Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was, without a doubt, the worst idea anyone had ever come up with.

And by anyone I obviously mean Alex.

To be fair, the bar was already low. This is the same guy who once mistook a cursed mirror for an enchanted one and spent a week talking to his reflection like it was a mentor. But this time? This time was worse. Because he knew it was stupid, reckless, probably illegal—and he did it anyway, all behind the guild master’s back. With a bunch of strangers who smelled like bad intentions.

I’m not saying I’m the most responsible nineteen-year-old in the city, but at least I don’t sneak off to make shady pacts with people who use phrases like “mutual gain” and “experimental summoning.” And now I get to be the one who cleans up the mess, again, while Alex plays the wide-eyed prodigy with just enough charm to get away with anything.

He thinks they like him because he’s talented.

I think they like him because he’s easy to use.

"You can’t meet with them!" I was practically begging at this point, because the guys he was talking about were clearly part of an illegal summoner ring. This wasn’t just some guild rule-breaking type of deal. We were talking full-on MagiPol execution-level consequences.

"Relax Vivi," he said. "You won’t believe how much they’re paying."

I tried to grab his arm, to hold him back, but he pulled his sleeve gently—yet firmly—out from between my fingers.

"You don’t have to come if you’re scared," he added with that smug little smirk, the one that said he knew I wouldn’t let him go alone into the worst part of the city. I wasn’t exactly badass, but hey—two mages are better than one.

"Besides," he said, tossing me a look over his shoulder, "we’re basically there already."

"How did you even find them?!" Seriously, how does one human being attract this much trouble and still have time for breathing?

"They found me," he said, like that somehow made it better. "They said they needed someone for a simple job and were willing to pay well. Apparently, they’re pretty well known—at least in the demonica circles—so they couldn’t do it themselves without tipping off their target."

Sounded like total bullshit.

And target? What target?

"Were you supposed to steal something from someone?"

I couldn’t believe he’d sunk that low. Where the hell was the Alex I’d known for the last ten years? Sure, he wasn’t exactly a beacon of responsibility, but he’d always had some kind of moral code.

"That’s the best part!" he said, grinning like this was some kind of fun little prank. "They just wanted me to get close to a summoner girl, access her grimoire, and read out a single demon house name. That’s it. Supposedly no one else knows it. I didn’t have to take anything. She didn’t notice a thing. I just memorized the spelling. They were very clear about not writing it down. I just had to wait until I could meet them again. Easy job. Easy money."

"You haven’t seen a single coin yet. For all you know, they’re planning to—"

"You’re always so dramatic," he muttered, not even bothering to hide the eye-roll. "Can’t you just be happy for me for once?"

With that irritating finality of his, he added;

"We’re here."

The basement of the warehouse was stark; stone walls, broken crates, rusted hooks. In the center of it all, painted across the concrete like a goddamn warning, was a summoning circle already drawn in thick, dark lines. Fresh. Sharp. Precise. Four figures stood waiting in the shadows beyond it. One of them stepped forward as we entered—tall with silver piercings catching the flicker of lantern-light, face hidden under a hood but voice low and not amused.

“You have what we asked for?”

Alex nodded, casual as ever, like this was some kind of coffee meetup.

“Yeah. Got it right here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Didn’t write it down, just like you said.”

“Good,” another voice said, this one sharper, man with arms crossed. His eyes flicked toward me. “And her? Who’s she?”

I could feel every pair of eyes in the room shift to me like knives. I straightened up, tried not to look like someone who was seriously regretting her life choices.

Alex didn’t even blink. “My sister,” he said smoothly. “She’s here to back me up. You know, moral support.”

I nearly choked. Sister?! I gave him a look that very clearly said what the hell, but he ignored it.

“Cute,” the third one muttered, barely visible in the corner, flipping a coin between his fingers. “You bring your sister to illegal summonings?”

“She’s handy,” Alex said with a shrug. “You never know when telekinesist might come in useful.”

The fourth one, who hadn’t spoken yet, finally did. His voice was raspy. “Payment comes after the summoning. If the name works, you’ll get what we promised.”

Alex hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—but then gave a short nod.

I didn’t like this. I didn’t like any of this. The circle on the floor felt like it was breathing. The whole room had that kind of wrongness that made your instincts go feral.

Alex knelt by the circle, muttering the last few syllables of a binding phrase under his breath as he adjusted a sigil just outside the western point. One of the summoners handed him a vial—thick, silver-tinted liquid sloshing inside—and he poured it into the etched grooves like he actually knew what he was doing.

I stayed a few steps back, arms crossed tight, eyes flicking between the four strangers and the slow flicker of runes beginning to light up along the outer rim. I could feel the magic humming against my skin, sharp and metallic, like static before a storm.

Then—nothing.

A beat. Another.

Alex glanced back, smirk wanishing from his lips.

Then it happened.

The air inside the circle collapsed inward, like gravity decided to take a break. Smoke—thick, black, and churning with an electric pulse—spilled upward from the center. The circle hissed, the runes flared bright, then dimmed again, over and over like a heartbeat. A sharp buzz, like radio static, filled the space between my ears.

I took a step back, involuntary, just as the smoke began to pull itself inward, curling like fingers into a fist.

Then he was there.

Kneeling in the middle of the circle, outlined by the dying glow of summoned light, was a man—if man still applied. Medium build, body lean but solid, muscles defined like sculpture carved from desert stone. His skin shimmered a deep, almost metallic brown—like scorched sand under a blood-orange sun. He wore nothing but low-slung leather trousers and a thick belt with a curved dagger strapped against his hip.

He didn’t move at first. Just knelt there, breathing slow.

He lifted his head.

Black hair fell in wild waves over his forehead, half-obscuring his face—until his eyes met us.

They glowed. Burning red, with flickers of deeper crimson. They pulsed with something violent, and I knew, with a kind of soul-deep certainty, that those eyes were filled with hatred.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Time to leave. Now.

All four summoners—and Alex—stood frozen, staring at the demon like they couldn’t quite believe they’d actually pulled it off. I wasn’t planning to wait around while they finished all the formalities. Negotiating a contract with a demon could take hours. Days. Weeks, if the bastard was particularly stubborn.

We needed to be gone long before then.

I used their distraction—the guy closest to the circle had just started chanting the first rite, a language spell—and slipped behind them toward the table at the back of the room. That’s where they’d left the infernus.

I reached out, calling my magic, focusing hard. The medallion rose smoothly, silently, toward my waiting hand. Almost silently. The chain clinked. Just a whisper of sound. One of them spun around, eyes narrowing as they locked on me.

"Okay, okay, no sudden moves," I said, holding up my free hand. "You’ve got your demon. Now it’s time to make good on what you promised Alex."

Cool. Calm. Rational. Totally fair, right?

Apparently not.

The guy lunged, maybe thinking he could grab the medalion or grab me—either way, he didn’t get far. I yanked my arm back, and he caught only the edge of my sleeve, but it was enough to unbalance us both. He shouted something—I didn’t catch it, my heart was already in my throat—and someone else joined in, hands grabbing, magic flaring.

Alex shouted my name.

Everything turned sideways.

There was a pull, like gravity got bored of being helpful and decided to play rough. I lost my footing, slammed into someone and momentum did the rest.

I stumbled back, hit the edge of the summoning circle—and kept going.

Right into it.

I barely registered coldness before I hit the floor hard, my shoulder taking the worst of it. My fingers clutched the Infernus like it was a lifeline, the medallion still tangled in my grip.

And then I remembered I wasn’t alone.

The demon was still crouching. Still watching, but now he was watching me.

Up close, his presence was like being pinned under a collapsing sky. The heat of his gaze felt physical, like fire brushing against my skin without burning it—yet. Red eyes locked on mine, glowing brighter now in hunger.

Oh, this was bad.

This was very bad.

