She hesitated before sitting beside him, careful to keep some distance. "You're... different from the demons my kin speak of," she said softly, her golden eyes searching his face.
Her words carried a mix of wonder and doubt as she continued. "The other angels always said demons are merciless, driven by bloodlust. They claim demons are war-hungry beasts who won't stop fighting, even when they're mortally wounded."
Noir listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable.
"It's true," he said finally, his voice low and resigned. "Most demons live that way. The environments we grow up in... they're harsh, unforgiving. They twist the mind, make you think survival is all that matters."
He paused, his gaze growing distant. "But I'm different."
A flicker of memory surfaced unbidden—a blurred face, a voice, a name he couldn't quite grasp. Pain lanced through his mind, sharp and unrelenting. He winced, pressing a hand to his temple.
"Urgh..."
Nimfa's POV
The sudden movement startled Nimfa. She leaned closer, her brows knitting in concern.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice steady despite the knot of worry tightening in her chest.
Noir waved her off, his movements weak but dismissive. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened, as though battling a shadow she couldn't see.
She hesitated, her instincts warring with caution. "If... if there's something troubling you, maybe I can help."
Her offer hung in the air, fragile but sincere. She wasn't sure what she expected—gratitude, rejection, or silence—but the words felt right, even if they carried a hint of fear.
Noir's hand dropped from his temple as he turned to look at her. For a long moment, he said nothing. His crimson eyes searched hers, as though trying to decipher the motives behind her words.
"Help me?" he said at last, his tone laced with skepticism. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though it lacked its usual sharpness. "Why would an angel help a demon?"
Nimfa met his gaze, her golden eyes steady despite her fluttering heartbeat. "Because you saved me. And... because I think there's more to you than what my kin believe."
Her words struck something within him—she could see it in the way his smirk faltered, replaced by a faint shadow of vulnerability.
Noir's POV
Her words were disarming, like a soft breeze brushing away the weight of his defenses. He didn't understand why, but he felt something stir deep within—a flicker of trust, as fragile as a dying ember.
"I don't need your help," he muttered, his voice low, almost defensive. Yet, he didn't move away when she leaned closer, her hands still glowing faintly with her magic.
"Maybe not," she replied, her voice gentle but firm. "But it's here if you do."
Noir glanced at her again, his crimson eyes softening just enough to betray his weariness. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath.
For the first time in years, he felt... less alone.
"My name is Noir," he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the faint rustle of the meadow breeze.
"N-Noir?" Nimfa echoed, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as she repeated the name. It felt strange on her tongue, unfamiliar yet oddly fitting. "I'm Nimfa."
Noir's crimson gaze flicked to her briefly before he let out a faint, pained chuckle. "Nice to meet you... Nimfa. Though I'd rather this introduction wasn't drenched in blood."
Nimfa's lips parted, but before she could respond, Noir shifted, his movements sluggish and strained. He winced, his hand pressing lightly against the bloodied wound on his arm.
"You're still bleeding," Nimfa said, her voice tinged with concern.
"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out," Noir muttered, his tone laced with dry humor despite his obvious pain. He took a shallow breath and leaned his head back against the tree. "Look, my lodge isn't far from here. If you want to keep your conscience clear, help me get there before I black out."
Nimfa hesitated, her silver hair glinting in the moonlight as she studied him. The idea of aiding a demon still felt wrong, a silent voice in the back of her mind warning her against it.
But then she saw it again—the weariness in his eyes, the faint tremble in his hands as he tried to mask his weakness. He wasn't the merciless creature her kin had always described.
"Fine," she said with a quiet sigh, stepping closer to him. "But if you try anything—"
"I won't," Noir cut in, his smirk faint but still present. "I'm not in the mood for a fight. Just... help me get there, angel."
Nimfa's POV
Nimfa blinked at Noir's words, unsure if she had heard him correctly.
"You... want me to carry you?"
Noir's smirk returned, though it was faint and tinged with exhaustion. "Unless you plan to let me bleed out here, yeah. I've lost enough blood to feel the ground spinning. My lodge isn't far."
Her lips parted in protest, but the words caught in her throat as she saw the faint tremor in his hand, the subtle sway in his posture. He was trying to hide it, but the signs were there—he was barely holding himself together.
