Shrug

The maid stood in silence as she watched Jere and Ylfa enter the palace. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Yesterday, Jere had returned with a dog - one that looked suspiciously like a wolf. This morning he had departed with the same animal. But now? Now he walked calmly into the hall with a girl at his side, a pretty one at that, and the dog was nowhere to be seen.

She blinked twice, trying to fit the pieces together. Same man. Same measured stride. Same unreadable face. But the wolf had vanished, replaced by this girl with a quick smile and bright red eyes. Nothing about their demeanor suggested anything unusual. The pair passed her without pause, heading down the corridor with quiet, purposeful steps until they disappeared around the corner.

The maid stood rooted in place, still trying to make sense of it. Then she sighed and shook her head. Not my problem.

The door to their room clicked shut.

Jere lowered himself onto the floor, cross-legged and still as stone. Ylfa hopped lightly onto the bed. Her ears twitched, tail flicking into view as she let her human disguise slip, her ears and tail springing into being, returning to her true Formy self. She tilted her head at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Why do you always sit on the floor?”

His answer came flat, matter-of-fact.
“Because I don’t need sleep. You do.”

Something warm fluttered in her chest at that. The corners of her mouth curled into a small, pleased smile.
“I’m glad you care about me.”

He barely moved, voice steady as ever.
“I am simply doing what makes the most logical sense.”

Ylfa just laughed softly under her breath, shaking her head. She patted the mattress beside her.
“Come here.”

Jere glanced up, his expression unreadable.
“What for?”

“Because I want you to.”

The answer made no sense to him, but after a quick process of elimination, he found no logical reason to refuse. So he stood and sat where she’d indicated.

“Thank you,” she said warmly.

For a while, the room settled into quiet. Ylfa shifted slightly on the bed, restless, fingers knotting together on her lap. Then she bit her lip and spoke again, softer this time.

“Um… Jere?”

He inclined his head. She stared down at her legs, gathering courage.
“Where… where are you from?”

Inside him, processes fired and collided - truth, lie, or refusal. His mind calculated endlessly, yet outwardly his expression didn’t change.

Instead of answering directly, he asked,
“What do you believe?”

Her head snapped up in surprise.
“What do I think? Well…” She frowned, looking toward the ceiling as if answers might be written there. “At first I thought you were a demon. Then a human. Now I don’t know anymore.”

He studied the far wall.
“I told you before. I am not human. And yet I am. I’m an angel of death.”

She nodded slowly.
“I know that much. But… where were you born?”

“I was not born,” he replied. “I was made.”

Ylfa froze, staring at him.
“Made? What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer. The silence stretched until she grew flustered, scrambling to make sense of what he’d just said. Then, unexpectedly, his voice returned.

“I’m not a robot, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Her ears flicked. She had never heard that word before.
“Robot?”

“A machine that looks like a human and is able to replicate certain movements automatically.”

Her brow furrowed.
“…Is it bad to be one of those?”

For the first time, his body gave a subtle gesture - he shrugged.
“Depends on your intentions.”

She tilted her head.
“What do you mean?”

“I mean what you want to do with a robot. They can perform many tasks. But they cannot feel emotion.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous grin.
“So… like you?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“I don’t find that amusing.”

She giggled.
“Are you sure? If you did, I might actually believe you’re not a robot.”

He said nothing, only stared at her, eyes searching her face with unnerving intensity.

Ylfa sighed, letting the teasing go.
“Well… thanks for letting me get these clothes. It feels so much better not being stuck in my wolf body.”

He gave a single, silent nod.

Her smile faded into a softer, more thoughtful one. She wondered - perhaps not for the first time - if she’d ever truly break through that wall of logic and steel he lived behind.

The night passed without incident, and the next morning they found themselves back in the church.

Ylfa walked in at Jere’s side, her ears and tail carefully hidden. She smiled sweetly at the priest. The poor man blinked twice, utterly lost for words. Yesterday Jere had walked in with a wolfish creature. He had departed with that same wolf. And now, somehow, he returned with a young woman whose presence radiated warmth and charm.

The priest’s lips parted. For a moment he mumbled something about witchcraft before quickly clearing his throat.
“J-1. Your task today is to perform a surprise attack on an enemy general’s headquarters.”

Jere’s chest swelled with a flicker of pride. Finally, they were beginning to understand - he was more than just a weapon to throw at common soldiers. They were entrusting him with something important.

Ylfa, however, felt the opposite. Her stomach twisted. She knew his power, but if this general was someone she had known back in the Demonlands - and it was likely, given her heritage and the many leaders she had once crossed paths with - then she might be complicit in striking down a former ally. Perhaps even someone who had dined at her family’s table.

But there was nothing she could do. Worse, she didn’t even want to try. She knew her surrender would have been made public by now. If she were spotted, her old comrades would not hesitate to cut her down. Her own family would raise weapons against her. No - her future was tied to Jere’s now, whether he realised it or not.

The priest continued as though none of this turmoil existed.
“When that is done, return via the main road I will mark for you. Then you are free until tomorrow morning.”

Jere gave a simple nod. After the priest updated his GPS, he walked back out, Ylfa trailing quietly behind.

When they reached the edge of the hill, Jere paused, turning to her.
“Will you change form?”

She started to nod, then tilted her head curiously.
“Do I need to?”

“I can carry you either way. Unlike your wolf form, you’re able to hold on when you’re human.”

