Experience

Miro’s eyes fluttered open at the soft sensation of fingers stroking her head. Morning sunlight crept across the grass, warm and golden. A smile spread over her face. She knew exactly who was giving her headpats - and exactly why.

Jaka recoiled the moment she rolled over, startled like a deer. She grinned.

“Good morning. I see you didn’t sleep at all.”

He nodded, almost sheepishly.

“I don’t need sleep…”

She sat up with a slow blink, stretching through a yawn.

“I know…”

The unspoken questions were written all over his expression, and she relished every second of teasing him with things he didn’t understand yet. She decided to twist the knife a little more - figuratively, this time.

“Thank you for keeping me safe. I knew you’d do your job.”

Suppressing a giggle was a battle she barely won. She tilted her head back, eyeing him.

“You didn’t eat either.”

He frowned. “Neither did you.”

“I didn’t feel like it,” she said with a shrug. She wasn’t lying - she rarely got hungry.

With a stretch, she stood.

“Well, we need to move on soon… but for now, this isn’t such a bad place.”

Then she glanced sideways at him.
“I suppose you have a lot of questions.”

He nodded, so she plopped back down onto the grass, cross-legged and grinning.

“Well, go on. Fire away.”

He hesitated, visibly nervous, before settling his shoulders.

“Okay. First… how are you able to disable my processors?”

“Easy. This knife.”
She twirled it effortlessly; sunlight flashed across the blade.

He nodded. “Okay, but how?”

“I feed magic into it and it harms whatever I’m targeting. I can choose how much, and I instantly understand everything about the target when I do.”

His confusion only deepened.

“Then why were you asking who I was last night?”

She smirked.
“I was making small talk. You should try it sometime.”

He rubbed his face - then froze, staring at his hands as if they’d betrayed him. She burst out laughing. His eyes jerked back to her.

“You’ve done something to me, haven’t you?”

“You’re a sharp one.” She winked. “Yup. When I checked you, I found you had two brains. So I made the one with the bad thoughts quieter.”

That explained why his processors had been strangely muted, unable to give input. He tried to piece it together.

“So… my organic mind is the one in charge now…”

“Yup! And that’s why I wasn’t afraid of you last night. Coming together yet?”

He nodded slowly, staring at his hands again.

“This feels weird.”

“Don’t worry, it’s permanent,” she said cheerfully. “You can still fight like normal, but you won’t be so violent anymore. Oh, but-”

She leaned in.

“Beware, it can fluctuate. Not the violent part, those impulses are gone, but stray memories or feelings might pop up louder. Just tell me if that happens and I’ll fix it.”

He nodded, though his brow furrowed.

“But… why are you keeping me alive? Protocol dictates-”

“Protocol, shmotocol.”
She flicked her wrist dismissively.

“I’m lonely. You’re a tool and a weapon that can think and hold basic conversation.”
She grinned. “Or… can now.”

The knife flashed again between her fingers.

“So it makes sense to keep you around, don’tcha think?”

He nodded. Logically, it made sense. Emotionally - that was new territory. And he had a feeling she wasn’t the romantic type anyway. Though she was… pretty-

He shot upright, processors uselessly silent. Asking her about it made something new coil in his chest - fear’s cousin, unfamiliar and warm. He forced himself forward.

“M-Miro…”

She glanced over. “Mhm?”

“What… what’s it called when you think someone’s pretty?”

She blinked, then burst out laughing. Something hot surged into his cheeks, humiliating and impossible to name. He grit his teeth. J-1 probably never struggled like this. Miro clapped him on the shoulder, leaning forward until her chest filled his upper vision.

“That, my Angel, is called attraction.”

She laughed again.

“And I have a feeling this won’t be the last time you ask me about feelings.”

He swallowed the follow-up question - the one about his burning face - and nodded. Her laughter softened, but inside, he felt something new and certain settling in his core.

Maybe… maybe being the catgirl’s servant wasn’t the end of the world.

The poor town wasn’t prepared for the Angel of Death to descend onto the main street again - only three days after his last visit. The moment his feet touched the dust, people screamed and fled. Doors slammed, shutters clattered shut, market stalls were abandoned mid-sale as the Formy climbed down from the Angel’s back and a blonde-haired child was passed carefully between them.

Rumours erupted like wildfire.
Were they going to eat the little girl?
Was she their slave? A hostage? A sacrifice?

But instead of carnage, the trio simply walked into a clothing shop. They disappeared for a long while, and when they emerged, they were burdened with bundles of fabric. The little girl chattered excitedly about playing dress-up, the Formy encouraging her with soft, patient replies. The Angel’s impassive gaze swept the street, keeping heads bowed, but no attack came.

