The walk through the castle felt like a daydream to Aamon, his attention splintering across every detail. He was remembering his mother's stories, It was just as she described. He'd stop, stare, and his mind would drift away. Ciel kept grabbing his hand just to keep him from wandering off.
"Look, Ciel! Armor!" He pressed his face inches from its surface, breath fogging the metal. His reflection warped across the polished steel, horns being the first, then those wide ruby eyes. "It's so much bulkier than Mother described. I always thought it would be…" He touched his own chest, imagining. "Shouldn't it be formfitting"? Like it grew on you. Something you could forget you were wearing until you needed it."
Ciel tilted her head, studying him instead of the armor. "You think about this. A lot."
"Mother told me stories every night, my favorite being about Sir Aldric." He didn't look away from the armor. "Knights were all I had."
"Display." Ciel tugged his hand, pulling him gently away. "Ciel doesn't think this one saw battle." She kept pulling him away, but her eyes locked on him. She is desperate for him to understand something he kept missing. "We need sleep. Need hide." Her grip tightened, small fingers wrapping around as much of his hand as she could hold. "Ciel doesn't want you hurt, friend. You're too nice."
The words landed strangely against him. Too nice? No one had ever called him that. The villagers had called him a demon, a creature, a thing to be killed. The cat had seen him as a threat. Even the mouse had run.But Ciel held his hand and said he was too nice.
Aamon let himself be dragged, slouching as he followed. Something flickered in his mind. "Fine. But where? I can't fly us anywhere." His wings fluttered, brushing against the walls. "There's a cave I found. Near where I-" He stopped to look at a mounted sword. "I was attacked ciel, on my first day, by a swordsman. The villagers helped him hurt me, all at once." This blade was longer than the swordsmen, with a worn edge. Cracks running through the steel.
"You'll need one." Ciel released his hand and approached the weapon slowly. She didn't touch it, just stood close enough to see every flaw. "To fight. To protect." She could see the slightest trembling, from his shoulders. "Many wars before the queens… Before Ciel was born." Her voice dropped. "Now they just fight the world."
She turned back to him, and Aamon saw something in her expression he couldn't quite name. Not fear, nor sadness. Something deeper.
"The world doesn't like things like us, friend."
Aamon wanted to argue, to tell her about mercy again. Sir Aldric's story plays, about the dragon that was saved not with steel but with water from a knight's own helm.
Ciel crossed back to him and took his hand again. "Please. Leave here. Fear is all that comes"
Aamon's eyes dropped from the sword, and to the armor one last time. "Yes, Ciel. I'll go."A pause. Quieter. "I won't need to hurt anyone to protect. There's mercy in this world. Even if people don't use it anymore." He looked at her, and for a moment he wasn't the demon who was stained by legacy. He was just a boy with an oath he'd carried since before his mother's bones became rings on his fingers.
"I promise. I will."
Ciel stared at him for a long moment. Then, very softly, she did something Aamon hasn't seen her do yet… She smiled. It was small, wobbly, but still present. "Okay, friend." She squeezed his hand. "Ciel believes you."
They walked on, hand in hand, leaving the sword and the armor behind them. Above, through a arrow slit window, the great tree beyond the mountains caught the last light rays of the set sun.
The guards looked away as they passed, some spat, others smacked their spear butts against the stone floor. The town was no exception.
Streets enclosed around them, buildings tilting close like they were trying to crowd them. Faces appeared in windows, then vanished. Curtains dropped. Doors closed. A child pointed before being yanked inside by their mother's hand.
"Fuckin' filth!" A man stumbled out of a tavern, smelling of ale. He swayed, steadied himself against the doorframe, and squinted at them. "Why haven't they cut their damn heads off yet? Hanging's too good for yoh."
"Ignore him, friend." Ciel tugged Aamon's hand, pulling him to the side, going around the drunken man. Her steps were quick, she was someone used to navigating hatred. "They aren't worth your hurt."
Aamon nodded behind ciel. His tail curled closer to his legs, spikes tucked inward like he could make himself smaller. "I understand. I'll be sure to-" Crash! Something shattered against the back of his head.F
Glass sprayed, shards scattering across the ground. Aamon's hand flew to his face, feeling a wet sticky red across his face. Not his blood. Ale. Glass embedded into his cheek, neck, and the back of his skull where the bottle had made contact.
The man was laughing. "There! That's what you get, walking 'round like you.. Uhh" the man coughs up some ale.
Aamon blinked, then reached up. He pulled a long shard from his cheek. The wound sealed quicker than he could process the act. The glass in his palm sizzled once where his blood touched it, flowing off his hand and to the ground.