Ylfa smiled slyly, a spark of mischief in her eyes.
“If you want me to hug you, you only have to ask.”

Jere’s processors scrambled, searching for a suitable reply. Hugging had never factored into his calculations.
“Then, if I want you to, I will.”

This time it was Ylfa’s turn to falter. She blinked, unsure how to respond. Before she could speak, Jere turned away. Panels along his back shifted open, and his wings began sliding out through slits in his shirt, mechanical yet fluid.

She stepped closer, watching the metal feathers spread.
“What should I do?”

He already had an answer ready. His processors had produced forty-nine possible instructions, but he selected one.
“The best way would be to wrap your arms over my shoulders, around my neck. You should be tall enough to do so without cutting off my air.”

Her cheeks warmed. She had expected him to hold her by the waist, dangling her beneath him like baggage. Instead, he wanted her pressed against his back, clinging close. The intimacy of it caught her off guard.

As if sensing her hesitation, he explained further.
“When we’re cruising, you will be able to move a little. You cannot do that if I’m carrying you.”

She nodded slowly. His reasoning made sense, though the thought still made her heart race. Stepping behind him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hands locking together across his chest. Her cheek brushed against his shoulder, the faint scent of metal and ozone filling her nose.

Jere flexed his wings, ensuring she wasn’t in harm’s way. Then he ran a quick systems check. All green. Weather optimal. Wind favorable. He almost took off, but paused a moment longer.

“Are you secure?”

“Y-yeah,” Ylfa breathed, her voice close to his ear. “I’m ready. Please… be careful.”

He nodded once. Then his wings unfurled fully, and with a single downward beat, they launched into the air.

Ylfa gasped. The acceleration yanked her downward, her arms straining as the sudden rush of wind tore past them. Then came the piercing wail of the ion engines, carrying them higher and higher until the ground below blurred into distance.

Jere leveled out, adjusting to his course. Ylfa clung tight, chest pressed against his back, every sense alive with exhilaration.

The view stretched endlessly in all directions. She could see the jagged peaks of mountains to the west, patchwork farmland to the east, rolling forests spreading like oceans of green. The horizon curved away until it vanished into haze.

Her tail flicked into view, ears sprouting back with a thrill of freedom she couldn’t suppress. The wind whipped at her hair, and her lips broke into an uncontrollable grin.

For the first time since leaving the Demonlands, she felt alive. She felt free.

The general’s camp sprawled across the valley floor like a scar of canvas and firelight. Hundreds of tents were pitched in ordered rows, each large enough to house half a dozen imps or a pair of hulking orcs. The place was alive with activity - shouts, the clatter of weapons, the smell of sweat and smoke drifting up even to Jere’s altitude.

Near the center stood the general. He occupied an elevated platform, his voice booming across the valley as he addressed the mass of demons assembled below.

He was built like an overgrown imp - two horns like a goat’s jutting proudly from his head, muscles packed tight under mottled skin, his posture radiating command. He looked fit to lead an army, and to Jere that meant only one thing: he was a priority target.

Jere calculated silently. The timing wasn’t ideal - the general was surrounded by every demon in the camp. The kill itself would be trivial, but the number of eyes that would witness it complicated matters. He could slaughter them all if pressed; his systems confirmed it was possible. But not with Ylfa clinging to him.

So he plotted. A shallow roll, a dive from the flank, engines silenced. One swift pass, the target severed, and then a steep climb with the ion drives relit. Quick, clean, efficient.

He didn’t warn Ylfa. It would only waste seconds. Instead he began the dive slowly, allowing her instincts to guide her grip.

Ylfa’s arms tightened as gravity pressed her against his back. Her chest heaved against his shoulders, breath stolen by the torrent of air screaming past them. The valley rushed upward, the camp growing impossibly fast.

She could barely breathe.

The ground blurred into streaks of earth and canvas. The roar of wind became an unbroken wall.

Five seconds.

Then the strike came.

Jere adjusted a single inner feather on his left wing - barely a fraction of a degree. The precision was absolute. The wing dipped, angling his trajectory by a hair’s breadth.

The general’s face flashed into view.

And in the next instant, it was gone.

The blade-edge of Jere’s wing clipped clean through the demon’s neck, severing head from shoulders as effortlessly as grass before a scythe. The body crumpled to the platform, blood spraying across the crowd.

Ylfa caught a glimpse in that frozen heartbeat. Recognition slammed into her chest. She knew him. He had once asked her to dance at a ball. She had refused with a laugh.

The memory lanced through her - and was gone, drowned in the rush of air as the camp vanished behind them.

Jere’s engines roared back to life, the dive’s stolen energy recycled into altitude. The angel of death climbed, wings trembling with controlled fury, and then leveled out for the return leg.

Neither of them noticed what stirred within.

Deep inside, Jere’s processors fought their own war. The reactor chafed under the restraints of its new fuel, half-converted from deuterium-tritium to pure magic energy. It spat warnings and errors, furious at being denied its accustomed lifeblood. To the processors, the complaints were nonsense - the system was stable, fully capable of running on magic alone. But to the reactor, it felt like starvation.

It screamed for its old mixture. It demanded, it threatened, it raged.

And the processors, efficient but inflexible, decided drastic measures were required. A new program was devised, hastily assembled and immediately deployed.

They did not account for the fact that Jere was airborne.

They did not account for the fact that he was deep within enemy territory.

And so the Angel flew on, oblivious to the storm beginning in his very core.