I tried to scramble out of the circle but the demon was faster. He moved in a blink, grabbing a fistful of my sweater and hauling me upright like I weighed nothing. With a sharp pull, he spun me around and locked one arm around my waist, pinning me in place with enough pressure to crush my ribs. I let out a sharp, involuntary gasp of pain. He stilled. He didn’t loosen his grip, but he didn’t tighten it either. Just held me. Controlled me.

The heat of his body bled through my back, searing. His other hand slid up, wrapping carefully around my throat. Not choking—yet—but close. Tears spilled from my eyes. They streaked down my cheeks, over my chin, dripping onto my collarbone, my chest, and his forearm. The demon didn’t flinch.

That was it. I was dead.

I searched wildly for Alex—found him, frozen. But he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were locked on the demon above my shoulder, wide with terror.

The demon didn’t move, but his grip stayed locked around my waist like a vice carved from muscle and fire. His other hand rested just under my jaw, fingers pressing lightly. Not enough to cut air, just enough to remind me he could.

His gaze flicked up—away from me—toward the summoners.

“One of you opened the portal.”

His voice was deep, rough-edged, like hardly ever used. But calm.

No one answered, even Alex.

The demon shifted slightly, his head tilting just enough to glance at them from beneath a curtain of dark hair.

“I do not know your world. I only know this; when the circle breaks, I am free and this one dies first.”

His grip around my ribs tightened intentionally. I couldn’t hold back a sound.

Sharp. Choked.

“You summoned what you do not understand.”

Still silence. The summoners stood rigid. One man took half a step forward—only to stop when the demon's gaze cut to him fast.

“I won't bargain. Send me back.”

He paused, lifting his chin slightly.

"We can’t send you back," Alex started, voice trembling. "But if you let us explain how a contract works—"

"I will not agree to a contract."

The demon’s grip on my throat tightened, making my every breath shallower, tighter. His eyes were locked on Alex now, searching—assessing—clearly trying to identify who among them might be willing to deal with him.

"Wait, wait, don’t hurt her!" Alex said, panic rising in his voice. "I’ll answer your questions!"

"Shut up," one of the summoners snapped.

Alex turned toward him, protesting, voice climbing. "We can’t just—"

The flash of a blade cut him off mid-sentence. I didn’t even register when the second one moved—just two clean, vicious stabs to Alex’s back. He gasped in a broken breath, like air escaping by accident.

Then he dropped.

Just like that. He hit the ground hard, blood pooling fast, soaking into the dust and lines of the summoning circle. He didn’t move again.

It happened so quickly, so brutally, my mind didn’t have time to catch up. I thrashed against the demon’s hold, screaming, rage and grief colliding. I didn't care if he crushed me—let him break every rib—I still fought. My throat burned, but I started yelling anyway. Screaming every curse I knew in every language I’d ever heard.

"Why did you do that?! You promised! He wasn’t a threat—we weren’t a threat! You’re the ones who wanted the demon, not us! We just wanted to leave!"

I yanked again against the demon’s arms, desperate to tear free, to throw myself at them, to do something. But his grip didn’t budge.

I couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t stop the shaking.

They turned their backs to me, murmuring in low voices, likely trying to decide what to do next. Like I wasn’t even a factor anymore. Like I wasn’t a threat.

They weren’t wrong. I was just one girl. With no backup and no way out. Either the demon would kill me or they would. I stared at Alex, like maybe if I wished hard enough, he’d suddenly cough and sit up and grin like it was all just another terrible joke.

He didn’t move.

Then I felt heat brushing against my cheek. The demon leaned in closer, his breath hot near my skin.

"I can give you revenge," he murmured, voice suddenly soft—coaxing. A predator pretending to be gentle. "If you give me freedom. How do demons get free from human lands?"

"I don’t know," I lied instantly.

Thanks to Alex and his endless obsession with all things forbidden, I knew more than I should have. Enough to know that the fastest way, the only way I know about, to send a demon back was to kill their contractor. Which meant… with no contract he had no anchor here.

A monster without a leash trapped in our realm.

And I wasn’t about to tell him that.

He inhaled slowly, deeply. The sound made my skin crawl.

"Lie," he growled, dragging his cheek slowly along mine, smearing my tears between us. "I can smell it on you. You don’t want to avenge your male?" he asked, voice softness and venom all at once. "Just one little answer."

My male? My eyebrows knit in confusion. But finally my brain kicked in. Maybe it was survival instinct, maybe just shock finally giving way to clarity. Because the solution to my problem— the four summoners still arguing a few meters away—was standing right behind me. I wanted them dead. If we made it out of here, they’d be hunted down by MagiPol anyway. Executed. If they were caught. I could make sure they never hurt anyone else again.

The only question was; how the hell do you manipulate a demon into helping you?

He wanted one thing.

"I can’t send you back to your world. Neither can they," I began carefully, choosing every word. "Without a contract, you might leave the circle, but you won’t return home."

He stilled. No breath, no twitch of muscle, nothing. He wasn’t struggling to hold me. His strength was unreal.

"Truth," he said at last. "But how contract will send me home?" he mused, voice low, calculating.

Of course he wasn’t some mindless beast. There was cunning in every syllable he’d spoken so far. He tightened his grip just slightly, urging me on.

I gasped. "I don’t know."

He growled.

"Don’t lie," he hissed. "I can smell it on you."

He was losing patience. I was running out of time.

"I can release you from the circle—if you promise not to hurt me, and..." I hesitated. Did I really want to ask for the death of four men? What the hell was wrong with me?

"And you help me subdue them. So the people who enforce our laws can take care of them."

He bared his teeth slightly. His canines were pointy and right next to my throat.

"I want to go home."

I had one advantage: they hadn’t had time to explain the rules yet. I heard that some demons arrived knowing the terms already, but this one clearly didn’t have access to the gossip chain.

"Once they’re no longer a threat," I said, swallowing the rising panic, "we can search for a way to send you back."

Even saying it felt absurd. Searching for extradimensional transport solutions with a blood-hungry demon at my side? Sure. Totally reasonable.

But there was no time. That group would come to a conclusion any minute now.

"Freedom from this kaīrtis vīsh. You will answer how to get me home when you find it—for my removal of the threat and not hurting you, na?" His voice curled around the words like a contract already sealing.

I hesitated—but what other choice did I have?

"Yes."

I closed my eyes as fresh tears burned behind them.

I had just agreed to become an illegal contractor.

He leaned in, his voice like molten metal poured into a mold. Sealing our fate.

"Enpedĕra vīsh na."

"Enpedĕra vīsh na," I echoed in a whisper.

Chapter Text

He was Ivaknen now. The summoned.

Even if unwillingly, he had crossed.

Fate was indeed cruel to the Vh’alyir bloodline.

They had believed themselves immune to summoning and were killed for it. Hunted every day, because other demons believed it had to be their fault, that the Vh’alyir had done something so long ago that no one even remembered what, cursing demon kind to human cruelty

A lie then.

If they could be pulled here, then the Vh’alyir demons were killed by other Houses for nothing.

He scanned the space. Cold stone. Iron smell. Dust and magic. Five males outside the kaīrtis vīsh – the circle. And… a female?

Unusual.

Humans looked different. Paler. Thinner. Weaker males.

He sneered.

The female’s frame was more familiar, slim and delicate in build, yet more slender and shorter than the females of his kind. Softer around the shoulders. She looked young. Not yet payashe no longer a chit. Her stance lacked control. Her movements hesitant. Payilas, then. Adult, but barely.

What was she doing among five males? Was she hunting them? Testing her strength before choosing a pashir? Were they her drādah — her prey? He watched her from the corner of his eye.

Then magic hit him. Sharp and sudden, ringing behind his eyes. Their speech became clear, understanding unfolded inside his mind. The human sounds—jagged, unfamiliar, meaningless just moments ago—began to stitch themselves into coherence. Tone became meaning.