The man's laugh died.
Aamon opened his mouth to-
"Wataa!"
The drunken man hit the ground hard as a tiny foot planted itself between his shoulder blades. A kitten demi-human, barely waist high struck a victory pose atop the groaning man.
"Hey! I wanted to do that, Marlow!" Another kitten barged in, shoulder checking the first.
"Can't we all do it?" A third whispered from behind them, peeking out with wide eyes.
The man beneath them groaned again. Marlow bounced slightly on his back.
"Now, now, little ones." A woman stepped forward, gently patting the kitten still standing on the man. "We don't want to scare the two."
Ciel had already moved. She was in front of Aamon now, body positioned between him and these new strangers, her small frame tensed like she was preparing to take a blow. "You will not hurt friend." Her voice shook. "Ciel not let you."
Aamon stared over her head at the group.
Four people. Three small heads, one with messy dark red hair, two with fiery red. Their pupils were vertical slits, catching the witchlight. Two pairs of fire red cat ears twitched atop the girls' heads. One pair of dark tabby red ears swiveled independently on the boy, tracking every sound.
Behind them, three little tails swayed, long and fluffy, the color of embers.
The triplets couldn't have been older than seven. All three wore little maid outfits. Shin length dresses for the girls, crisp and clean despite the late hour. Marlow wore pants with an apron tied over them, already smudged with something unknown.
"Ciel not let you?" Marlow finally stepped off the man, who scrambled away without looking back. "You speak funny, girl. We aren't gonna hurt you, be-"
"Yes!" One of his sisters cut him off, hands planted on her hips. "Betty her wanted us to save you! We are Millow, Willow, and Marlow!" She announced.
"I'm Willow." The smaller one stepped forward. "It's nice to meet you. I've never seen Betty want to save someone the way she did for you."
Aamon straightened to his full height. His hand found Ciel's tense shoulder, squeezing gently. "Save me? Why?" He looked from the triplets to the woman behind them. "Do you know what I am?"
The woman dusted off her apron, it's a light red fabric, worn soft from use. She met his ruby eyes without flinching.
"What you are doesn't matter to me." Her voice was warm. The kind of warmth that came from kitchens and early mornings filled years of choosing kindness. "Come. I'll give you a bed. Food."
Aamon's tail fell from where it was tucked before it began to wag. Not subtle or restrained wag. A full, enthusiastic, bone spikes clanging together wagging.
"Really?!" His voice cracked with hope. "I really want meat. Please?"
Ciel looked up at him. Her mouth opened, to argue, to warn, but something stopped her. Something about his face, with the way his whole body had softened for the first time since he'd found her.
She closed her mouth and took his hand instead, following the strong woman with the light red apron, as the triplets orbited them like small moons. Marlow kept circling to get different angles, his tabby ears swaying with each step. Millow reached out once, almost touched a wingtip, then Marlow yanked her hand back in fear. Willow just stared taking everything in.
Ciel's grip on Aamon's hand tightened. She watched the kittens in the dark streets, but her eyes kept returning to Betty. "Why help us?" Ciel quickened her pace, moving closer to the woman. Something made her stop, not fear or caution. Something else. "Lady, you smell like peaches." A pause. "Really sweet ones."
Betty let out a soft laugh. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment, sweetie."
Aamon blinked. "What are peaches?"
Marlow spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own tail. "Oh, the winged man doesn't know what peaches are?" He planted his hands on his hips, tiny chest puffing with importance. "They're only the best fruit in the whole world! They're soft and fuzzy and when you bite them-"
"Don't be mean to him!" Millow cut in, shoving her brother's shoulder. "I'll hit you, meanie!" Her little fist was already raised, ready to follow through with her claim.
"I'm not being mean! I'm educating him!" Marlow smacks her hand with a tiny sound of slapping skin.
"You're being a butt!" Millow rubs her abused hand.
Marlow gasped like she'd stabbed him. "BETTY WOULD WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT!"
"Betty is over there!" Millow spits her tongue, mocking the shocked kitten.
Willow skipped closer to Aamon, her voice soft where her siblings were loud. "He's not from around here, brother." She looked up at Aamon with those big, green eyes. "He probably doesn't have fruit where he's from." A pause. "Do you have anything where you're from?"
Aamon looked at this tiny creature asking him such a simple question, and for a moment he saw his cell. The silence surrounded by moss . Bones now wrapped around his fingers. "Not really." He said quietly.
Willow nodded like she understood something.
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a slightly bruised peach. She held it up to him with both hands. "You can have this one. It's still good. The soft part is just... extra soft."
