After breakfast, Quintin left for work. Amalia went into town to visit friends. I stayed behind to practice my swordsmanship.

  I could shoot, kill, and butcher a deer by myself. My parents felt pretty confident that I could be alone at the house for small periods of time without supervision. It was a far cry from the privilege I’d had less than five years prior.

  My days generally consisted of shooting my bow and swinging my sword. Not much happened, so time droned on mindlessly. I’d be practicing, and suddenly, it was night. Life moved on too quickly sometimes. It felt like I was on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall sometimes.

  Learning the sword was an… interesting process. We started a little while after I passed Quintin’s hunting test. He forewarned me before we started that my initial lessons would mostly involve me getting smacked around with a wooden sword. I’d seen other children take lessons throughout the decade, and this was apparently the standard course in the world. Quintin said learning to take a hit and not being afraid to give one was vital.

  I was initially hesitant during our first lesson. I kept flinching every time Quintin’s sword came near me. My defense dropped, I struggled to hold the sword, and every motion felt foreign and unnatural.

  Then I got hit. Quintin tripped me with his sword and smacked my funny bone. It triggered something—a vivid, sharp pain akin to my flesh ripping scattered inside my mind. The second I felt that my fear went away, and I think my pain threshold increased, too.

  Quintin was astonished at my growth after that. I felt more comfortable moving and blocking with a sword. I was willing to take blows and dish them out. Granted, I still sucked and never hit Quintin, but I didn’t have the fear first-timers usually did anymore.

  Like with most things, I “remembered” how to use a sword. The only hard part after that was training my body, and that would take time.

  “It’s getting easier, but it still doesn’t feel right,” I muttered as I practiced overhead cuts on a dummy Quintin made for me. “I don’t feel like swords are my thing. Bows aren’t quite it, either. There’s gotta be something I’m better with.”

  I was also bothered by what to do about my eyes, Eve, and the fact that I was apparently a psychopath and didn’t even notice it. Exercising was helping me clear my mind, but it only brought about even more questions.

  Eve says I need to find someone worth dying for. Someone to love. I recalled, gritting my teeth as I swung my sword. It would give me another person to rely on in the process, regardless of my success in achieving the emotions. I could probably make someone fall in love with me if I tried. I thought about the challenge. If they’re another devil. Around my age. And in the vicinity. Okay, much harder than I thought. Impossible, really. I flinched, stunned. Oh Gods, I have a high chance of dying alone, don’t I?!

  That was putting aside the fact that I was already calculating how to use the person I was supposed to love. Yet another sign I wasn’t thinking the right way.

  It was weird. I knew the correct way to think. I “remembered” what it was like to be empathetic, to care for others, and to love. I saw it in others and felt a strong pull towards those emotions. And yet at the same time, my first instinct was always utilitarian—focusing on the use of something over any other trait.

  Me, me, me. I, I, I. I thought. What’s so wrong with that? Who matters more than me? If I die, everyone else is as good as dead. If I can’t perceive them, then their existence is meaningless. I rationalized. I’m the only person who can see through my eyes. That makes me the most important person in the world. Who’s the say I’m wrong? Why should I try to change anything about myself? It’s gotten me by so far. I’ve survived some horrible shit. Screw Eve!

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  Satisfied, I nodded. “Now all I need to do is give myself a pep talk before telling my parents about the mark. They adore me, so I’m not worried.” I let out a breath. “I feel soooo much better now.”

  I went to smack the practice dummy in our yard hard across its head.

  “I finally found you!” A voice called out behind me. “You’re the devil everyone was talking about.”

  Startled, I spun around with my practice sword raised and aimed it toward the voice.

  A large fence surrounded our home. Over the side of said fence, a young boy leaned across it with a loose smile. He looked to be about eleven or twelve years old. Shaggy brown hair sat like a scruffy mop atop his head. His skin was naturally tan, which told me he was outdoors every second he got. He had a kind demeanor based on appearances and a sharp, lazy face. I could tell he had no hatred or ill intent in his words or demeanor.

  “Who are you?” I asked after my assessment. “Who is your brother? Why does he know me?”

  “His name is Barcus! I’m Nigel.” He put a hand on his chest and offered me a slight bow. “His little brother.”

  “I know Barcus. He never mentioned a brother before.” I said.

  I’d learned that information from Quintin, not Barcus, even though I had met Barcus a few times by then. So, technically, I wasn’t lying. Barcus was an adventurer Quintin usually contracted with for work. He’s come through the town a few times in the past few decades. Always memorable.

  Nigel’s face saddened slightly at that, but he didn’t drop his smile. He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter! I’m with him now. I turned twelve and had my awakening, so he and Jessie are training me to use my mana.”

  “This is training? Coming by my house while he’s out with my dad?”

  “You know where my brother is?”

  “Barcus always hires my dad when he needs a guide, and Dad said he’d be gone all day on a job. Putting those pieces together, it’s not hard to assume what happened. You got left behind because you’re not experienced enough, and they didn’t want to worry about you.” I cocked my head to the side. “That sound about right?”

  “Oh wow! It is!” said Nigel with a chipper expression. I expected him to get angry at my words, but he ignored them, it seemed. “You’re smart.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “My brother loves your dad. Says he’s a great man.” Nigel thumped his chest proudly. “We’re in town for about a month. My brother picked up a few contracts and thought this would be a good place to train me—that the monsters here were weaker than normal and good experience for beginners.” He smiled. “When we were traveling this way, my brother kept talking about how his usual guide took in a forest devil as a kid. It was all he talked about on the way here from Port Prosper. He said the girl was nice and smart and I should try to befriend her. And your dad said I should stop by if I’m bored, so here I am!”

  What a weird way to describe me. Then again, it was probably notable that two humans adopted a devil and raised it like their own kid. I’d probably have mentioned it to others, too, in Barcus’s shoes.

  “Nice? He knows me so well,” I said sarcastically, then sighed. “We were both left behind for roughly the same reason, then. Interesting. I don’t feel as bad about myself now.”

  “Really? Have you awakened? I see you’re training. Do you want to become an adventurer, too?” asked Nigel, excited. He strained to look at my face, but I turned away from him. “What color are your eyes?”

  I grimaced. “That’s a little personal, isn’t it? It just happened a little while ago. My parents don’t even know yet.”

  “O-Oh! I’m sorry. Never mind. I won’t ask. How about I show you mine instead?” Before I could say anything, Nigel coursed energy throughout his body. “See?”

  I could not see his eyes very well before, but now that they were glowing, they were hard to miss. They, both his wrists, and the four rings around the fingers on both his hands glow a light brown. Brown was considered the weakest mana level a person could possibly possess. It was still stronger than someone with black eyes because that meant they couldn’t use mana.

  Most people awakened at that level, and Nigel could always raise his mana by hunting living creatures. It’d have been easier for him if he’d awakened with green eyes or better, but such is life. There was obviously nothing special about the boy.

  If I have to use someone, I’d rather they be strong. I thought, refining my standards.

  “I’m not very strong yet, but I’ll get stronger,” admitted Nigel as if reading my mind. “What’s yours like?”

  “Again, private,” I retorted quickly. To be honest, I’d already told him too much without thinking. His personality was so bubbly and childish that I let my guard down. “Don’t pry. It’s rude.”

  “Awww,” pouted Nigel. “Fine, I guess.”

  “My power’s just so overwhelming it might cause you to cower in fear and awe at my pure genius,” I said in a clearly sarcastic way to lighten the mood.

  “The only thing overwhelming about you is your beauty,” Nigel said without hesitation.