"Fine," she said, though her voice betrayed her hesitation. She shifted closer, her silver hair glinting in the moonlight. "But only because you saved me."
Noir chuckled weakly, his crimson eyes glinting with faint amusement. "You keep saying that. Don't angels help anyone in need? Or is this special treatment?"
She ignored his quip, kneeling beside him and carefully draping his arm over her shoulders. His weight pressed heavily against her, and she stumbled slightly before finding her balance.
"You're heavier than you look," she muttered, trying to adjust her grip.
"Thanks," Noir said dryly. "Nothing like an insult to boost morale."
Nimfa rolled her eyes but said nothing, focusing on steadying them both as they began to move.
Noir's POV
As they trudged through the meadow, Noir's thoughts drifted. The warmth of her healing magic still lingered faintly in his arm, a sensation so foreign it made him uneasy.
An angel helping a demon... am I dreaming?
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her face was set with determination, her golden eyes scanning the path ahead. She was so different from the angels he had fought—there was no arrogance in her, no blind zealotry.
"You're not like them," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
"What?" Nimfa asked, turning her head slightly.
"Nothing," Noir said quickly, his gaze shifting to the ground.
Nimfa's POV
The lodge came into view just as Nimfa's shoulders began to ache from the effort. It was a small, unassuming structure nestled against a cluster of trees, its stone walls worn but sturdy. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney, a sign that someone—or something—had kept it inhabited.
"This is it?" she asked, her voice tinged with relief.
Noir nodded, though his head barely lifted. "Yeah. Set me down inside."
The door creaked as Nimfa pushed it open with her free hand. The interior was sparse but functional—a single wooden table, a chair, and a cot in the corner. The scent of herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood.
She helped Noir to the cot, easing him down with as much care as her fatigued arms could manage. He let out a low groan as he leaned back, his hand pressing against his bandaged arm.
"I'll get some water," Nimfa said, her voice soft.
Noir's eyes flicked to her, his expression unreadable. "There's a basin by the table," he muttered.
She found the basin and a small pitcher nearby, filling it with water from a barrel tucked into the corner. As she returned to his side, she hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the basin.
"Why do you live out here?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Away from your kin?"
Noir's eyes closed for a moment, his jaw tightening. "It's easier this way. No one to bother me, no one to drag me into their mess."
Nimfa frowned, setting the basin down beside him. "But... don't you get lonely?"
His eyes opened, crimson meeting gold. For a moment, the room felt impossibly quiet. Then he smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Loneliness is better than betrayal."
The weight of his words lingered in the air, and Nimfa felt a pang of sadness she couldn't explain.
Noir's POV
As Nimfa busied herself wringing out a cloth and tending to his arm, Noir watched her in silence. Her movements were careful, her touch gentle, as though she feared causing him more pain.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had cared for him like this—not out of duty or expectation, but simply because they wanted to.
"You're strange," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet.
Nimfa glanced up, her brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"You don't act like an angel. You're too... soft."
Her expression hardened slightly, and she sat back, crossing her arms. "And you don't act like a demon. You're too... introspective."
Noir couldn't help but chuckle, though it turned into a cough halfway through. "Touché."
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the tension between them easing just enough to feel natural.
As Noir drifted off to sleep, his breathing evening out, Nimfa found herself staring at him. His face, relaxed in slumber, looked so different from the fierce, smirking demon she had first encountered.
He seemed... peaceful. Almost human.
Her thoughts swirled like the wind outside the lodge, full of questions she couldn't yet answer.
Why did he save me? Why do I care so much?
She pulled the blanket over him and rose quietly, moving to the table where a single candle flickered. The room felt impossibly still, save for the faint rustle of leaves outside and the distant howl of the wind.
Her gaze fell on a small, worn book resting there, its cover marked with faint scratches. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge.
Behind her, Noir shifted slightly in his sleep, his brow furrowing for the briefest moment before smoothing again. The motion was subtle, but it froze her in place.
Does he know about this book? she wondered.
Curiosity tugged at her, but she resisted the urge to open it. Instead, she sat down and rested her chin on her hands, her golden eyes watching the flame dance.
"Maybe... darkness isn't as evil as I thought," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind's soft howl. Her gaze flicked back to Noir, and a pang of unease twisted in her chest.
But if that's true, she thought, then what else about my world has been a lie?