Episode 198 - One of us - Part 1

The morning found Nero, Larinca, and Siphone awake. None of them had managed to sleep a wink.
The castle was inhabited.
And the higher the sun climbed, the clearer it became that it wasn’t just a small group of people living there: it was an entire settlement. Since dawn, Ravidra had come alive. Wagons moved through the city’s avenues, coming and going from modest yet thriving crop fields they hadn’t seen when entering the city at night. Groups of people, dressed in either coal-black garments or blindingly white robes, went from house to house collecting not treasures or valuables, but books, utensils, tools for daily life, not items that could fetch a fortune.

But it was near the castle where activity was the most intense. That was where the bulk of whoever-they-were had gathered. There were warriors practicing a wide, fast, agile form of hand-to-hand combat. Others wielded magic, glyphs of light Nero had never seen before, not even read about in books. And there were giants, muscular beings three meters tall, bare-chested and dark-skinned, drinking straight from barrels, their weapons mighty hammers capable of toppling buildings in a single blow.

—Wasn’t this place supposed to be abandoned? —whispered Nero. They were still in the same building, on the third floor, hidden in a room with curtains drawn, a door barricaded, and a potential escape route through a risky window jump to the next building.
—They must be the Velmardians! —said Siphone.
—I thought we got ahead of them crossing the Bloodfire Battlefield! —said Nero, frustrated.
—I don’t understand. They shouldn’t have made it here this quickly! —said Siphone, peeking again through the curtain.
—Are you sure they’re Velmardians? Are there Devil people among them too? —asked Larinca.

Nero was speechless. He crawled next to Larinca and looked where she pointed. A group of six or seven children played with wooden swords, tails coiled around their waists, their devil tails. They looked exactly like Nero’s.
—It’s… it’s true —said Nero, touching his own waist. His tail was hidden under his uniform, but it was there. He usually tried not to feel self-conscious about being half-human, half-demon, but it still gnawed at him to keep it exposed near others, even his friends.
—Why couldn’t they be Velmardians? Just because they’ve got devil horns and devil tails, they can’t be from Velmardia? —said Siphone, crossing her arms.
—Well… no. They reject demons entirely. Faith in Goddess Velmar is all they need, it’s what grants them divinity and magical power. They don’t make pacts with demons —said Larinca, pressing her lips together at the end.

—WOULD YOU RATHER HAVE NEVER MADE A PACT WITH AN ARCHDEMON, GIRL? YOUR SECRETS ARE VERY INTERESTING —said Varkuzhal from beneath the pile of backpacks. They’d hidden the skull there in case they were found, so no one would see the archdemon and attack them on sight. With Varkuzhal concealed, they could pass as travelers.
—Shut up! Stop reading my thoughts! Nero, say something! —snapped Larinca.
“I can’t. That would be hypocrisy. I feel the same way,” thought Nero. He instantly regretted it: Varkuzhal surely heard and would repeat it aloud. But the skull only chuckled, letting the thought pass.

—And if they’re not Velmardians but they are Devils, then what are they? Nomadic? —said Siphone, keeping her eyes on the street.
—That would be the most logical and safest option —said Larinca.

Nomadic. People who lived without the protection of the three kingdoms, without their affiliations, interests, or flags. True Axbrynians. They weren’t considered citizens of Sylthmir, nor of Praxoris, nor of Velmardia. Yet every year, their numbers grew, and it was said their lives were fuller and more peaceful than those of kingdom dwellers. Nero had heard the stories, but he didn’t believe them. Living among demons, wandering endlessly for refuge, without purpose, home, or even a place to return to when things went wrong: was that really living?

Still, Nero’s heart ached. Those people were like him. He was like them. Every one of them had been rejected by both worlds, despised by humans for their demon blood, hated by demons for their human scent.

If he had to call anyone his people, it was them. They were right there. He only had to step outside and talk to someone. He could try to belong.

“Forget it,” thought Nero. The gap widened, no longer just meters, but the invisible chasm of powerlessness, fear of rejection, and his own ingrained prejudice toward both halves of himself.

—The mission hasn’t changed —said Nero, desperate to silence his thoughts and replace them with something else—. We need to get the ambrosia. Where should it be, Siph?