He understood them.

What magic was this?

Contract. They wanted to offer him terms. Fools. He would agree to nothing. He had heard stories of what became of demons summoned here.

Some never returned.

Some returned as Ivaknen, as he will.

But before returning they were used, made into tools. Servants. Slaves.

Not him. He would not serve. They would die, once he crossed the circle. But how?

Another motion. The payilas moved. Away from the males. Quiet, but not enough. He heard every step. Every breath. Too loud. Still, the males didn’t react until a disk appeared in her hand.

Infernus.

He had heard of these. Objects used to bind, used to control his kind.

That would have to be destroyed first.

Then the room exploded in action. One male lunged at the payilas, then another joined him. Chaos. Shouting.

Then—

She was inside the circle.

With him.

He turned.

Dh’ērrenith. Victory on the horizon.

A grin stretched across his face.

Advantage.

She landed hard, her body breaking the stillness of the summoning circle with a thud that echoed through the stone chamber. She scrambled to rise, one knee dragging across the lines that shimmered faintly beneath her. He moved before she could even breathe.

With one hand, he seized the coarse fabric at her chest and hauled her to her feet; with the other, he turned her effortlessly, locking an arm across her waist and pinning her against him. Her body was shockingly soft—far more than he expected. Not just softer than demon males, whose skin was made to endure heat, blade, and bite, but more delicate even than the payashe of his own kind.

There was no density to her, no resistance, just pliable flesh and fragile bones that shifted under his hold, startling him. He paused, adjusting his grip so as not to break anything — there would be time for that later.

He braced himself for her retaliation, his tail flicking nervously, expecting a strike, the bite of power released in fury.

He would not stand a chance against a payashe — few demons outside the First and Second Houses ever did — but perhaps he could contain her long enough for the males of her kind to bargain for her. It was an honourable thing to do. Maybe they would offer him his freedom for not harming her.

Nothing came.

She only tensed, like something wild cornered, and lifted her hands to push against his arm. Her fingers pressed into his skin with no more bite than a passing breeze, her nails soft and blunt, lacking ability to wound.

This was what humans were? So different? So weak?

He could smell the magic in her blood, yet she didn’t use it to defend herself against him. Did human vīsh work in a different way?

He could feel her pulse fluttering through the thin skin of her neck as he laid his fingers along her throat. There was no reason to crush it. Not yet. Her life was warm and soft against his chest, her breathing shallow, quick, like a prey animal caught mid-flee.

He registered her scent fully now, fruity, with strong trace of fear, and something that tugged at him in a way he couldn’t quite define. Alluring, but at the same time the salt of her tears cut through it bitter and grating.

His gaze shifted back to the other humans. They were frozen, staring not at the payilas but at him.

They should.

One of them spoke about contracts. He had no intention of following their laws, their binding rituals.

He had been summoned and now he wanted to be send back.

That was the only truth that mattered.

Summoners voices layered in urgency, tension, and fear. He listened only to identify which one of them might possess the knowledge he needed. As one male begun to speak with promise of answers, the karkis, the betrayer, ended him.

No warning. No hesitation. Just two clean strikes to the spine, and the voice was silenced forever.

The payilas exploded into movement, into noise. She struggled in his grasp, small fists pounding uselessly against his arm, voice raw with outrage. Her strength was nothing compared to his, but it was there, a flicker of fire that wanted to destroy. The kind of strength that came not from muscle or magic, but from instinctive condemnation of betrayal. At least she had honor.

Her voice rose, cracked but clear;

"You’re the ones who wanted the demon, not us! We just wanted to leave!"

Important fact.

She and the dead male hadn’t been part of the summoning? Accidental witnesses, then?

Perhaps he could bargain with her. If she had been payashe, her magic would have already struck him down for handling her so roughly. There would have been claws and cutting power. But she had not attacked—only protested, only wept. He could use that.

So he spoke.

He tested her words as she answered. Reading lies and truths was effortless, as natural as breath. Each falsehood in her voice tinged her scent with bitterness. Yes—what she said about the contract, and the path home—it was true. But there was something else. Something held back.

No matter.

One step at a time.

They exchanged the words. The promises.

"Enpedĕra vīsh na," he said, sealing it.

"Enpedĕra vīsh na," she whispered in return.

The pact was made.

A surge of magic tore through them both, painful in its intensity. It crackled under his skin like a whip of living lightning, hot and sharp. The payilas hissed, her body tensing in reaction.

He felt a pull. A linking.

He was tethered now.

Ah. The Infernus.

The connection didn’t feel like shackles at least, not in the way he had imagined. It felt like places in Ahlēvīsh where the air was still and folded in on itself, places that offered shelter. Safety.

Perhaps… destroying the Infernus immediately would have been a mistake. Perhaps there was more to learn. He would wait.

His eyes narrowed.

“Leave kaīrtis vīsh,” he ordered.

She blinked, clearly not understanding. He could see the confusion in her face. So, the magic that allowed him to understand humans didn’t work both ways. His words, spoken in his ancestors’ tongue, were a mystery to her. He held her gaze for a moment. Her eyes were so unlike those of his kind. No crimson. No burn. No silent promise of violence, as in the eyes of a payashe.

Just blue. Deep, steady blue.

Like the clearest water at the center of an oasis—dangerous in its own way, because it invited you to lower your guard. In Ahlēvīsh, such water always hid something. Many dangerous things lived near it.

“The circle,” he said at last. “Leave the circle.”

She nodded slowly. Without a word, she slipped the Infernus around her neck, tucking the medallion beneath her top cloth. He turned his gaze to the summoners. They were staring back in frozen terror. They had missed their Dh’ērrenith—the precise moment of triumph. It was gone.
No victory awaited them now.

As the payilas stepped forward, breaking the final edge of the kaīrtis vīsh, he reached inward, calling to his core. A surge of power twisted through his form. He unraveled into a mist of crimson essence, shifting, bleeding into the Infernus like smoke. The vastness inside was still. Empty. Safe but hollow. A place to survive just enough to wait out the storm.

When he felt her leave the boundary of the circle, he surged back—casting himself outward, reforming in the material world in a flash of coalescing heat and flesh. He expected the males to strike him immediately. To try, at least. But instead, they lunged at the payilas.

That was… disappointing.

He moved before they touched her.

The first male reached for her shoulder, hand never making contact. His arm split the air in a clean, upward arc, his claws slicing through the male’s wrist and into the side of his throat in the same motion. A wet choke. A fall.

The second tried to pivot, hand glowing with some conjured blade, but too slow—he caught the human by the jaw and drove him headfirst into the floor. Bone cracked. Magic fizzled out before it could form.

"Wait!" A payilas voice he ignored.

The third male turned to run.

Nailēris. A Coward.

A pulse of heat burst from his palm, a whip of raw energy lashing outward, catching the male mid-spine. He folded with a scream, limbs locking, then going still.

The fourth reached for something at his belt—another Infernus—but his fingers barely brushed the surface before he was on him. Yes, Vh'alyir was the weakest of all demon Houses— but they were also the fastest. He turned, caught the dagger meant for distraction with his bare hand. Steel hissed against his skin. With a single motion, he yanked the male forward and slammed his palm into the center of the human’s chest.

One blow. Heart stopped.

Crimson light, laced with a distant demon scent — Third House, he thought — spiraled from the Infernus before disappearing into nothing. He frowned. Had the demon died as well? More questions for his payilas to discover later.

He cast a quick, easy spell to clean his palms. The scent of human blood was terrible. Cut on his palm was easy to ignore, will heal soon enough.

Silence fell.

Four bodies. Four failures. Easy preys.

He turned back to the payilas. She hadn’t moved. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, breath catching at the edges, but her feet stayed rooted to the bloodstained floor. She was watching him with wide eyes—fear clear in her gaze, sharp and unhidden.

