My face itches where the scars tug against my skin as I trudge up the rickety stairs to my rented room. Every step sends pain shooting through my burnt chest, a fresh reminder of that blue-haired bitch and her pet man. The wolf pelt I'd spent all day skinning dangles from my hand, reeking of blood and disappointment. The hallway creaks beneath my boots as I approach my door. Something feels off. The air smells different, almost like death. My hand drops to the dagger at my hip, fingers curling around the worn handle. When I push open the door to my shabby room, rage floods through me like wildfire. "What the hell are you doing in my room?" I snarl, dropping the pelt and drawing my blade in one fluid motion. The elf sits perched on my bedroll like she owns the place, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. Her silver hair cascades past her shoulders, catching the last rays of sunset streaming through my dirty window. She looks exactly as she did in the forest, impossibly beautiful and utterly out of place in this shithole. "Now, now," she says, her melodic voice carrying that irritating elven accent. "That's not a nice way to address the kind woman who saved your pitiful little life." I slam the door behind me, keeping my dagger raised. "I didn't ask you to save me." "And yet," she says, rising to her feet with unnatural grace, "here you stand." Her red eyes sweep over my body, lingering on the fresh burn mark on my chest where that fireball hit. "You've been busy making new enemies, I see." "What do you want?" I demand, refusing to lower my weapon. The elf tilts her head, a smile playing at the corners of her perfect lips. "Well, after I saved your miserable life, you simply ran off without so much as a thank you. Rather rude, don't you think?" "I don't like elves," I spit, keeping my dagger pointed at her chest. "You bitches tend to be so uppity. Looking down on everyone from your fancy tree kingdom." Her smile widens, transforming from merely amused to something darker, more predatory. Then, before my eyes, her perfect silver skin begins to ripple and shift. The pale alabaster darkens to deep crimson, her delicate ears elongating further and curving into sharp points. Horns sprout from her forehead, twisting upward like polished obsidian. My good eye widens in shock, the dagger nearly slipping from my suddenly sweaty grip. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I can barely hear my own thoughts. "Then it's a good thing I'm not an elf, isn't it?" Her voice has changed too, deeper now, with an echo that seems to come from everywhere at once. I take an involuntary step backward, my spine hitting the closed door. This isn't some mindless lesser demon that haunts graveyards and feeds on corpses. The power radiating from her is ancient, intelligent. The markings on her skin, the obsidian horns, the way reality itself seems to bend slightly around her, she must be a greater demon. "What the fuck," I whisper, my scarred face suddenly cold with sweat. She waves her hand lazily in my direction, and instantly, my body freezes in place. I can't move a muscle, not even to blink. The dagger drops from my paralyzed fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor. "I didn't save you for free, child." Her crimson eyes bore into mine, amusement dancing in their depths. "Did you really think I was just some good Samaritan who happened upon your charred body in the woods?" I can't speak, can't even nod. My throat works uselessly as I strain against the invisible bonds holding me in place. She rises from my bedroll and glides toward me. "Before I left the Empire," she says, her clawed fingers tracing the air between us, "our Oracle spoke of you. She said you could lead me to the Saint." My throat constricts with fear, but I force a laugh through my scarred lips. "I don't know anything about any Saint." Her crimson eyes narrow, burning into me like hot coals. "Really? You haven't encountered any men recently?" The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. That man in the forest, the one with the fire staff who was with the blue-haired knight. "I see recognition in your eye," the demon purrs. "You've met him, haven't you?" I'm many things, murderer, bandit, thief. I've slit throats for less than a handful of copper. I've burned people for sport. But I would rather die screaming than help a disgusting fucking demon. And I had no idea that guy was the Saint. "I don't know what you're talking about," I manage to say, the words scraping past my dry throat. The demon studies me for a long moment, her head tilting at an unnatural angle. Then she sighs, a sound like distant thunder, and releases whatever magic holds me. I collapse to my knees, gasping as control returns to my limbs. "Very well," she says, her voice almost disappointed. She crouches before me, those crimson eyes level with mine. "Instead, I have a simple arrangement to propose. I want you to check in with me once a week. Tell me about your travels, the people you meet, the things you see." "That's it?" I ask, rubbing feeling back into my arms. Her smile widens, revealing teeth too sharp to be anything but weapons. "For now. That is the cost of your life." "Excellent," she coos, her crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as desert sand. "Where exactly am I supposed to find you?" The demon throws her head back and laughs, the sound echoing unnaturally around my shabby room like it's coming from the walls themselves. "Don't bother looking for me," she says, her voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "I'll find you." Before I can respond, her form begins to shimmer and distort, like heat rising from sun-baked stone. One moment she's there, solid and terrifying, and the next she's simply... gone. No flash of light, no puff of smoke, just empty space where a greater demon stood seconds ago. "Fuck," I whisper into the silence, my scarred face throbbing with renewed pain. I drag myself to my feet, stumbling to the window to make sure she's really gone. The street below looks normal, just the usual evening crowd of drunks and merchants closing up shop. No sign of a crimson-skinned demon casually strolling through Qence. My mind races faster than a spooked horse. The Saint. That scrawny man with the fire staff is the actual fucking Saint? No wonder that blue-haired knight was protecting him like a mother bear. I need to get that guy to the Holy Kingdom as fast as humanly possible.