Siphone almost made a snarky comment about the nickname, but she had seen the storm of emotion flicker through Nero’s eyes and face, so she gave him a break and let it slide.
—Ambrosia is a flower, and I haven’t seen a single place in this city where flowers could grow —said Siphone—. Logically, if it exists, it must be inside the castle.

Her words fell like a bucket of cold water. Larinca was the first to speak.
—What do you mean, “if it exists”? —she said, pulling an apple from her paper bag. But she didn’t bite it, she wiped it with the hem of her clothes, watching Siphone with concern.
—Don’t mind me —said Siphone, dodging the question.
—I’m sick of letting things slide. No. Enough —said Larinca, crossing her arms—. It is important. Really important, because you’re doubting the existence of ambrosia.

Siphone looked away, and for a moment, Nero thought he saw a shadow of sadness in her expression. He almost spoke, but didn’t. He was starting to piece things together, and as he did, it all clicked. Siphone had said she was the only one chosen for the mission, and that she’d picked her companions herself. She’d even given convincing reasons for choosing them, reasons both had believed. But she’d never treated them with disdain or superiority, behavior typical of Raven’s Order Academy students. She’d never hidden her intentions, never betrayed them, never abandoned them in times of danger.

“It’s almost as if she’s not… but that’s impossible…” thought Nero. But his expression caught Siphone’s eye, and when their gazes met, the last invisible wall fell. She quickly hid a sad smile, confirming Nero’s suspicions.

—You know? Shit. Don’t say it —said Siphone softly—. Please. Grant me that.
—What? Say what? What does he know? —asked Larinca, confused.

Nero said nothing. He kept his realizations to himself.
—I think we should split up —said Nero.
—What? —said both Larinca and Siphone.
—It’s the most viable way to get into the castle. The mission was never about all of us returning with the ambrosia: just that the ambrosia returns. There are three of us, yes, but only to improve our odds —said Nero.
—We’ll gain nothing by separating. Well, except that once they catch one of us, they’ll start looking for the rest —said Larinca.
—Depends on who they find —said Nero, smiling—. If these people are Nomadic, they’ll accept one of their own without too many questions.
—You plan to infiltrate them? —said Siphone.
—Yes. They should accept me, since they’re Devils, and so am I. If it works, I’ll walk through the castle gates, maybe even escorted —said Nero.

Siphone and Larinca exchanged a glance, unsure what to say. It was a good plan, in fact, the only one that didn’t fall apart immediately. But it meant using Nero as bait, putting him in danger. Even if the Nomadic were Devils, there was no guarantee they’d welcome him kindly.
—Relying on positive discrimination is a terrible idea —said Larinca.
—Yes. But he’s right —said Siphone.
—Exactly. Nero, you shouldn’t… wait, what? You think he’s right? —said Larinca.
—The mission is to retrieve the ambrosia. It doesn’t matter how or who brings it back. Therefore, as mission leader, I must use every tool at my disposal —said Siphone—. And he volunteered.
—Nero would volunteer to capture demons with his bare head! —yelled Larinca.
—Wouldn’t be the first time —joked Nero.

—Isn’t there another option? —Larinca pulled out Professor Morgana’s doll, or what was left of it. None of them had seen it since the demon Bogallo destroyed their carriage. The poor doll was badly damaged, practically ruined— Professor? Can’t we ask for help?
—I doubt the Professor can help us with her doll in that condition —said Nero.
—But… —insisted Larinca. Nero shook his head, and she gave up.

—Then it’s settled. When night falls, Nero will present himself to the Nomadic as a lost traveler. Meanwhile, Larinca and I will look for a way into the castle, if there is one. And, if needed, we’ll create a distraction so you can get inside —said Siphone. Then she gave Nero a quick up-and-down look and added—: But you’ll need new clothes. Dressed like that, no one’s buying it.

That made them laugh. It was a bittersweet sound: they knew this might be the last moment of peace and laughter they’d share together. Still, they spent the rest of the day making quick raids through nearby buildings, searching for anything that could serve as a disguise for Nero.