Marlow's jaw dropped. "Willow! That was your dessert!"
Willow didn't look away from Aamon. "He needs it more."
Aamon stared at the peach. His tail started wagging. "Really? For me?"
Willow nodded.
Marlow threw his hands up. "I'M surrounded by TRAITORS!"
Millow punched his arm. "You're surrounded by nice people! Learn the difference!"
"OW! That's the same arm you hit before!"
"Then stop being a butt and I'll stop hitting it!"
Ciel watched the chaos, and something in her chest loosened just a little. She looked up at Betty.
"Peaches." She said slowly, almost reminiscing. "They smell like you."
"Then I'll take that as a compliment twice over, sweetheart." Betty gave ciel a smile.
Aamon brought peach to his nose, inhaled, and his whole face transformed. "It does smell sweet." He looked at Ciel, eyes wide with wonder. "Like her."
"Eat it, silly!" Millow hopped up and down. "Eat it eat it eat it!"
"Don't rush him! This is a sacred moment!" Marlow crossed his arms, then immediately uncrossed them to gesture dramatically. "The first peach experience only happens once in a lifetime!"
When Aamon bit into it, juice ran down his chin. The taste was sweet, too sweet. His tail went straight into motion, bumping against Marlow's leg. It nearly knocked the small kitten over.
Marlow himself, then stared at the tail with pure fascination. "Whoa. It's like a puppy. But with spikes."
"It's soft." Aamon whispered around his mouthful. "And sweet. And-" He looked at the bitten peach, then at Willow, and something in his ruby eyes shined. "This is what love tastes like, isn't it?"
Willow's cheeks went pink, as she ducked behind Millow.
Millow grabbed her sister and held her forward. "Nope! You gave him the peach, you take the hug!"
"I didn't-I wasn't-"
Willow opens her eyes to find Aamon already kneeling. He scooped up kittens, wrapping his massive arms around all three at once. His wings flared, curving around them like a shell.
Marlow went stiff. "I'm being hugged by a demon."
"Yes you are!" Aamon's voice was muffled against their hair. "And you gave me a peach! And you're my friends now! All three of you!"
Millow hugged back immediately, her arms barely reaching around his neck. Willow hesitated, then buried her face in his shoulder. Marlow stood frozen for four full seconds before his little arms came up and patted Aamon awkwardly on the back.
"This is weird." Marlow announced. "But... not the worst weird."
"Come, don't keep him still for too long." Betty says over her shoulder, opening the door to Hearth's Respite.
A small diner occupied the first floor of an inn, empty for the night. Wooden tables sat silent, the wood scrubbed clean. The kitchen's stove still glowed, its banked embers breathing warmth into the empty room.
Betty placed a gentle hand on sleepy Millow's back, guiding her toward a door. "You'll be in the room up those stairs and to the left." She glanced back at Aamon. "You can't miss it. Already has your name on it."
"I'm not as sleepy as Millow." Marlow rubbed his eye, immediately contradicting himself with a yawn.
"Yes you are, liar." Millow's response came out muffled against her arm.
"I'm more sleepy." Willow threw out the words like a final verdict, already shuffling through the door.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Ciel took Aamon's hand and led him up the stairs. At the top, a small wooden board hung on a door with his name written in slightly messy script. Little butterflies dotted around the letters… The kittens had definitely written it.
"Why is your name written?" Ciel studied the board before her gaze shifted to Aamon.
He shrugged, too tired to question kindness anymore.
Ciel pushed the door open. "Let's get comfortable, friend. Ciel trusts Betty."
Aamon followed her inside, but paused. "We just met her. How come you trust her already?"
Ciel didn't answer immediately. She just walked to the window.
"Ehh." Aamon slumped forward. "I suppose it could wait till after we eat." He joined her at the window, looking out into the grey light of Varnmoor.
Below, heavy boots echoed against the cobblestones. Night Inquisitors moved through the streets, their polished adamantine armor catching what little light escaped shuttered windows. Spiderfaced helms hid their expressions… if they had any left to hide. The clank of their retreating footsteps faded slowly.
The windows throughout Varnmoor were sealed with iron bars. Each rod was a scream of paranoia spread across many generations. Behind those fortified doors, families didn't huddle for warmth. They huddled around reliquaries with bones of saints, guttering candles, anything holy enough to keep the dark at bay.
Aamon could feel it in the air itself… the city's foundations soaked in millennia of blood. Holy and profane, it didn't matter anymore. Varnmoor was watchful. Night was its domain. But within the Hearth's Respite, a different kind of magic held sway.
