of their hydrangeas is a sign of bravery and will bring good luck, though they have no idea where that came from).
It doesn’t take Ajisai long to reach the massive front doors, and upon cracking one open and peering outside, the source of the ringing becomes quite obvious.
Two humans are outside in their courtyard, both trapped in intricate sigils of crimson magic that bind their feet to the ground. They’d guess these two are fairly young, teenagers maybe, and appear to have masculine features, though the distinction’s always been difficult for them. The taller and sharper-dressed of the two is frantically trying to wrench his legs free of the spell, while the other, with long wavy hair and rounder features that suggest he is the younger of the two, has seemingly accepted his fate, sitting down in the sigil and idly picking at the grass as he glances around at their flowers.
The younger one is the first to notice their head poking out the doors, and he offers them a tiny wave. Ajisai merely peers at the boy for a few moments before opening the door further and stepping outside, though the older boy is still too wrapped up in yanking at the magic to notice them until they clear their throat. The boy goes stiff and looks up sharply, adjusting his shirt and the satchel on his shoulder as if to make himself more presentable and generally not look like he’d spent the last however many minutes wriggling like an ant stuck in flypaper.
“Ah! Good evening, sir--uh, I mean--” Ajisai rolls their eyes and gestures for the boy to get on with it--humans seemed to be obsessed with their meaningless little categories and got all hung up over them, and this one sounds as if he’ll fumble on forever without a nudge. The boy clears his throat and starts over. “--erm, good evening.”
“It is the middle of the night.”
The boy glances up, as if only now noticing the half-moon partway across the sky. He chuckles nervously. “Is it? Is it that late?”
Ajisai leans against the open door, tapping their claws against the thick wood. “Is there something you two needed?”
“Yes!” The boy nods eagerly, and starts fumbling with his satchel. “You see, my friend and I wanted you to have a look at something.”
Ajisai raises an eyebrow and looks to the younger boy still sitting in the grass. He shrugs, giving them an apologetic look and jerking his head towards the older boy as if to silently say this was all his idea.
“--ah, here we are!” They look back to the elder as he triumphantly pulls something from his satchel--and their eyes widen just a bit, as he proudly displays it to them. It’s a book, relatively small even in the human’s hands, with a bright red cover and intricate gold trim. In the center is emblazoned a symbol of what they think is one of the blob creatures the Prince was seemingly obsessed with, that the villagers are growing ever more interested in as the slimes’ magical potential becomes more well-known. The book is relatively plain and unremarkable aside from that, but the fact that they don’t recognize it is intriguing in itself, and it has a certain...aura about it that piques their interest.
“...Where did you get that,” they ask, their tone shifting to something more conversational as they lean forward.
“It was given to me by an acquaintance,” the boy replies, “but I can’t make heads or tails of it. The bookseller says you have quite a collection, yes?”
Ah, of course she mentioned them. Ajisai nods. “I do have an interest in tomes, it’s true.”
“Then would you mind taking a look at this? I was told it was one of a kind, but I’m not so sure.”
One of a kind? They try not to look too interested. “I am quite certain I’ll recognize it if it is not.”
“Then--” The boy instinctively tries to step forward, and nearly falls over as he realizes his feet are still extremely stuck. He winces. “...May we...erm...move?”
Ajisai sighs and waves a hand, dismissing the traps. It’s not as if these two could hurt them if they tried, not that Ajisai particularly wants the villagers to add something like eating children to the long list of their perceived offenses. And Ajisai doesn't particularly hate humans, unlike many of their kind--they just prefer to keep to themself and don't appreciate being bothered. But these two have interested them.
Ajisai steps back into the doorway, not exactly inviting the two in, but allowing them to come closer. The elder bows slightly and steps forward, before realizing his companion is still captivated by the flowers and gesturing impatiently towards him. The younger reluctantly stands and walks over, hands clasped in front of him and rocking back and forth.
“You have nice flowers,” he says, in a mumble that makes their ears twitch as they strain to hear him. “Are those hydrangeas?”
A slight smile finds the corner of their mouth. “Yes. I am quite proud of those.” The flowers are where they’d taken their current given name from, after all. “Though you really should see them in the sunlight for the full effect.” The younger boy returns their smile a little shyly, ducking his head. They chuckle under their breath. Not all the young humans are bad, they’ve found. At least, the ones whose parents haven’t taught them to be afraid yet. It’s a pity they have to grow up into...well, what most of them are. “Now, let me have a look at that book.”
They hold out a claw, and the older boy steps forward, though seems to hesitate, staring down at the book in both hands with a conflicted look on his face. Maybe he’s reluctant to part with it due to its perceived rarity. He takes a deep breath and holds it out to them, and they take it, examining it more closely. The cover is definitely leather and metal, as it appeared from a distance, though it doesn’t feel too old or worn, and the pages don’t look yellowed from the side. They can’t find a title or any other information besides the metallic blob creature staring at them from the cover--only one way to find out, they suppose.
Ajisai opens the book.
There are words on the inside front cover, seemingly singed into it with flame and written in an uncommon but not entirely unknown language. They carefully trace the letters with a nail as they read to themself.
“Cast in chains, those who seek what they must not find.”
They purse their lips. Odd, but with an inscription like that, maybe there is something to this, after all. They glance over at the first page, only to find it entirely blank. They turn to the next page, finding it blank as well, and their eyes narrow. Another page, and another--all blank. Frustrated and confused, they flip to the center. Still nothing.