Night fell, and with it, the moment of separation. After several failed attempts, the best they found were some torn sheets and a couple of belts. Nero draped them over his uniform, hiding as much as he could.
—I’d have preferred you could ditch the academy clothes, but… anyway, be careful. If things go wrong, we’ll wait here tomorrow and for the next three days, when the sun is at its highest —said Siphone, taking Varkuzhal’s skull from him. If he was going undercover, carrying a talking demon skull on his belt wasn’t ideal.
—Don’t do anything stupid —said Larinca, leaning on the windowsill. She didn’t look at him. It was too emotional a moment, and she didn’t want to cry.
—You know me. I’m always doing stupid things —said Nero, joking. He didn’t get a laugh out of her, she jumped to the next building and disappeared into the darkness—. No goodbyes, then. Fine.

Siphone made to follow her but turned at the last moment.
—How did you figure it out? —she said. She wore the same bittersweet, heavy look from that morning.
—You’re a good person, Siph. Too good —said Nero, shrugging—. Will you tell Larinca? She won’t say it, but she hates being the only one left out of a secret.
—Maybe… when this is over. How do you do it, Nero? How do you not let it get to you? Look at us. What are we even doing here? What kind of life is this? —said Siphone.
—The life we were born into, as Sylthmir folk —said Nero—. Before you go, can I ask one thing?
—You want to know what it’s like. Of course. It’s… beautiful. I hope you get to see it someday —said Siphone, half smiling again.
—And… truly… there are no demons there? —said Nero.
—None —said Siphone.
—Now I’m jealous —said Nero.
—Take care, alright? —said Siphone before jumping.

Nero sighed. The time had come, and he wasn’t ready. But he had no choice: it had been his idea after all, even if only to keep Larinca from discovering Siphone’s secret, the kind of secret only someone who hated demons as much as he did could have uncovered.

He wrapped himself as best he could in the sheets they had torn, cut, and knotted into the shape of a poncho, and slipped out through the ground floor into the street. The wind was rising, kicking up dust and grit: perfect for masking his tracks and hiding where he’d come from.

He slipped between the buildings and reached the city walls. There, he carefully chose a path that climbed straight toward the castle and was about to follow it when he realized something they hadn’t thought through: what was he supposed to answer if someone asked how he’d gotten there? Ravidra was one of the most remote places in existence, and arriving without a carriage or mount was nearly impossible. Nero tightened the sheet around himself, forming a makeshift hood and pulling it down to his nose, leaving only his eyes visible.

“If it comes to that, I’ll improvise”, he thought.

The climb was slow and grueling. The street was cobbled, but nature had broken through the stones, and Nero struggled to move through the dimness without stumbling every few steps. Soon, he reached an area lit by small lanterns. Nero stopped to examine one, for he had never seen anything like it before.

The lantern was a rectangular metal frame with glass on all four sides, but what truly caught his eye were the small luminescent butterflies trapped inside, the source of the light itself. And though imprisoned, they didn’t seem to mind. They fluttered in a circular, almost spiral pattern within the lantern, occasionally bumping into the glass. With each beat of their wings, they shed tiny glowing scales that drifted down to the bottom, where other, unlit butterflies fed on them, gradually regaining their shine. It was pure, unfiltered nature.

—Do you like the scaladiant, boy? —said a voice to his right.

Nero jumped. He’d gotten distracted watching the insects and had been caught off guard. Trying to seem calm and composed, he turned toward the speaker. It was an older woman, perhaps sixty, with her arms folded behind her back. She wore loose garments whose colors Nero couldn’t quite distinguish under the lantern’s glare. What he could see was that she wore an apron, had a kindly expression, and a body far from athletic. But she had two horns, one on each side of her head, curving backward like all devil women, and a long, thin tail flicking lazily against the ground. Her skin was sun-bronzed, and though wrinkled, it had a beautiful earthy tone.

—I’ve never seen them before —said Nero, pulling back his makeshift hood. As he did, his own horns were revealed. The woman nodded several times, relaxing her posture. When she moved her arms, Nero noticed a long, sharp knife in one hand, but before he could even react, she wrapped it in her apron, keeping it hidden yet out of reach. It was her way of saying she no longer saw him as a threat, though she wasn’t foolish enough to be unarmed.

—You’ve come from far away, haven’t you? —said the woman, gesturing for him to follow her up the street. Nero did, pulling his hood back on to shield himself from the wind.
—I’m from here and there —said Nero. The answer seemed to please her.
—You must be here to see the king —she said.
—I’m just passing through —said Nero.
—We all were, once. I imagine you’re hungry. Come, I’ll get you something to eat. After that, you might reconsider meeting our king —said the woman.

