The silence in the grand hall stretched thin, charged with the unspoken tension between Elara and Arkanis. The remnants of the rogue demons' presence had dissipated, leaving nothing but the faint hum of residual energy in the air. Elara tightened her grip on her sword, though she made no move to strike. Her instincts told her to trust no demon, yet what she'd just witnessed defied every tale she'd ever been told.
"Why did you save me?" she finally asked, her voice sharp. "What game are you playing, Demon Lord?"
Arkanis sighed, his broad shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the title was too much to bear. "I don't play games, Hero. I acted because it was the right thing to do. Surely, even you can understand that."
His words ignited a spark of confusion and frustration within her. A demon—a creature of destruction and chaos—speaking of what was "right"? The absurdity of it made her laugh, though the sound was bitter. "The 'right thing'? That's rich coming from you. Do you think your kindhearted theatrics will erase the suffering caused by demons like you?"
Arkanis flinched, the jab striking deeper than she expected. For a moment, his golden eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place—guilt, perhaps, or pain. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make her hesitate.
"I don't expect forgiveness," he said quietly. "And I don't claim to speak for all demons. But I'm not what you think I am. I never have been." He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if not wanting to startle her. "Stay here for one night. See for yourself what this 'monstrous' castle truly holds."
Elara narrowed her eyes. "Why would I do that?"
"Because," he said, his voice steady, "the truth might surprise you."
She considered his words, weighing the risks. Logic told her to strike him down now, to rid the world of a Demon Lord while she had the chance. Yet there was a small voice in the back of her mind, whispering that perhaps—just perhaps—this was an opportunity to learn the truth about the enemy she'd been trained to hate.
"Fine," she said at last, lowering her sword. "But if you so much as blink the wrong way, I won't hesitate to kill you."
Arkanis smiled faintly, a ghost of amusement crossing his face. "Understood."
Later That Night
Elara sat in a dimly lit chamber, staring at a small plate of food that had been placed in front of her. It was simple—bread, cheese, and fruit—but it was fresh, and it was offered without any hidden malice. Arkanis had left her alone, promising to return later, and she found herself wondering what kind of demon lord left an enemy unattended.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. She reached for her sword instinctively. "Come in."
To her surprise, it wasn't Arkanis but a young demon servant, his features more humanlike than monstrous. He carried a bundle of books, which he placed carefully on the table. "The master thought you might like these," he said nervously, his voice barely above a whisper.
Elara glanced at the titles. Human history, philosophy, literature. They were the kind of books she'd spent hours poring over in her village's tiny library. "Why would he give me these?" she asked, her suspicion growing.
The servant shrugged, offering no answer, before scurrying out of the room.
Elara stared at the books for a long moment, her earlier resolve faltering. What kind of Demon Lord stocked his library with human knowledge and offered it to a Hero? And more importantly, what was she supposed to do with this sliver of doubt creeping into her heart?