They glance up at the boys to ask about the meaning of this, but as they open their mouth, the book suddenly warms in their hands.
They realize it’s charmed a moment too late.
The feeling is sudden and overpowering--a violent pull somewhere around their stomach that refuses to let them go. They find that they can’t force their hands to release the tome, and it begins to burn, an agonizing fire trailing up their arms and across their chest. They’re not sure if they scream or not, because all they can sense is red.
The force from the book pulls and pulls and pulls as if trying to tear out their insides, but their surprise quickly turns to anger. They’re not going to be outdone by some petty charm. They clench their teeth, plant their feet, and call their magic forward, sparks of power running down their arms as they fight back against the pull and hold on with everything they have.
(They'll wonder many times, later on, whether it would've been better if they'd just let go.)
...
“I think they’re dead.”
“What? Th-that’s impossible! The book was supposed to trap them, not kill them!” Footsteps. Frantic pacing, far too close to their ears.
“Said who?”
“Said the person who gave me the thing!”
“And that was?”
The footsteps stop. The older one seems to come to a terrible realization. “I...I don’t remember.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure the thing killed them.”
“They’re not dead.”
“I mean, if they’re not dead, they’re gonna kill you.”
“Thank you. That’s incredibly helpful.” The pacing resumes. “It--it’s fine. No one comes out here, so no one will find out. We pretend we were never here.”
“What’re you gonna do with the book?”
“I don’t know, give it back?”
“How’re you gonna give it back when you don’t remember who gave it to you?”
“I don’t know, I’ll figure out--something.”
They finally manage to gather the meager strength to raise their head. Usually, the sort of shriek the older one lets out accompanied by the height he jumps straight up would be at least amusing, maybe earning a quip or two. But they find they...don’t particularly care.
“Y-you’re alive!” The older boy forces an obviously fake grin as they sit up, running a hand through their hair and trying to assuage the ache in their head. “Oh, I’m glad, yes, very glad, I didn’t think--well, I didn’t know, you know how sneaky magical artifacts can be, I hadn’t realized--”
They find themself getting lost somewhere in his stream of words, and they blink at him several times before interrupting. “What...what did you need again?” Their own tongue feels too heavy to form words, and the whole evening is a blur.
The boy sputters for a few moments as he tries to pin down his train of thought. They catch movement, and glance over to see the younger boy reaching to pick up the discarded book on the floor. Ah. They were interested in that, weren’t they? Why? It’s just a book.
“W-well, you see, we just wanted you to have a look at this book, because I got it from an acquaintance and they didn’t say very much about it, let alone that--”
“Um.” The younger boy now has the book open in his hands, and his eyes have gone wide.
“--it had some sort of curse on it, but of course, you’re fine, because you’re quite--”
“Um.”
“--powerful, or at least that’s what they say around the village, and that’s what I’ve read about demons, not that you particularly look like--”
“Um.”
“What?!” The boy whirls on his younger companion. “What ‘um’?!”
“Um.” The younger boy holds out the book, chewing on his lower lip. “You should see this.”
The older boy takes it with a scoff, glancing down at the pages--and all of the color spontaneously drains from his face. There’s a very, very long pause as he stares at whatever he’s looking at...and then he slams the book shut, the sound making them flinch. The boy stands up straight, stuffing the book back into his satchel.
“Well, would you look at that, we really should be getting home, shouldn’t we? It’s very late, like you said!” The boy is talking too fast and too loud, and keeps glancing between them and the book as if both have spontaneously grown eyes. They rub at their forehead between their horns and start working on standing up. “Er, thank you for your time, we won’t be bothering--”
“Don’t trample the flowers,” they mumble, having lost track of what the boy was going on about again. Once they’re sure they have their balance, they turn and head back towards their study, seeing no point in hanging around and continuing a conversation that's clearly already over.
It’s only when they’re halfway to their destination that they realize they hadn’t actually seen the two off, or closed the door behind them. Oh, well. They don’t use most of the castle space, anyway. The kids might steal a vase or something.
Their feet feel heavy as lead as they drag themself back into the study that seems less warm now than it had been a few minutes ago. They sink into their chair and pick up their discarded book, tossing the bookmark aside and trying to get back into reading it, but...they find their eyes slipping off the words, and the story itself is nowhere near as interesting as they remember. The makeshift detective would solve the case, clear her name, and fall in love with the delinquent she’d roped into assisting her. What was the point in reading all the way through to find that out? How had they gotten so far into it before? They can’t even concentrate for long enough to get through a paragraph, let alone a quarter of a book.
They shut the book and set it down on the table beside them, frowning at their forgotten drink. They pick up the glass and take a sip. It tastes like grapes.
They throw back the rest of the wine in one swallow and sag in their chair, hair wrapping around their front. Maybe they should be concerned about the encounter and their sudden change in demeanor, but they find they can’t be, no matter how many times they run it through in their mind. It’s as if the whole thing happened to somebody else, and they’re merely watching from a few feet away.
Maybe they’re just tired, the way humans get tired? They’d never needed sleep, only engaging in it to pass the time and to facilitate their dreamwalking, but right now that seems like the only reasonable option, and it’s certainly the only thing they think they want to do at the moment. They lean their head against the arm of the chair, hair curling over them like a blanket as they close their eyes.
Maybe it’ll help. Maybe they’ll feel better afterwards.
Maybe the cold void in their chest will have gone away by the time they wake up.