Her golden eyes sparkled, and before she realized it, she blurted out, "It's delicious!"
The words came out louder than she intended, and she clapped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.
Noir glanced at her, his expression unreadable. But beneath his calm exterior, a faint warmth stirred within him. He had already guessed how she'd react, but seeing her genuine delight brought a small, fleeting smile to his face.
"It's a human dish," he said, breaking the silence. "They call it 'wild boar goulash.' Humans are fascinating—they add spices to their food to create entirely different flavors. It's... creative."
He took another bite of his portion, speaking as though he were musing to himself.
The two ate in comfortable silence after that, the tension between them replaced by the simple act of sharing a meal.
As they finished their goulash and pushed their bowls aside, Noir leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto Nimfa.
"So," he said suddenly, his tone steady but direct, "what will you do now?"
The question pierced through the quiet, and Nimfa froze, her golden eyes wide. The sudden shift in mood caught her off guard, and she found herself at a loss for words.
"I..." she started, her voice faltering. Her gaze dropped to the table, and she fiddled nervously with her empty bowl. "I don't know how to get back to the Celestial Plane."
Her voice was soft, tinged with worry. She bowed her head slightly, her unease evident in the way she avoided meeting his gaze.
Noir studied her silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
"Lost, huh?" he said, his voice quieter now. "
"How did you end up here in the first place?" Noir asked, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward, his gaze steady and inquisitive.
Nimfa froze at the question, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. She wanted to tell the truth, but doubt clouded her mind. Would he even believe her? The memory of that strange book—Elara's Life—flashed vividly in her mind.
The hesitation was written all over her face, and Noir noticed.
"Hmm, I see," he murmured, his voice calm but with a trace of curiosity. His sharp instincts told him there was more to her story. The fact that she had no weapon, no armor—nothing to suggest she'd come prepared for anything—only deepened his suspicion.
After a moment, Nimfa took a deep breath, deciding to speak. "I... I was teleported to the outskirts," she began, her voice quiet and uncertain. "I don't know how or why, but it happened after I read a strange book."
She glanced at him cautiously, gauging his reaction before continuing. "The last page had a magic symbol scribe on it. When I read it, something activated... and then I was just there—in the meadow."
As she spoke, she found herself wondering why she was telling him all this. Her golden eyes drifted to the table as a thought struck her: Why am I sharing my story with a demon? I barely know him.
Shaking off the thought, she lifted her gaze to meet his. "You," she said suddenly, her tone sharper than before. "Why were you in the meadow, lying there as if the war between our kin had already ended?"
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Noir didn't respond. His crimson eyes darkened slightly, and he looked away, as if searching for the right words.
Finally, he exhaled, his voice steady but quieter than before. "Didn't I already tell you?" he said, his tone carrying a hint of weariness. "I don't want to bother anyone. I just want to be left alone."
Noir's POV
The words came out easily enough, but they didn't feel entirely true—not even to him. He glanced at Nimfa, her curious golden eyes fixed on him, and for a moment, something in her gaze stirred an ache he hadn't felt in years.
The truth was far more complicated than he cared to admit. He wasn't just hiding from the war or seeking solitude. He was running—from his kin, from the expectations placed upon him, and from the monster he had become.
"What's the point of telling her?" he thought bitterly. "She wouldn't understand. She shouldn't."
But still, the words lingered on the edge of his tongue, unspoken. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression returning to its usual calm mask.
Nimfa's POV
Nimfa tilted her head slightly, studying him. His answer felt... incomplete, like there was more he wasn't saying. But as much as she wanted to press him, she held back.
For now.
"Well," she said finally, her voice softening, "if you're trying to avoid bothering anyone, you've done the opposite with me."
A faint, teasing smile tugged at her lips as she crossed her arms, but the warmth in her tone betrayed her words.
Noir glanced at her, caught off guard by the change in her demeanor. He let out a low chuckle—just a single breath, but it was enough to break the tension of nimfa and noir.
"I guess so," he said, his tone lighter now.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was quiet, but not empty—like the calm after a storm.
After a moment of quiet between them, Nimfa tilted her head, her curiosity stirring again.
"I still don't understand," she said, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Noir. "When I first saw you in the meadow, I knew immediately that you weren't human, even though you looked like one. How could that be?"
Noir leaned back slightly in his chair, his crimson gaze meeting hers. For a second, he considered brushing off the question, but something in her expression—genuine curiosity, not accusation—gave him pause.
"It's because you're an angel," he said finally, his tone calm but matter-of-fact. "Angels and demons can sense each other's magical essence. No illusion can hide that."
Nimfa frowned slightly, resting her chin in her hand. "Magical essence?"