In the quiet sanctuary of their room, the warmth of Betty's stew and her kindness seemed to carry a weight. A ward against the encroaching gloom.
Aamon turned from the window and sat at the small wooden table. He stared at his hands, the pale bones of his mother clinking softly against each other with every movement.
Ciel watched him from the edge of the bed. Her own hands folded neatly in her lap. She'd only just met this demon, but deep in her chest, she knew… This isn't him. This isn't her new joyful demon.
"Hey, Ciel." His voice came softer than usual. "Betty seems really nice. I don't know how to feel about it." He brought his hand up and pressed a small kiss to his mother's bones. "My mother's hands were always... sweet. But Betty's seemed so warm against that kitten's back." He struggled with the words, with the reality of what he was trying to say. "I know my mother loves me. Loved me. But I don't want to believe she was bad. I can't." His tail slammed against the floor. "Am I wrong for saying that?"
Ciel held her breath. She considered the demon before her. A creature navigating the complexities of his own heart for the very first time. Her mind went to her own roots, buried deep in suffering. His blundering, innocent kindness had been the first true warmth she'd known since her own mother was taken.
"Ciel thinks friend is okay thinking that." Her whisper barely carried over to him. "He can think others are able to help... But she understands what friend is saying."
She took a slow breath. The memory felt cold in her chest, it felt like touching something frozen.
"Ciel had a mother once." Ciel looked over to the pillows. "She's long gone now. Her touch was nice. Compared to slavers." Another pause, longer. "Ciel still remembers her touch. She remembers how her hands got colder... till the slavers took her away."
Aamon's whole expression changed.
The confusion in his eyes hardened. He stood suddenly, crossed the room, and knelt before her. His clawed hand came up to cradle her face. He stared into her sapphire eyes, seeing the grief she had just confessed, and something in him recognized it. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Ciel." His voice was rough with an emotion too difficult for words. "You are... my first. My only friend." He leaned his forehead against hers. "I do not know what our future is. But I know I do not want one if it is a place you are not." He looked to her sharp, elven ears. To the features that marked her as other in this world.
"They call me a demon. They call you abomination." His voice didn't waver in his pause,. "Well, let them. My arms are the one cage that will never hurt you. I will break the world before I let it break you."
He pulled back slightly.
His spined tail curled gently around her waist, not restraining her, just holding. Drawing her closer against him. Into an embrace from the Abyss itself.
Before Ciel could draw breath to process his vow, his massive wings wrapped around them both. They were encased in intimate darkness. The white silk of her hair stark against the membrane of his wings. Nothing existed outside this moment. Nothing could reach them here.
The door opened, pulling them back to reality.
Betty stood silhouetted against lantern light from the hall. She took in the scene, seeing their closeness. She let out a small blush at the way Aamon's wing still partially sheltered Ciel.
"Awe, look at y'all two." Her voice was soft, warm. Bearing no judgment. Only an abiding kindness. "Ain't it too sweet."
She entered and set a tray on the table. Steam rose from two bowls of rich stew, tender meat, carrots, and strange mushrooms from her cellar that Aamon had never seen before.
"Well, don't go to bed too late." She smoothed her apron. "It gets noisy downstairs real quick."
With a final smile, she left. Leaving the smell of the stew to fill their room.
They both sat at the table, opposite of each other. Aamon didn't know what exactly to do with his spoon, he just moved it around for a second. Till he lifted it, taking his first real bite of food.
His face froze in astonishment. It was a flavor that held no association with cages. No cold. No despair. It was comfort… the taste of something made by hands that wanted nothing from him except to see him fed.
His tail was completely independent of his stunned expression, and began its happy, unconscious movement. It thumped against the chair leg with such power it started chipping away at the old wood.
Ciel ate quietly, and slowly. She savored each bite with the appreciation of one who had known true hunger.
"Ciel." Aamon's voice cracked. "This is freaking delicious!" His hushed shout of delight seemed to startle Ciel. "Way better than the cell's moss! I-I can't believe this is real. I didn't know food could taste so good!" He ate fast, way too fast for a demon who didn't truly need to eat. Fueled purely by the joy of new sensation.
"Yes." Ciel agreed softly. A faint smile touched her lips, a rare crack in her impassive facade. "Ciel thinks food is good, friend." She glanced at the door. "Maybe we ask Betty to pack more for the trip to the succubus."
Soon their journey would begin.
Aamon and Ciel would set out for the succubus of sloth… a world away from the silent places they sought. They would face it not as a demon and his maid, but as two souls bound by a promise made in the dark.
Stepping into the unknown together.