Yes, he thought, fear me, payilas. I am no toy in human hands.

He began walking toward her slowly. He no longer needed to rush. There were no threats left in the room. Only her.

He searched for the binding, the force that should have compelled his obedience through magic, if the stories he heard in Ahlēvīshwere true. It wasn’t there. There was no pressure in his chest, no leash around his mind. Nothing holding him back. That was strange and unexpected. Only the tether to the Infernus remained, humming with unfamiliar resonance, connecting him and her to the medalion.

Should he kill her?

Her body was weak, just like human males, it would be easy.

What stayed his hand was his promise. The honor he still carried, even here.

They made a bargain, and he will not taint the Vh’alyir House with betrayal.

He stopped a step away from her.

Only now, with the room finally still, did he take the time to look at her properly. She was smaller than him by at least a head, her build light. Her face was slim, a bit red on the cheeks, and her blue eyes were filled with fear and sharp alertness—watchful and prepared to flee.

Where would you go, payilas? he thought, faintly amused. You still have a promise to keep.

Her long hair caught the light, light brown with golden tones, like the warm sands of Ahlēavah he used to lie upon as a child, while his father kept watch for dangers. It stirred a memory of rare pleasure, long gone and maybe never to return. Her clothing was strange; blue pants made of thick fabric, a green top woven from a material he didn’t recognize. Nothing he saw reminded him of his own world.

Then he saw the marks.

Faint bruises darkened the skin along her neck, right where his hand had held her. Why? He hadn’t squeezed. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. His grip had been light, controlled... by his standards.
And yet he had broken something beneath her skin.

How could anything bruise so easily?

"You didn’t have to kill them…" Her voice trembled slightly, but not enough to break.

Don’t be weak now, payilas, he thought. We are already out of danger, na?

"Only fools leave alive those who will hunt them later," he said flatly. A truth. Did she not even know that? Had her mother at her first pashir never taught her the basic knowledge?

"Now your promise," he added, tone sharp.

Her voice was low, tight with urgency.

"It’s not that simple. If others find out about the contract, about you and me..." She hesitated. "We’ll both be executed. Contract we have, it's not allowed by... our laws."

He only watched her, expression unreadable, listening not for truth—he already knew she believed her words—but for what she wasn’t saying.

"We need to hide," she continued. "To lay low. Be careful with everything we do." There was tension in her shoulders now, not from fear of him, but from fear of what came next.

"I don’t even know yet where to look, how to find a new way to send you back." Her voice faltered, just slightly. Something hidden. "But we can’t stay here. Someone will come. They’ll find the bodies."

She was afraid—but not of him. Not only.

And she was right. If this place was discovered, it would come with attempts to kill them.

She was thinking like prey, but acting like something else. She was not strong. But she was clever. Drādah ahktallis — smart prey. Useful. Willing to move or to hide, whatever was needed. And most of all, she had confirmed she still intended to keep her word.

For now he would follow. At least until he learned more about her world.

He returned to the Infernus without resistance, and the payilas ran from the warehouse quickly, her body carrying the scent of fear and grief.

The world inside the Infernus was safe place for him, simple in its emptiness. Time here did not flow as it did outside. It was a pause in a living.

But... she was here with him. Not physically, but… faintly. Odd sensation. Invasive but not... unpleasant. The connection between them wasn’t very strong, not like a true contract perhaps would be, but it was enough to stay focused. A thread of her presence brushed against him, her emotions coming in waves.

After he returned to the Infernus, her fear faded, and another feeling began to take hold of her. He felt her sorrow, heavy and endless. She burned, quietly, deep inside. Like coals buried beneath ash.

It was strange for a female to grieve over a male.

In his life, he felt something like it only once. Not as strong. Not as consuming. When he watched Dainen of the Second House drive claws into his father’s chest. But even then, he had not mourned as she did.

In Ahlēvīsh, grief is weakness, and weakness is a lapse in vigilance that get you killed.

It was strange to experience the outside world through her senses while still feeling the hollowness of the Infernus. The smell of rain, the echo of noises that surrounded her as she moved through her world — he tried to catalogue everything, but soon discovered that her realm held far more stimuli than Ahlēvīsh ever did.

Soon they reached the closed quarters, her housing he assumed, and she began to settle. He did not leave the Infernus. he waited until she slept hours later, then stepped out of it without a sound, reforming carefully. His feet met the floor, solid and cold.

The room was small, dark, and warm. He stood over her sleeping form, taking in every corner, every detail. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen so many objects gathered in one place before. He had never been inside a pashir, doubted any male ever was, and now he wondered if the payashe of his kind were collectors too.

She didn’t stir, wrapped in blankets as he moved toward the door.

The scent of her space was strange. Familiar in some ways, but wrong in others. It smelled of her, and of the only human male he hasn’t killed. He didn’t understand why his scent was in her living space.

In his world, females and males do not share. Females rise young in their own keeps, where they learn magic, protect territory, train daughters, tolerate sons till they are old enough to be sent to theirs fathers. Females do whatever they want – theirs magic so much stronger than male's.

Males travel. Hunt. Fight and try to survive. The lucky ones, judged by the females as worthy, mate with them and father offsprings.

Here, it was different it seemed.

Illogical.

Her dwelling was small full of soft things. No other females around. Strange.

He explored without touching anything, wanted to know what she kept, what she hid. Books. Food. Clothing. Everything had scent. Everything spoke of her or of dead male. He kept circling her space. Learning.

Soon, she would wake and he would have to hide.

He will give her time to grieve, and when she is done she will keep her promise or he will stop keeping his.

Chapter Text

I don’t remember how I got home.

The whole walk—or maybe it was a run, or some half-dazed stumble through back alleys and quiet streets—is gone from my memory. One moment I was in that warehouse, the scent of blood thick in my nose, the weight of the Infernus heavy against my chest. The next, I was inside the apartment I shared with Alex, the door swinging closed behind me with a soft, final click.

Leaving his body behind was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

There was nothing noble about the decision. Just survival. I couldn’t carry him, couldn’t call for help, couldn’t explain why he was there or what had happened. I remember whispering “I’m sorry” before I ran.

And now I was here. Home. If you could still call it that.

The apartment was too quiet. Still full of his things—half a mug of cold tea on the windowsill, a stack of library books he’d meant to return weeks ago, one of his jackets thrown over the back of the couch like he’d be back to grab it in five minutes.

But he wouldn’t. Ever again.

I dropped the Infernus on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. It landed with a quiet thud, the metal chain coiling around it. Its surface was warm to the touch. I stared at it for a moment, then turned away.

I felt numb but I needed to clean up.

In the bathroom, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower. The water was lukewarm at best, but I didn’t care. I stood still under the spray, letting it run down my spine, through my hair, across my aching shoulders, bruises on my neck and waist reminding me how close I’d come to being killed today.

I think I stood there for an hour. Just stood.

As I dried off and wrapped myself in a towel, my gaze drifted down the hall. Alex door was open. His room still messy. Still his. The sun was setting outside the window, painting the sky in deep red. Like blood. I closed my eyes.

The mythic world was harsher than the human one stripped of magic. Sometimes, death simply followed us, on the job, while hunting rogues or creatures that had slipped out of control. I’d seen death like that before, I was supposed to be used to it by now. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Alex was gone and now, I had to hide my involvement.

MagiPol was ruthless when it came to keeping our world hidden from the general public. Our secrets were tightly guarded, magic carefully disguised.

Alex has been so happy to move out from his parents’ house. I remembered the way he’d grinned, arms flung wide as he stepped into this place for the first time like it was a castle and we were royalty. “Just you and me, bestie,” he’d said, spinning in a slow circle. “No rules, no curfews.”