Noir nodded, his expression thoughtful as he continued. "When I cast an illusion, it works perfectly on humans. They can't sense the energy behind it, so to them, I look exactly like one of them. But for angels and demons... the illusion is only surface-level. You saw through it because you're attuned to magic, even if you didn't realize it at the time."
Nimfa's brows furrowed as she absorbed his explanation. "So that's why I could tell you were a demon?"
"Exactly," Noir replied, his voice steady. "It's why I could sense you were an angel, too. Even without your wings out, your presence gives it away."
For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth.
Nimfa's POV
"So that means..." she began, her voice hesitant. "Even if I tried to disguise myself, it wouldn't work on you?"
Noir smirked faintly, though his eyes remained serious. "Not unless you learned how to suppress your essence completely. And trust me, that's not easy to do."
Nimfa's shoulders sagged slightly. She had been hoping for some way to avoid detection, to slip away unnoticed if she ever needed to.
"Don't overthink it," Noir said, interrupting her thoughts. "Illusions are useful for blending in with humans. Out here, that's all that really matters."
She glanced at him, her expression uncertain. "So, you use illusions to live among humans?"
Noir's smirk faltered slightly, his gaze drifting away. "It's less about living with them and more about keeping them from asking questions. Humans don't need to know what I am—or what I've done."
Noir's POV
The words came out colder than he intended, but he didn't bother correcting himself. It wasn't just about convenience—it was about avoiding the past. The fewer people who saw the real him, the fewer reminders he had of the war, of his blood-soaked history.
He glanced back at Nimfa. She was staring at him, her golden eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else... pity, perhaps? He wasn't sure which irritated him more.
"Why are you asking all this, anyway?" he said, his tone sharper than before.
Nimfa's POV
Nimfa flinched slightly at his sudden change in tone. She hesitated, unsure how to respond.
"I was just... curious," she said softly, her gaze dropping to her lap. "You don't seem like the kind of demon my kin always warned me about. I guess I wanted to understand why."
Her words hung in the air, and Noir's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. The faintest flicker of a memory stirred in his mind—one of blood, fire, and the hollow faces of those he had fought.
"Don't mistake me for something I'm not," he said, his voice low but steady. "I've done things that would make your kin's stories about demons seem tame."
Nimfa opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself. There was a weight in his words, an undeniable truth that she didn't yet know how to face.
Noir pushed his chair back and stood, his movements steady but deliberate.
"Hm," he murmured, glancing briefly at Nimfa. His crimson eyes lingered on her, unreadable yet sharp.
"Think carefully about what you'll do from now on," he said, his tone calm but edged with a faint chill. "Don't rush into deciding useless things. You have time."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and began collecting the tableware and pot, his attention shifting to cleaning the table.
Nimfa remained seated, her hands resting on her lap as she stared down at them. Noir's words echoed in her mind, reverberating louder with each passing second.
What should I do from now on?
The question felt heavier than she could bear. She had no idea where to start or how to move forward. Her connection to her kin, her purpose as an angel—everything that had once grounded her felt impossibly far away.
How do I get back to the Celestial City? What if... what if I can't?
Her golden eyes clouded with doubt. She clenched her fists slightly, her nails pressing into her palms as the weight of uncertainty pressed down on her.
And then there was him—Noir.
Her gaze flicked to the demon as he worked, moving with quiet efficiency. His words had been cold, but there was something beneath them, something that unsettled her. He wasn't like the merciless, bloodthirsty demons her kin had warned her about. He was... different.
Why is he helping me? What does he really want?
The thought lingered, but a small voice in her heart whispered something else entirely: Would I even still be alive if it weren't for him?
She sighed softly, her silver hair falling across her shoulders as she tried to clear her mind.
I need to figure this out. But... how?
Celestial Council Room
"What? Nimfa is missing?"
The voice echoed through the grand chamber, sharp with both alarm and authority. Seriel, a high seraphim and Nimfa's mentor, stood at the center of the room, his golden wings flared slightly as he addressed the angel before him.
"Where was she last seen?" Seriel demanded, his piercing gaze fixed on the reporting angel.
"The last place Nimfa was spotted was in the Celestial Library," the angel replied, his tone formal and disciplined.
Seriel's brow furrowed, his mind racing. "Investigate what happened in the library," he ordered, his voice decisive. "Don't accuse anyone—just gather information."
The angel nodded and departed swiftly, the heavy doors of the council room closing behind him with a resonant thud.
Left alone, Seriel's expression darkened. He brought both hands to his chin, his sharp features etched with deep thought.
"Hmm... it's too early," he muttered under his breath. His gaze turned distant, the flicker of unease in his eyes hinting at something far greater than Nimfa's absence.
For a moment, he stood frozen in thought, his golden wings shifting slightly as if responding to his tension. Whatever was coming, it was clear he believed it wouldn't be small.