Boundless

Ylfa yawned softly, her skin glowing faintly in the morning sunlight. The bed beneath her was perfectly soft, stuffed with feathers just the way she liked it. The blankets rested over her like a gentle embrace - warm, but not stifling - and the pillow cradled her head, only a little firmer than ideal. Her left arm tingled with numbness, but the culprit was obvious: a Jere had spent the night lying across it, keeping it bent.

Her leg was hooked over his, her chest pressed warmly against his side. She smiled at his face, only inches from her own. Of course, he hadn’t slept - he still didn’t know if he even could - but he hadn’t left her side for a moment. His right arm was tucked beneath her, holding her close.

She whispered into the quiet morning:

“Good morning, darling. Sleep well?”

He gave her the smile she was fishing for.

“Yeah. I did.”

She grinned, snuggling closer until her ears brushed his cheek and her chin settled in the warm dip of his collarbone. Her breath grazed the side of his neck as she spoke.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel great.”

He stroked the back of her head, fingers trailing through her hair. Despite her full weight resting on his arm, no numbness touched him - his modified heart kept everything flowing exactly as it should.

“Me too.”

Even with both of them entirely bare beneath the blankets, no desire rose in him - only peace. A sense of rightness. Skin to skin from head to toe, held together by nothing but closeness.

She sighed contentedly, sunlight painting soft gold across the sheets.

“I know I said we’d… go again, but honestly I just want to stay like this.”

He smiled.

“I don’t mind.”

And he meant it. As his processors kept learning, the biggest moments in life were never the ones meant to be big - it was the quiet after a confession, the soft kiss at the end of a dance, the calm night curled together on the couch. Those small things left the deepest marks.

The thought made him smile, and his smile deepened as she curled her free arm over his chest, trying - impossibly - to press them even closer.

“I’m so glad that you’re the one…”

A question flickered through his organic mind - not processor-generated, not filtered, just honest curiosity.

“Ylfa… how did you manage to go a hundred and seventy-six years without dating once?”

It was a reasonable question in his head. She was beautiful, powerful, kind - the village itself was proof that there could be potential partners anywhere. He didn’t realize it might sound sharp, but Ylfa knew him too well to take it badly. She laughed quietly through her nose.

“It’s not much of a story, really.”

She lifted her head so he could see her expression as she spoke.

“I did get asked out a few times.”

He frowned. “Only a few?”

Her smile turned sly.

“Well… once you kill a few, they tend to stop asking.”

His breath caught. She laughed at his expression.

“Yeah, I killed a few. Only the persistent ones who wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was too young and too stupid to realize murder wasn’t the correct response to harassment.”

She grinned.

“You’d think they wouldn’t push so hard against someone as powerful as me… but then again, I guess loneliness can lead to desperation when it goes unchecked.”

She slid closer again, her breath warm against his skin.

“So that’s my story. But honestly… it’s not important.”

Then she performed a manoeuvre he couldn’t quite track - something fluid and instinctive - and somehow ended up lying fully atop him, bodies pressed together, legs twined beneath the blankets. Resting on her elbows, her soft chest pressed to his, she traced slow patterns on his collarbone with a fingertip. Her voice was quiet, but full of life and longing.

“What’s important now… is our relationship. I don’t need to think about my past. And you don’t need to think about yours.”

Her smile warmed.

“We can just be us. Is that fair?”

He nodded. She settled her head on his chest, ears brushing his chin as he wrapped his arms around her. She did the same, her tail brushing lazily against his legs.

“There’s still so many things I want to do with you, darling. Places to visit, things to see, everything.”

He smiled. “Think we can do it all?”

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest, her voice a bit strained but confident.

“Of course. We’re immortal. We have eternity to look forward to.”

Then she slid upward until her face hovered above his, reddish-brown hair falling around his cheeks like a curtain.

“And I’m going to love spending every second of it with you, darling.”

She lowered herself into a kiss, warm and soft and filled with promise. It lasted a heartbeat, then she rose again, smiling tenderly.

“I think I’ve changed my mind about going again.”

He tightened his arms around her as she kissed him again - deeper, warmer. Outside, the village rested, still recovering from the festival. Eny was safe and happy with Effie and the other children. No responsibilities waited for either of them.

A day without duties.

A day for each other.

So they kissed again, and again, the world shrinking to the space between their lips as the morning sun climbed higher. Jere’s vow held firm - he lived fully in this moment, savouring every second, and letting the day unfold on its own.

Cyneric watched, eyes hollow and sleepless, as the morning stillness shattered beneath the descending Angel. Irritation pulsed through him like a second heartbeat. Bad luck, he told himself. That was all it was. Either that, or some higher power was amusing itself at his expense. And if that were true, then he was furious. How had he managed - through pure misfortune or divine mockery - to summon not one but two of the exact same being? Two demons labeled Angels, both stronger than anything he could have prepared for, both capable of upending his entire system.

At least, he consoled himself bitterly as the silver-winged Angel touched down outside the old church, this one hadn’t stolen away with a Formy and vanished into the wilderness. This one appeared… obedient. Predictable. Contained.

Cyneric stepped back from the window as the Angel approached, forcing himself to breathe deeply and slowly, fighting the tremor creeping through his chest. The church’s heavy doors swung inward with a groan that suggested wind, but Cyneric knew better. The Angel entered without ceremony. If Cyneric hadn’t just watched him land from the sky, he could have mistaken the man for any unremarkable traveller - a deceivingly mundane exterior wrapped around unfathomable power.

The Angel halted just inside the doorway, standing to attention. Cyneric squared his shoulders and projected as much authority as he could manage despite the rattling of his heart.

“J-2. Report on what you found.”

The Angel dipped his head in a crisp nod.

“In terms of the original mission,” J-2 said, his voice level and toneless, “I located the source of the magical pulse. It came from a female child of a species I could not identify.”

A whisper brushed Cyneric’s ear - his advisor, standing just behind his shoulder.

“Ask for her description.”

Cyneric inhaled, then nodded subtly.

“This female child,” he said. “What did she look like?”

J-2 answered without the slightest shift in posture. “She had honey-blonde hair and bright green eyes. Her parents, however, bore no resemblance to her. I suspect she was adopted.”

A sharp hiss escaped the advisor.

“That’s the missing girl. So she didn’t die in the demon attack with her mother after all. We need her back.”

Cyneric nodded again, mind already ticking through possibilities, contingencies, political fallout.

“J-2,” he said. “Your next mission is to locate and, if possible, capture this girl without alerting her-”

The doors slammed open, the sound echoing across the high rafters. A knight stood in the frame, reins in one hand, his horse pawing anxiously behind him - a messenger in clear haste.

“My King! Another rebellion!”

Cyneric ground his teeth. The girl would have to wait.

“J-2,” he said sharply. “Your mission is to eradicate the rebellion and send a message to all others who might consider similar thoughts. Can you do that?”

The Angel nodded once, then pivoted with mechanical precision and strode out into the morning light.

When the doors finally thudded shut again, Cyneric exhaled a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He looked to the side at the long-suffering priest - an old man he had continually refused to allow into retirement. Cyneric pitied him, truly. But he needed him. A time was coming when the priest would be the most important asset the Kingdom possessed - a hidden card tucked up a sleeve, a card entirely unaware of its own value.

All they needed now was the key.