His boyfriend would be devastated. What should I say to him? 'Hey, sorry, Alex got stabbed to death in a summoning gone wrong. By one of his own new friends.' There weren’t words for that.

I looked back at the Infernus. It sat perfectly still, like nothing inside it could possibly be dangerous. I had no idea what to do with the demon. No. Idea.

I don’t remember how long I stood there, staring at the medalion—at the thing that, one day, could very well be the reason I die.

Days passed in barely contained fear that I would be arrested or that he would appear again, quiet like smoke I saw he could turn into. I feared that he'll find a loophole in our conract and sink his claws into me.

Did we even have a contract? Not the standard version demonica mages secured through rites — but any at all? I wasn’t sure. Of all the SPADEs, demonica was the most secretive — full of gossip and half-documented rules. Most of the knowledge was passed from mentor to apprentice, and everyone knew that was why it was also the most expensive expertise anyone could ever hire. I had no clue where to even begin gathering information about the mess from hell I’d gotten myself into.

At some point my guild called me in so officers with unreadable faces could asked questions. I told them what I had to. That I didn’t know what Alex had been doing there or who killed him. That he hadn’t told me. That I had nothing to do with it. They didn’t have proof otherwise. No cameras. No witnesses. No magical traces tying me to the warehouse.

Breaking into sobs I could no longer hold back in the middle of their questioning showed them that at least my grief was real, that I’d lost someone precious to me.

I was released soon after, my guildmaster granting me leave from the Guild’s meetings ‘until I was ready.’ Everybody knew how close Alex and I were.

The grief got quieter after a while. I walked in circles through each day, functioning when I had to, hiding when I could. Sleep came in fragments. The nightmares, memories of that day, were slowly fading. Curious how human mind could protect itself.

I hid the Infernus in the drawer beside my bed. I didn’t have the courage to wear it outside—not even tucked beneath my clothes. In all the days that had passed, the demon hadn’t emerged from it once. I functioned during the day, going through the motions of things I had to do. I was lucky, in a way—summer break had just started after my final year of school, and my new job wouldn’t begin for another month. I went to bed right after sunsets.

But I knew I couldn’t keep going like that forever. It wasn’t just unhealthy. It was suspicious. Friends from the guild started asking if I was okay. Grieving was fine, as long as you kept going. Otherwise, people felt the need to intervene and I couldn’t risk anyone taking a closer look at me. For a while, I just pretended to be sick.

Two weeks passed in a blur.

The numbness faded into quiet, sad acceptance.

And still, there was no sign of the demon.

Until one morning.

I was making coffee, half-asleep, thinking about too many things at once, hair tied into a messy bun, wearing some stretched-out shirt I’d owned for years. The apartment was quiet, the city outside barely stirring. Steam curled from the mug in my hands, the familiar warmth grounding me in something that almost resembled normal.

And then I felt it.

Presence. Like the air behind me had thickened. Like gravity shifted slightly off-center.

I froze.

I didn’t turn immediately, couldn’t.

I don’t know how long I stood there, staring into my coffee like it might save me. My heartbeat started pounding in my ears. My breath caught at the top of my chest.

I turned.

He stood there solid and silent. Barefoot on the tile, arms at his sides, tail flicking slowly, eyes focused. Same leather pants. Same bare chest with lean muscles. Slightly cat-like pupils, two crimson coals burning into my own, watching me with that unfathomable stillness.

The Infernus hadn’t made a sound.

I swallowed hard.

"You—" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. "You’re… out."

His gaze didn’t waver.

"You called. I answered."

I blinked. "I didn’t say anything."

He tilted his head slightly. "You were thinking about me." A beat. "Loudly."

I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or panic. He couds hear my thoughts?

"You’ve been in there for two weeks," I said quietly instead. "Why now?"

"You are ready to speak," he replied. Simply. Like it was the only answer that made sense.

I wrapped my fingers tighter around the mug.

"You could’ve warned me."

His eyes narrowed, very slightly.

"You are not in danger. There is nothing to warn about."

I took calming breath.

"Fine. You’re here. I guess we talk now."

I moved from the kitchen to the living room and sank into the sofa, tucking my knees up, wrapping my arms loosely around them. He didn’t sit. Instead, he walked to the window and stood there, predator-still, like he was studying the world beyond the glass, at least the fragment that my window allowed him to see.

“We can’t act or search anything openly. It’s too dangerous. I am not from demonica class and I do not know much about it, only the basic knowledge all mythics have, but if I start asking questions suddenly it will look weird. It’s the most regulated discipline across the guilds.” I needed him to understand.

He didn’t respond right away so I stopped staring into my mug. His body caught my eye—lean, tall, all muscle carved into perfect definition. There was nothing soft in him, nothing unfinished. His skin had that strange red-bronze hue. Alien. Beautiful.

I looked away, suddenly self-conscious.

He nodded turning to me.

“I will stay hidden.”

There was no protest in his voice, no irritation. Just the quiet acknowledgment of a fact he’d already accepted. That alone, the fact that he was ready to cooperate, should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

“I don’t know why it worked,” he added. “House of Vh’alyir is supposed to be safe. Unreachable.”

I swallowed.

“My friend—Alex—he said he got your House name from some girl. Someone he met through… them.”

I didn’t say summoners. The word scraped my throat.

“Maybe if I find her, I can ask if she knows anything else. Maybe there’s a way to send you back.”

I didn’t say the other part. There was faster way. Easy solution.

My death.

He didn’t need to know that.

“And you can track down that female, the one who knows my House?” The demon asked, his voice calm but laced with a strange, eager undertone, as if the thought of a hunt had suddenly entered his mind and stirred something in him. I shivered.

“I know where to start looking,” I confirmed, vaguely.

It was the only thing I’d managed over the last two weeks, hiding in my apartment. I’d gone through Alex’s things, suppressing the guilt, trying to find anything about the girl he’d mentioned.

What I knew wasn’t much, only that she was a summoner, had a grimoire with an unknown demon House name, and lived in Vancouver. Alex hadn’t taken any overnight trips in months, so he must have found her here. Oh, and one more thing about the mystery girl, she was already on the radar of a murderous demonica rouges.

If nothing else, I could try to find her and warn her.

In Alex’s journal was a girl’s name I didn’t recognize and a bookshop address, marked with an absurd demon doodle beside it. If I was lucky, it wouldn’t be a coincidence.

“Then we start our hunt with her,” the demon agreed and I made the effort to ignore his choice of words as well as his focused stare.

As I moved back toward the kitchen, a thought struck me.

He had stayed inside the Infernus for two weeks straight. From what I understood, he hadn’t left even once. That begged a question— did demons need to eat?

I grabbed two plates anyway, a few day-old pastries, and bottled water. Nothing fancy, but if he was hungry, it should be enough. We could work on a shopping list with his preferred food later.

I placed everything on the table without meeting his eyes.

“Eat something if you like.”

I turned to go to make another coffee, but froze feeling the sudden shift.

It was like the temperature in the room rised, and the air thickened with his attention. He hadn’t moved, but his eyes…

They weren’t glowing, not in the way I'd seen when he first appeared inside the summoning circle but something behind them burned. His entire focus was on me. Locked. Devouring.

Like I’d said something I didn’t understand.

Like I’d done something I couldn’t take back.

His gaze traveled across my face, my throat, my shoulders, the line of my arms. Lower. There was nothing crude in it. Nothing cruel. But it was heavy. A slow, searching look that traced the shape of me like a map. I felt him take in every part of me.

I didn’t understand what I’d done.

“Fine, little payilas,” he murmured, voice low, silken, eyes locked on mine. “I will comfort you.”