They turned down a few poorly lit streets and reached a livelier area. There were people sitting around bonfires, cooking, drinking, laughing. They didn’t seem to fear the demons that roamed the continent, but neither did they look like the helpless folk often associated with the Nomadic. There were women, men, and children of all ages. Some waved as they passed; others simply stared. But most ignored them, too busy with their own affairs.

Vibrant-colored columns caught Nero’s attention. He hadn’t seen anything like them elsewhere in the city, but everyone seemed to gather near one.

Nero couldn’t take his eyes off them. They were like him. They were just people, and no one reproached them for being different. Everywhere he looked, he saw only people. With wealth or without, these folks were far happier than anyone Nero had ever known.

After several streets, the woman stopped beside a mountain of clothes nearly three meters wide, piled against the side of a wagon. Beside the heap were two lanterns, a few open barrels, a few sealed ones, and a bonfire where a half-cooked pig turned slowly on a spit.

—Here we are. You can take some meat, and even a blanket if you wish, but if you do, try not to wake him. He gets in a foul mood when his rest is disturbed —said the woman, pouring herself some wine into a cup.
—Who shouldn’t I wake? —asked Nero. There were knives stuck into the ground near the fire, so he grabbed one, carved off a piece of meat, and took several hungry bites. After how poorly they’d eaten lately, he was starving enough to devour the whole thing himself.
—Humbaba, of course —said the woman, tilting her head toward the pile of clothes.

What Nero had thought was a mound of fabric shifted, revealing a leg the size of a tree trunk. It was a giant. Humbaba rolled over onto his back, still wrapped in the immense blanket that covered him. He had horns and a tail like Nero’s, and the same brown skin typical of the devil kind.

—You haven’t told me your name yet, boy —said the woman, sitting beside the fire.
—Nero —said Nero, simply.
—I’m Inanna—like my mother before me, and her mother before her. It’s also the name of my daughter, and of my granddaughter; it’s a family tradition. How long has it been since you were among your own, Nero? —asked the woman.

—Among my own? —said Nero.

—Your people are the Devils, Nero. Neither humans nor demons, but something far greater than both. I’ll ask again: how long has it been since you were among your own? —insisted old Inanna.

Nero took another bite of meat, his gaze drifting. He had never met another of his kind. He was the only Devil at Raven’s Order Academy, though he’d never stopped to think about it. And since his mother was human and he had no siblings, he’d grown up feeling alone, and different.

—I have friends —said Nero, trying to avoid answering.
—But none of them Devils. Don’t worry: you’re home now —said old Inanna.
—I can’t stay —said Nero. Instantly, he regretted saying it.
—Have you got something better to do than travel with your people? Here, we’ll accept or reject you for who you are, not for your origin, your bloodline, or your magic —said old Inanna.

Nero shook his head, stuffing another mouthful of meat to avoid replying. The old woman smiled and pointed upward, toward the castle.
—I thought as much. Eat in peace. But let me tell you a story while you do, and then I’ll take you to our king.
—To the castle? —said Nero, mouth full.
—Directly —said old Inanna.

Nero nodded and edged closer to the fire. The warmth felt good. At once, guilt hit him. He was there with a hot meal, by the fire, with the option to pull a blanket over himself, while Larinca and Siphone were somewhere in that same city, freezing and struggling to carry out the mission. But he forced the thought aside when old Inanna began her tale.

—This story is about a young Devil girl. She wandered through Axbryn, her only companion a dull sword. She barely survived, fighting demons with her meager magic and useless blade. But each day, loneliness and fear wrapped tighter around her wounded heart, until, finally, she died —said old Inanna.

Nero frowned, waiting a few seconds.
—That’s it? That’s how the story ends? —said Nero. The old woman nodded, wrapping herself in a blanket.
—I thought you were going to tell me the story of when you were young, and how you joined this… caravan.
—The word you’re looking for is village. Community. And no, the story is a parable. A way to show that not everything ends well. Did you learn anything? —said old Inanna.
—Maybe. What comes to mind after hearing it is that living, when you have friends, is easier —said Nero.
—That’s a wonderful lesson —said old Inanna.
—Is it the one I was supposed to learn? —said Nero.
—Everything you learn, good or bad, is always the lesson you were meant to learn —said old Inanna.

Nero paused to think for a moment, smiled, and simply said:
—Thank you.