"I'll save you, cursed child of demons," Aria said softly, her voice devoid of the warmth such words might typically carry. Her gaze lingered on the doll in her hands, her fingers brushing over its fabric with a tenderness that seemed almost alien to her stoic demeanor.
My brows furrowed as I knelt beside her. "Who said that to you?"
Aria's dark, fathomless eyes lifted to meet mine, as impassive as ever. "Elara," she said, her tone neutral, detached. "Never trust a hero."
The statement felt like an icicle piercing the room's air, sharp and unyielding.
"A hero?" I echoed, tilting my head. "What do you mean?"
Her gaze didn't waver, yet something shifted in the atmosphere between us. "A hero is someone who can and will sacrifice you for the world," she said, her words as deliberate and cutting as a blade drawn with purpose. "Heroes are the best for the world… but the worst for the person."
The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in. I wanted to ask her more—to dig deeper into the past she hinted at with such cryptic finality—but Aria turned away.
Not just physically.
It was a retreat, a closing of a door I hadn't even realized she'd cracked open.
Her posture stiffened, and the air around her grew colder. It wasn't like her usual stoicism. This was different. It was a quiet warning, a silent command to let the conversation drop.
And I understood. As her summoner, I could have pushed. I could have used the bond we shared to force her to answer my questions. But what would that accomplish? To truly understand Aria, I had to let her reveal herself to me in her own time, in her own way.
I swallowed the questions bubbling in my throat and let my gaze drop to the doll in her hands. It was small, fragile, and yet, in her grasp, it seemed unbreakable. Her fingers rested lightly on its head, almost protectively, though her expression remained as unreadable as ever.
"Cursed child of demons," I murmured, testing the weight of the words she'd said earlier.
They felt heavy, oppressive, like they carried an entire history of suffering and betrayal. I thought of her world, the one she'd come from—the one where she'd killed everyone. And I thought of the hero she spoke of, the one who had promised to save her.
But in the end… had betrayed her.
The puzzle pieces lay scattered before me, but none of them fit together. Not yet.
Aria remained silent, her back still to me, and I watched her in quiet contemplation. Her small frame seemed even smaller now, though it was nothing like vulnerability. If anything, there was a quiet strength in the way she held herself, an unyielding core that refused to bow or break, no matter what storms might rage around her.
And yet, she was still a child. In her mannerisms, her speech, and her interactions with the world around her, there was an innocence that didn't align with the immense power and terrible history she carried.
I let out a soft sigh, my chest tightening as I watched her clutch the doll to her chest. It was a simple toy, one we'd picked up in a moment of levity. Yet, it seemed to hold a significance for her that I couldn't quite grasp.
A hero. A betrayal. A world left in ruins.
These were the shadows that clung to her, shaping her in ways I was only beginning to understand. And though I wanted to know more, I knew better than to push.
"Aria," I said gently, breaking the silence.
She didn't turn to look at me, but her head tilted slightly, a subtle acknowledgment that she was listening.
"You don't have to say anything," I continued. "But if you ever want to talk, I'll listen. No force, no orders—just me, trying to understand."
There was no immediate response. Instead, Aria's grip on the doll tightened just slightly. For a moment, I thought she might say something. But then, she merely gave the faintest nod before returning her attention to the doll.
It wasn't much. But it was enough.
I rose to my feet, brushing the dust from my knees. As I looked at her, sitting there so still, so contained, I felt an ache in my chest that I couldn't quite explain. She was a paradox—unbreakable and fragile, wise and naive, powerful and lost.
And I was her summoner, tasked not just with commanding her but with understanding her. With bridging the gap between who she was and who she could become.
As I turned to leave, her soft voice broke the silence once more.
"Elara."
I paused, glancing over my shoulder. "Yes?"
"Humans always lie," she said, her tone as matter-of-fact as ever. Then, after a beat, she added, "But you haven't… yet."
It wasn't a declaration of trust. Not entirely. But it was a step—a small, tentative step toward something more.
The day stretched out in front of us like a blank canvas, and I was determined to fill it with color. After our stop at the toy store, I decided to make the day all about Aria. If I wanted her to open up, to feel like we were more than just summoner and summon, then I needed to treat her for what she appeared to be—a twelve-year-old girl.
"Next stop," I said with a grin, "the patisserie."