Then he moved. One step, then another, silent and certain. I stood frozen as his arms wrapped around me with terrifying ease, like he’d done this before. His touch was gentle fire. The heat of his body radiated through my clothes, into my skin. His palms traveled lightly over my hips, fingers curled behind my thighs. He lifted me with ease, arranging my legs around his stomach, then he turned, and began walking. On instinct, to keep from toppling backward, I braced my hands on his shoulders, his skin hot and smooth beneath my colder, clammy palms.

He followed hallway toward my bedroom and everything inside me froze.

No.

No no no—

He thought—

He thought this was something I’d invited.

“Wait—” I started, my voice catching. I pushed lightly against his chest. He didn’t stop.

“I didn’t mean— ” My words came breathless as I twisted in his hold, panic crawling into my throat.

“Let go. Please no—”

I struggled harder, and this time, he stopped walking. He looked down at me with a frown, his brow furrowed—not angry. Just confused. He searched my face, scanning my expression with that same unwavering focus, as if trying to understand what had changed. He sniffed, as if my smell could explain me to him.

“You offered me food.”

He stated as if his act now carried undeniable logic.

“I thought you were hungry!” I blurted. The words came out louder than I meant, trembling at the edges. "What does it mean to you?"

For a moment, he just stared at me. I could feel every breath he took through our fronts, pressed flush together. Slowly, his arms loosened. With more care than I expected, he bent slightly and set me back on the floor, like I might crumble if he let go too fast. His hands slid away from my hips, lingering for a second too long, like he wasn’t sure the contact should end.

I stepped back. One. Two. Enough to breathe. Not enough to feel safe.

We stood in silence.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with that same assessing expression—as if trying to understand how offering food could not mean what he thought it meant. As if he was rearranging some internal map of reality and didn’t like the way the lines no longer matched.

My pulse was still racing. I watched him sniff the air again in that strange, almost animal way.

He frowned.

I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling small and embarrassed and stupid. How could I have known? How could he have known I didn’t?

“I wasn’t… inviting anything,” I said, softer now.

He blinked once, nodded.

“Understood.”

The word was simple. Final. But his gaze didn’t leave me.

I looked away first.

“What does it mean to you?” I asked again. Clearly he didn't plan to hurt me like that.

“When a female gives food to a male, it means she has chosen him. It is an invitation to share warmth. To lie with her.”

There was no hesitation in his tone. No shame. He was simply telling me how his world worked. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and rubbed my face with one hand.

“Well, at least you understand the word no,” I muttered, half under my breath, looking back at him.

He tilted his head, confused like I’d said something that didn’t compute.

“Of course,” he said slowly.

I blinked.

There was something in his voice that caught me off guard. The way he said that, utterly calm, matter-of-fact, as though the possibility of not understanding a refusal was itself a foreign concept.

“So… what happens if a male doesn’t listen?” I asked carefully. I wasn’t even sure why. Maybe I wanted to test the certainty in his voice. Maybe I just needed to hear it spoken aloud, now that we’d probably be spending a lot of time close to each other, weeks, maybe months, and knowing he wouldn’t use his insane strength to force me into anything would put my mind at ease.

He looked at me like the question itself didn’t make sense. Like I’d asked what happened if fire stopped being hot.

“How could he not listen?”

I hesitated.

“Rape does not exist in your world?”

“Rape?” he echoed. His brows pulled slightly together. “This word has no meaning. Language spell is not explaining.”

My throat tightened.

“You know… when a male forces a female…” I started, the words falling heavy.

His expression shifted into something sharper.

“Males are afraid of payashe,” he said. “They do not approach to mate without invitation. Their magic is stronger than ours. If females do not initiate or accept our gifts, we avoid them or if we are unlucky and anger them, we fight to the death."

I stared at him. I wasn’t sure what I felt... stunned, maybe. The world he described felt alien.

“I don’t have that kind of magic,” I said. The words left my mouth before I could decide whether to speak them. Was I fair game then?

His reaction was immediate. His eyes darkened with something dangerous—offended pride, insult, quiet fury, all mixed together.

“Not only magic holds us back.” His voice dropped, deeper now. “Forcing would be gh’akis.” The word hit like a slap across the air.

“Payashe, gh’akis?” I repeated, trying to shape new syllables.

“Payashe means adult female" A beat. “Gh’akis... wrong. Bad. Disgusting.”

His eyes locked on mine, sharp and watchful now.

“Do human males do that?”

There was something dangerous behind the question, a crackle of restrained rage and disbelief.

I shrugged. The motion felt hollow.

“Sometimes. The bad ones.”

Something in him stilled, as if he was recalibrating everything he thought he knew about the world.

I glanced at the plate still sitting untouched.

“I understand food means something else in your culture,” I said, awkward. “But… you can still eat it. If you want. As long as you don’t take it as… anything more than just food.”

I felt heat rise in my cheeks the second I said it.

He looked at the plate. Then back at me.

“Sunlight and heat is enough to replenish our life-force,” he said slowly. “But food…” A pause. “Food is meant to be enjoyed.”

His voice didn’t carry suggestion. It was just another truth from his world, spoken as simply as everything else.

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I just nodded.

“I will not take more unless it’s given,” he said, as if he could still sense my fear. His tone made it sound like… a possibility for later. No pressure, no expectation, just an acknowledgment of something that might be. I shuddered, though I wasn’t sure if it was from fear alone.

He stepped toward the table and took a seat. He ate in silence. I watched, arms folded across my chest, pretending not to care though every part of me was still braced. When he finished, he pushed the plate toward me, head bowing with something almost like respect.

"Sānāthē,” he said. “That means thank you.”

For the first time, I relaxed.

Everything I’d known about demons screamed that this was manipulation, that he was dangerous, that I should never lower my guard. And yet… he hadn’t hurt me. Not when he could have. Not when he misunderstood. He’d stopped. What I saw in him didn’t match the tales. He didn’t fit any of it. He was powerful. Alien. Dangerous, definitely. But he was also disciplined. Honorable.

Maybe I had a chance to survive this situation after all. If I succeeded in sending him home befre someone discover us.

"What is your name?" – I asked.

"Zavros."

"My name is Vivianne, but Vivi is fine as well."

Chapter Text

She offered him food.

In his world, it was a clear signal.

There were no misunderstandings when a payashē gave a male food. It was an ancient custom, inviting without words. It was never complicated. She offered, he answered. Or fled. That was the rhythm. That was the way.

She placed the plate before him, and asked him to eat. He glanced at it, too surprised to find any words, then his full focus was on her. It was a common choice to leave the food for after.

He paused long enough to acknowledge her small, delicate form. To remind himself how easily bruises bloomed across her skin, how little pressure it took to mark her before. To judge how much strength he would have to withhold to avoid breaking something.

Her fragility was a challenge and he liked challenges.

Before he learned that food here meant something different, her scent, unlike anything in Ahlēavah, told him she offered him something rare, something no other demon ever had.

So he reached for her.

Every movement careful. Heat against heat. Her breath touched the base of his throat and ignited something primal in him. His body ready to respond. The reaction was pure instinct, she was soft in places a male noticed. In that moment it did not matter that she was human and he, like all demons, should hate her kind.

Her heartbeat fluttered against him, fast, eager, he hoped. She was compelling in a strange way, both similar and different from payashē.

He held her carefully, fingers tightening gently around her flesh, promise of pleasure soon to be shared exciting.

He had been presented with food only twice before. Vh'alyir were hunted too often to linger near females’ dens in search of joy, too many other Houses nearby, always watching, always hoping to catch a payashē’s interest. Still, he hoped what he had learned then would help him now, and that a human body was similar enough to his own kind for him to offer her satisfaction.

All males longed for this pride.

As he turned toward the place where she preferred to sleep, she pushed him.

Soft at first. Playful, he thought.

Then harder.

Payashē did like to spar sometimes before submitting, just to make sure their choice of a male was good enough. That worried him a little, because he wasn’t sure he could answer the challenge without bruising her again. Staying unresponsive beneath her strikes could offend her too. Before he could decide what to do, the scent of fear rose around her.