They walked as if they were just… people.
As if they weren’t demons in a human city.
As if they hadn’t killed hundreds - thousands - of soldiers and monsters alike.

It baffled the citizens.
Not only were they behaving like normal travellers, but… they had a child? A child they seemed to have adopted?

New whispers began rippling through the town.
Could the old reports be wrong?
Yes, the Angel and the Formy were terrifyingly powerful - but were they truly merciless? Bloodthirsty? Without conscience?

They hadn’t harmed a single soul during either visit.
They consistently overpaid for everything - absurdly so - sometimes by a hundredfold.

Was that really the behaviour of creatures said to strip corpses, human or demon, for anything of value - even organs?

Cautious curiosity won out. People began taking small risks: venturing into the open, peeking through windows, even daring to walk past in the opposite direction with heads low and prayers frantic on their lips.

But the trio ignored them. They walked by calmly, a family on an errand, letting life carry on uninterrupted.

By the time the child was handed back to the Angel and the Formy wrapped her arms around his neck, wings spreading wide for takeoff, the town was almost back to normal. People still kept their distance, yes - but no more shrieking, no more panicked mass hysteria. No more groups hiding beneath overturned tables at the sound of approaching footsteps.

They simply watched.

Watched as the strange little family lifted into the air, the Angel’s wings beating once before a distant howl echoed through the valley. Watched as they shot toward the horizon - fearsome silhouettes against the afternoon sun.

And slowly, a fragile new thought took root in the minds of the townsfolk:

Maybe… if they couldn’t get rid of them… they could learn to live with them.

Ylfa tended to the garden behind the cabin. It was sprawling, almost absurdly large for a home this small - lined with plants from every season, their leaves rustling gently in the lake breeze. It was their source of fruit and vegetables… or rather, her source, since she was the only one whose body actually needed food. Still, she always made sure there was enough for everyone. Jere loved to cook with her, and she loved cooking with him. Eny simply loved to eat.

Her hands moved with practiced confidence, deft and sure after working in Woodrow’s plots. She was grateful for that now. At the time it had felt like mockery - a reminder of her weakness as a Formy with hearing loss, of how she wasn’t fit for the roles she normally took pride in. They’d assigned her to the gardens as if it were a lesser task.

But they had been wrong. So wrong.

There was a gentleness to tending the soil. A quiet. A satisfaction in seeing something you cared for go from seed to plate. Growing food for her new family felt warmer, sweeter, than any pride she’d ever been allowed to feel in the old demon hierarchy.

And the garden itself… it was a miracle. After all, the cabin had been abandoned for so many years, yet everything still grew, still flourished, as if touched by a lingering blessing. A spell, maybe. It made her smile. Maybe she wasn’t even doing anything at all. But that didn’t discourage her. If anything, it made her cherish the place more.

Movement caught her eye. She glanced up to see Jere rounding the cabin, empty-handed, watching her with that soft attentiveness only he had.

She smiled.
“Are you alright, darling?”

He nodded.
“I came to see if you wanted company.”

Her expression softened, warm as the sun.
“Of course I do. Come on, help me.”

He knelt beside her in the soil. She demonstrated what she was doing - snipping away the stalks that bore no fruit. Immediately his processors kicked in, mapping the entire garden, identifying every stem that required trimming.

He pointed out the first.

She laughed, catching his wrist and gently pushing his arm down.
“No, don’t do that. Turn off that part of your brain. Take it slow. Enjoy it.”

Confused, he nevertheless obeyed, searching manually, clumsily. That made her smile all the more.

“There you go.”

He attempted a smile back, clearly lost but trying.

She returned to work, humming softly.
“It looked like people were getting more used to us in town.”

He nodded. That much hadn’t even been a question to him - it was mathematically obvious. But he agreed anyway.
“It did seem like it, yes.”

She twisted toward him, eyes bright with possibility.
“Do you think we might be able to live there someday?”

He shrugged.
“Maybe. If you want.”

She smiled warmly.
“Let’s keep our fingers crossed, yeah?”

He nodded, understanding the sentiment if not the superstition.

She tilted her head, voice dropping into a thoughtful murmur.
“I wonder if we’ll have our first child there.”

His eyes widened. She giggled at the reaction, then let out a wistful sigh.

“I could really go for something sweet right now.”

He smiled.
“Want to make something with a sugar glaze for dinner tonight?”

She nodded.
“Yeah, that’d be nice. Thank you.”

He shrugged, earnest as ever.
“It’s no trouble. You’ll be helping me.”

She laughed - soft and bright - as the clouds drifted slowly overhead, pale and brilliant in the open sky.