Aria blinked at me, the doll still tucked securely in her arms. "Patisserie?"
I nodded. "A place where they make sweets. Cakes, pastries, macarons—you'll love it."
She tilted her head, clearly unsure about what I was saying, but she followed me without question. The streets of the capital bustled with life as we made our way to one of the finest patisseries in the city. The scent of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, wrapping around us like a warm embrace.
When we stepped inside, Aria's eyes darted around the brightly lit space, her gaze lingering on the glass cases filled with colorful confections. She didn't say anything, but I could see the faintest flicker of interest in her otherwise stoic expression.
"Pick whatever you like," I said, gesturing toward the display.
Aria stared at the pastries, her expression thoughtful. Finally, she pointed to a lemon tart with a delicate swirl of meringue on top. "This one."
"Good choice," I said as I waved over the shopkeeper. "We'll take one lemon tart and… let's add some macarons, a chocolate eclair, and a slice of strawberry shortcake."
Aria's dark eyes flicked up to meet mine. "Why so many?"
"Because it's a special day," I replied, offering her a smile. "And because I want to see which ones you like best."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before she nodded, seemingly accepting my reasoning. We found a cozy table by the window, and the shopkeeper soon brought over a tray laden with sweets.
"Try this," I said, sliding the lemon tart toward her.
Aria picked up a small spoon and took a bite. Her expression remained impassive, but the way her eyes lingered on the tart told me she liked it.
"It's… good," she said after a moment, her voice as even as ever.
I laughed. "Just good? You don't have to hold back, you know. If you like something, it's okay to show it."
She tilted her head as if considering my words. Then, she took another bite, a little quicker this time. For Aria, it was practically enthusiasm.
We spent nearly an hour there, sampling the various treats and sipping on tea. By the end of it, Aria had declared the macarons her favorite, though she insisted on taking the uneaten ones back with us for later. As we left the patisserie, her doll was now joined by a small box of colorful macarons tucked under her arm.
Next, we visited a dressmaker's shop. The capital was home to some of the finest tailors in the kingdom, and I thought it might be nice to get something custom-made for Aria. She followed me inside, her gaze sweeping over the rows of fabric and mannequins draped in intricate designs.
"Lady Elara," the tailor greeted me with a deep bow. "What an honor to have you here. How may I assist you today?"
"I'd like to commission a dress," I said, glancing at Aria. "Something simple but elegant. And it needs to be comfortable for someone who moves around a lot."
The tailor's gaze shifted to Aria, and her eyes widened slightly. "Is this the Prime Eterna everyone's been talking about?"
"Yes," I said with a nod. "She's my summon."
Aria stared at the tailor with her usual impassive expression, though she didn't seem particularly interested in the proceedings.
"Would you like to pick a color?" I asked her, gesturing to the array of fabric swatches on the counter.
She tilted her head, considering the options. Finally, she pointed to a deep shade of violet. "This."
"An excellent choice," the tailor said, already jotting down notes. "We'll make something truly special."
As the tailor measured Aria and discussed design details with me, I noticed how still she was. Most children her age would fidget or complain during a fitting, but Aria stood there like a statue, her expression unreadable.
"You're allowed to say if you don't like something," I told her as the tailor pinned a piece of fabric against her to test the fit.
"It's fine," she said simply.
"Well, I want you to love it," I replied. "Not just think it's fine."
She blinked at me, her gaze steady. "Why?"
"Because you deserve to have nice things," I said without hesitation. "And because I care about what makes you happy."
For a moment, she didn't respond. Then, she turned her gaze back to the tailor, her fingers tightening slightly around the doll she still held. "Okay," she said quietly. "I'll try."
By the time we left the shop, the tailor promised to have the dress ready within a week. Aria didn't say much about it, but she held onto the fabric swatch as we walked back to the carriage.
As the day came to an end, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. It was a small step, but it felt like progress. Aria might not have fully opened up to me yet, but there were moments—tiny, fleeting moments—where I felt like I was beginning to understand her.
"Did you enjoy today?" I asked as we climbed into the carriage.
She looked at me, her doll and macarons still tucked securely in her arms. "Yes."
The single word, simple as it was, filled me with a warmth I couldn't quite explain. For Aria, that was as close to enthusiasm as I'd ever seen. And for now, that was more than enough.