‘Please no’.

Nul?

He froze.

Confusion rippled through him. His hands still held her, but now every point of contact burned with the wrongness of it, her tension, the way her body coiled away instead of toward him.

It didn’t make sense.

In his world, no one fed a male unless they meant to share bodies. Shelter for a night. Touches. A payashē always knew what she wanted, she was strength, she was magic without limits. She never invited a male if she was uncertain.

But here everything was blurred.

Different.

Hours later, he watched her sleeping form again and tried to catalogue everything he learned so far.

She was hh'ainnun. This world was human and in this world, females could be scared of males.

That was… other.

It should bring him satisfaction.

No male in Ahlēavah ever inspired fear in a female, and by all rights he could take pride in being the first to do so. Yet there was no sense of triumph in it. Here, every human was drādah, and drādah’s fear was born of weakness, not respect.

A hunter stalks, prey fights for its life, that was the natural order, nothing worth boasting about.

But..

This rape thing.

He sneered.

He didn’t fully understand it, and still it brought out his anger. It didn’t fit any part of the structure he knew. There was no honor in it. No victory.

Females’ attention was a reward for being the strongest, the fastest, the best in a fight, or in finding the most alluring gift. Without it being offered, there was no dh’ērrenith in it.

No demon would do such a thing.

Even the Īnkavis, the broken ones, the twisted males who killed, and killed, and killed for the pleasure of it, wouldn’t think to cross that line.

He took a step back from her sleeping nest, afraid he would wake her.

He could feel his magic rising to the surface, ready to strike something down. Seeing him looming over her in the darkness would frighten her and he needed her calm, mind clear enough to fulfill her promise to search for answers rather than curl in fear.

She didn’t stir, her long, light-colored hair, the feature that made him the most curious, spread around her head and blanket. The strands seemed to call his fingers, inviting him to glide through them and learn their texture. He had never seen hair this long before, a disadvantage in a fight, too easy to grab. Another detail about her that was both strange and fascinating.

But he didn’t reach for it. He promised not to take more than was offered, and touch was not offered.

He left her sleeping room and went to the day room, restless.

She didn’t offer him what he first assumed, but she did offer something, food as sustenance.

Kindness.

That was rare for someone of Vh'alyir House.

She was different that what he expected human to be.

All demons believed every human wanted to possess a Summoned. He never met an Ivaknen himself, only knew that many returned with their minds broken. Many became Īnkavis, after years of killing and killing for humans, nothing more than tools, enslaved.

Stories repeated among his kin about what was expected of the Summoned made him believe that being hunted and killed as Vh'alyir was a kinder fate.

Submitting his will, his voice, even the basic choice of movement, becoming a mindless beast for hh'ainnun to steer — he would rather die.

He was aware his promise with the payilas was different from a contract, no magic forced him to obey, and it gave him the autonomy to act.

To learn.

Watch the rules of this new world. So far he never wandered outside, deciding it was too risky without knowing more, but there was plenty to discover around her rooms. How humans lived, what they valued.

He could study themand when he returned to his world as an Ivaknen of the Vh’alyir House, he will have something to offer the others. Perhaps it would be enough to make them stop hunting his kin. Perhaps his knowledge would become a temptation strong enough to make them negotiate rather than simply kill.

Vh'alyir House was in ruin.

Other clans could at least gather now and then to train together, to travel in packs, to strengthen their young in shared hunts. Vh'alyir could not risk such aggregation; the hatred of the others was too strong. He, as Dīnen, was hunted the most. He could not lead, could not guide his kin, because doing so would only endanger them further. Any attempt to assemble a group would be a call for blood. His blood. Theirs.

Every Vh'alyir was forced into solitude.

Only very young payashe chose to mate with them, and that meant Vh'alyir sons carried weaker and weaker vīsh.

Soon, his House would be extinct.

Sometimes he wondered how many of his kin were still alive, hiding. How many wandered without guidance. Was being Summoned a chance for him to change anything if he ever returned?

Ivaknen who kept their minds intact were honored and even Dīnen listened to them.

Would it be the same for him, even if he came from Vh'alyir House?

He could only hope.

Days passed in simple pattern.

Her leaving into the outside world, him staying put.

She insisted it was better that way.

He tuned himself to their connection, often returning to the Infernus just for that, as it was stronger when he was in vīsh form. Experiencing outside world like this was mostly annoying, like trying to capture half-remembered dream, but still it was better that nothing. There were also distant echoes of her feelings — frustration mostly, and a rising fear.

Every day she returned from a place called the bookshop, muttering that it was still closed, her scent full of worry and growing dread. He disliked that scent on her, so after one sunset he asked the payilas what the reason was.

She didn’t meet his eyes, chewing on her lip.

“You made it clear you expect my promise to be fulfilled, and I haven’t made any progress in days. I guess I expect you to finally… snap.” She murmured.

Snap?

He was no Īnkavi.

No demon with sound mind would lose control, their fathers taught them better. Still, he wanted that fear-scent to disappear, so he offered the best explanation he could.

“Not every hunt is fast or victorious. Sometimes drādah is khaltiris — cunning. Some are good at vēshmara, hiding. Good hunter knows patience is the only path to dh’ērrenith. If you try, I will wait.”

“Sure, sure, but what happens if I don’t fulfill my promise?” she pressed, tone almost challenging, like a demon chit testing the boundaries of their elders.

That was fine. Payilas could be bold.

He stepped closer, towering over her. Her breath caught in that familiar way when he came too close to her, either passing through her day room where he sometimes paced in boredom, or when he leaned in to sniff her morning or evening food.

As usual, she tensed, holding still as drādah often did, not knowing whether any movement would provoke a strike. At the beginning it was amusing, but after a while her obvious wariness of him started to bore him. Then irritate him. Being feared was desirable but only when the reason for it was justified.

He stepped closer, her face almost brushing his chest.

Intimidation could create fear, but it could also show that fear was unnecessary when no violence followed. She didn’t need to feel unease about his strength when he had no reason to use it against her. He wanted her to learn that.

“Because you can’t, or because you don’t want to?” he asked, bending slightly toward her ear.

She shivered, but didn’t try to regain her space, and it pleased him.

“If I can’t. What happens if I never find a way to send you home?” Her eyes flicked up toward his face.

“Then we exchange another promise. I cannot leave you, as we are bonded.” He gestured toward Infernus, which she kept leaving in the apartment. He felt a strange urge to fasten it around her neck, but he didn’t understand it, so he ignored it.

There was something else he kept ignoring, but perhaps it was time to ask.

“Are you ready to tell me what you are hiding?” he asked softly.

Her brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

Honest confusion. Humans remembered poorly, he judged.

“You concealed something about a way to send me home. Are you ready to tell me what?”

The fear-scent returned at full strength.

He grimaced.

Whatever it was that made her fear him could only suggest that the truth she was hiding would lead to her harm.

But why would he do that? She posed no threat to him in a fight, so killing her in self-defense was an impossible scenario, and she had already declared that her rulers discovering their bond would doom them both, which meant her betrayal wasn’t a risk either.

What else could make her this afraid? He wanted only one thing, to return to Ahlēavah, and he didn’t see how killing her would help him achieve that.

Her fear made no sense to him.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyes dropped to the floor.

Lie.

No matter.

“Kah eshanā rathkēn khalūris,” he assured her. I can be a patient hunter.

“What does it mean?” she asked warily.

He gave no answer.

Boredom started to gnaw at him.

He was not used to such stillness. Even the safety of it, no other Houses nearby to hunt him, or the comfort of a soft, warm place to simply nap, could not keep him calm forever.

He could feel the anxiety stirring, the need to move, do something, pressing hard against his decision to stay put.

He learned everything there was in the payilas’ den, every scent, every corner of this place during the long night hours she spent resting.

It was time for a change.

He was lying on the sofa, as she called this soft nesting, watching the moon through her window, in his mind shaping the words that might convince the payilas to take Infernus with her the next time she traveled outside.

The picture-machine played quietly in one corner, the shifting visages too grating for his eyes, but he listened, still attempting to learn something about this realm. It was difficult without context.

Humans were indeed different than demons believed. Not all cruel, not all greedy.

She was the first example. Her fallen companion had probably been similar. He remembered the fear in that human eyes for the payilas when he grabbed her.

That hh'ainnun had been willing to speak with a demon to save her.

Then there were the ‘news’ the payilas liked to watch every evening on the picture-box. He listened, curious what tales could it deliver. Many things made no sense to him, but the parts he grasped painted a different world than Ahlēavah.

Dangers hid everywhere here. The news spoke of killings and of humans stealing possessions from other humans. Demons fought for what they wanted as well, at least that part was similar, but here it wasn’t the result of a duel, just preying on the weakest of them all.

But there were also stories of humans who helped or healed others, who fought for a better future of the realm. Just like he tried for his House.

Structures far more complex than anything he knew were hidden here. He tried to follow them, to map this world’s inner connections.

He asked questions too, and was surprised the payilas always explained without asking anything in return. Another demon would demand a question for a question, a truth for a truth — equal exchange so neither side owed the other.

Vivi never demanded anything and it stirred strange feelings in his mind. No one ever gave anything to a Vh’alyir for free.

He counted his debt anyway, and for now it was six questions long, starting with his first;

‘why the picture-box never said anything about the vīsh’?

She explained that it was the official news station meant for all, not only mythics. He learned humans were divided between those with vīsh and the even weaker drādah without magic.

He asked how many Houses humans had, but learned their world was not so simply divided, and there were dozens of countries sharing common traits, and inside them smaller groups were uniting hh’ainnun into formations he had trouble imagining. Tangled structures hidden in this realm told him humans liked to complicate things beyond necessity.

He asked why mythics summoned demons, a question that made payilas nervous, and one she couldn’t find the answer to for a long time, until finally saying that it was just another way to make some people rich. He learned most humans liked to gather material possessions, and the enslavement of his kind was a way to accomplish that.

One evening, when payilas returned carrying bags full of food, he asked where it came from.

He knew now that the food was not a gift from males hoping for attention, nor was it the result of a victorious hunt. The strange wrappings covering most of it was odd, but he dismissed it as a human dilēran habit.

She explained that everyone could exchange money for anything they needed, and that further explained why riches were so important to hh’ainnuns.

He ignored her suggestion that he could take anything he wanted from a places called the fridge and the pantry.

He didn’t need food to replenish his strength; the sun here was strong enough on most days, and eating without the thrill of a hunt beforehand or any of the pleasures usually connected to it seemed pointless.

And like that, he had four debts.

He paced himself, even with so many things he was curious about.

Payilas was strangely defensive about the cleaning space, the bathroom, and he couldn’t quite grasp why she demanded he never enter at the same time she did, especially since she had no such issue with the living area or her sleeping den. Bored in his confinement and curious what the little human would do, he declared that he could enter wherever he wanted, given he wasn’t able to wander outside.

He was a Dīnen, after all, meant to give commands, not take them.

She glared at him with displeasure females tended to display when angry, and if she had been a demon he would have assumed a battle stance, ready to defend himself.

But she only huffed, her face turning red, and stomped to the kitchen to prepare a tea, louder than usual.

Her scent carried a mix of feelings: anxiety, anger, and something beneath them, warm and sharp that clung to her skin like heat, subtle sweetness he sniffed on her for the first time.

So he asked his fifth debt.

“Why is your face red, payilas?”

“I am not red,” she protested, sounding offended.

“Your face is changing color,” he stated, a simple fact, nothing to be angry about.

She turned to him, eyes narrowed, considering her words.

“Humans blush when they are upset or flustered. Sometimes our skin shows what we are feeling. We can’t usually control it, or at least it’s hard to suppress that first reaction. You saying you will enter the bathroom when I am inside makes me feel embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a private place!”

“Why?”

“Because I can be naked there!” She screamed, her face getting even more red in color.

Why would that matter?

He was surprised how many layers of clothing payilas liked to put on herself, and he was certain it was to protect the weak skin humans had. Among demon females, the payapis, the elders, wore the most fabric, and it signaled status.

Were humans clothing themselves for any other reason? Was being naked wrong?

The glare she gave him suggested this was not the best time to ask, but it disappeared almost immediately. She clamped a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. The fear scent started to spread, and he sighed, displeased.

“Why are you afraid again?”

He stepped closer, shortening the distance between them until he could touch her if he stretched out his hand. He didn’t.

“Because me shouting will make you angry,” she muttered, staring at his chest.

“Don’t assume, payilas, when safety is at stake. Assumptions lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death.”

She glanced at him, brow furrowed, and he could see his explanation was not very reassuring. He tried another.

“You are afraid of my anger, but only betrayal can give it to you. You assuming I am angry can one day lead to you running in the wrong direction, toward danger and not the protection of my vīsh and claws.”

Her face seemed even more confused by the end.

“Since when am I under your protection?”

Did humans know nothing?

“Since we bound our promise in vīsh. ‘Enpedĕra vīsh na’. That’s how demons make their vows to one another or a pledge to their Dīnen. Until they obey and do not betray, they are under Dīnen protection.”

It was the greatest misery for a Dīnen of Vh'alyir, how little they could offer to those they were meant to shield.

“So, what, you would defend me?” Her eyes jumped between his, as if she tried to enter his mind.

Amusing.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

How else could she keep her promise if she was not unharmed?

It took him a while to realize that day after day she left her living space alone, unprotected. The shift from knowing that payashe were always safe in Ahlēavah to realizing that human females were not in their world forced him to acknowledge he made a mistake in allowing her to wander alone. A mistake he intended to correct soon.

“I, ah, um… appreciate it. But I don’t think there will be a need for that, and you still need to hide.”

He didn’t deny or agree.

Then, because his curiosity got the better of him while standing this close to her, he made his sixth debt.

“Can I touch your hair, payilas?”

She kept it unbound today, and from the moment she appeared from her sleeping space, he was compelled to follow the gentle sway of her strands with his eyes. The wavy lengths reached almost to her hips.

Her eyes widened, but she nodded.

A permission for touch, still, he sniffed the air, and her natural scent was laced with that new sweetness and… anxiety. Not quite fear, yet far from trust.

He could wait and claim this favor later.

He stepped back, ignoring her confusion, and returned to the window to observe the street below her home once again.

A sudden, loud and aggressive sound from outside ripped him out of the memory and made him leap to his feet, knees bent, teeth bared, ready for an attack. Bright lightning-like flashes burst across the sky — unlike anything he had ever seen.

Vivi darted around him, grabbing the window curtains and dragging them closed. She turned to him, hands raised as if to calm him, an expression balanced between amusement and worry.

“Sorry, sorry. The restaurant below is celebrating its tenth anniversary. They must have bought fireworks for it. We’re safe, I promise.”

Mailēshta.

Why would anyone willingly create such noise? His ears still rang.

“I want to see.”

She hesitated, then pulled the curtains back again.

There weren’t many, but bursts of bright, colorful lightning appeared for a few seconds before disappearing. The sound was terrible, plucking at his nerves and pulling him toward battle-readiness, yet the sight itself… was pretty.

There was one place in Ahlēavah where the sky shifted into blue and green hues for hours. He had traveled there once.

This was more intense.

Payilas turned to watch as well.

“Can’t wait for you to see New Year’s Eve, Zavros,” she said, with a grin he saw on her face for the first time, a look almost like a challenge. “It will be interesting.”