The human border town assaulted Azaril's senses. After weeks of traveling through increasingly sparse demon territories and crossing the neutral nds between realms, he now found himself surrounded by an overwhelming cascade of unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells. The market square teemed with more people than he had ever seen gathered in one pce, their voices creating a constant buzz unlike the disciplined silence of demon gatherings.

  Azaril tugged the hood of his cloak lower, conscious of the illusion spell that masked his demonic features. The magic required constant attention, especially in crowds. He had prepared for this moment during his journey, practicing the spell that changed his pale reddish-purple skin to a human tone, concealed his horns, and dulled the unnatural brightness of his eyes. Yet maintaining the disguise while navigating this chaos proved more challenging than anticipated.

  "Watch yourself!" A heavy-set merchant shoved past him, nearly knocking Azaril into a dispy of cy pots. The casual physical contact startled him—in the demon realm, touching someone without combat intent would be considered either weakness or provocation.

  He steadied himself, breathing deeply to control his emotions. His mental abilities seemed to fre when his feelings ran high, and losing control of his magic now would be disastrous. Already he could feel his concentration slipping, the disguise spell wavering slightly.

  A woman selling fabric at a nearby stall narrowed her eyes at him. "You all right there, stranger? Something odd about you."

  Azaril averted his gaze. Had she noticed his eyes briefly fshing their true color? "Just tired from traveling," he managed, mimicking the local accent he'd practiced during his journey.

  The market grew more crowded as he pushed forward, searching for somewhere less overwhelming. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort of maintaining his disguise. In the demon realm, he had been considered weak, but here his natural strength meant he had to be careful not to harm the more fragile humans around him. Another mismatched aspect of his existence—too weak among demons, too strong among humans.

  A child bumped into his legs, looked up at him, and gasped before running away. Azaril reached up to touch his forehead and realized with a spike of panic that his horns were beginning to show through the illusion. He needed to find shelter, quickly.

  "You should be more careful with that disguise," a smooth voice said beside him. "Your horns are showing."

  Azaril spun around, instinctively dropping into a defensive stance. A tall man with striking silver eyes regarded him with an amused expression. Unlike the other humans who hustled through the market with purpose, this stranger stood perfectly still, seemingly unbothered by the chaos around them.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Azaril said, his hand moving to the dagger hidden in his cloak.

  The silver-eyed man smiled. "No need for that. If I wanted to expose a demon in a human market, I would have called for the guards already." He gnced meaningfully at a group of armored men standing at the market's edge. "Instead, I'm offering help. You seem... overwhelmed."

  Azaril hesitated. Everything he'd learned about humans suggested they universally despised demons, yet this man showed no fear or hatred. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Silvius. And you are clearly new to human nds." He reached out slowly, adjusting Azaril's hood to better conceal his partially visible horns. "Your disguise spell is faltering because you're distracted by all this." He gestured to the bustling market. "Humans live in much closer proximity than demons. It takes some adjustment."

  A merchant with a cart of apples eyed them suspiciously. "You buying or just blocking my customers, gentlemen?"

  "My apologies," Silvius said with a charming smile, pcing a coin in the man's hand and taking two apples. He handed one to Azaril. "Come. Let's find somewhere quieter."

  Against his better judgment, Azaril followed Silvius through the winding streets, away from the market's center. His instincts, honed through centuries of surviving his brothers' torments, detected no immediate threat from this strange man. More puzzling was Silvius's apparent knowledge of demon culture.

  "How did you know what I am?" Azaril asked when they reached a less crowded alley.

  Silvius leaned against a wall, taking a bite of his apple. "I've encountered your kind before. Most humans haven't, so they wouldn't recognize the signs, but the way you move is distinctly... predatory. And your reaction to being bumped into—a demon instinct. Physical contact means something very different in your realm."

  Azaril concentrated on strengthening his disguise spell, feeling his horns recede beneath the illusion. "You seem to know a great deal about demons for a human."

  "I know a great deal about many things," Silvius replied with a cryptic smile. "More importantly, I know this town, and you clearly need somewhere to rest and recover your strength. Maintaining that spell in your current state will only become more difficult."

  A group of town guards marched past the alley entrance. Azaril pressed himself against the wall, but Silvius remained perfectly calm, nodding politely to them as they passed.

  "Why would you help me?" Azaril asked when they had gone. "Humans and demons are enemies."

  "Are we?" Silvius raised an eyebrow. "Or is that simply what both sides have been taught? I prefer to make my own judgments." He pushed away from the wall and gestured for Azaril to follow. "There's an inn at the edge of town where the owner doesn't ask questions. You can rest there and decide your next move."

  Azaril hesitated. Everything he'd been taught about humans suggested this must be a trap, yet his options were limited. His disguise wouldn't hold much longer in this state, and being discovered would mean certain death.

  "I don't even know what currency humans use," he admitted reluctantly.

  Silvius ughed, the sound surprisingly musical. "Then it's fortunate you've met me. Consider it an investment in something interesting. Demons don't often venture this far into human territory—at least not ones trying to pass unnoticed rather than raid."

  As they walked through the town, Silvius pointed out features of human architecture and culture with the ease of a natural teacher. He expined the purpose of buildings Azaril would have never recognized—shops dedicated to single crafts, temples to the human goddess, public houses where people gathered to socialize rather than train or fight.

  "Humans organize everything differently," Silvius expined. "Status comes from wealth, knowledge, or birth rather than physical prowess. Though they're not above using physical strength to maintain their hierarchies when necessary."

  They passed a town square where a man in eborate robes addressed a crowd. "That's different too," Silvius noted. "Words matter greatly here. A skilled speaker can wield more power than a warrior."

  Azaril absorbed everything, his natural intelligence and unusual memory allowing him to process this flood of new information. The differences fascinated him, yet he could already see parallels to demon society—different forms of strength, but hierarchies nonetheless.

  By the time they reached the inn—a modest two-story building with a weathered sign depicting a crowing rooster—Azaril's head was spinning with new knowledge, and his disguise spell was dangerously thin.

  "Wait here," Silvius said, disappearing inside. He returned moments ter. "It's arranged. The innkeeper believes you're a distant retive of mine, recovering from an illness that requires privacy. The room is at the back, away from curious eyes."

  The innkeeper, a heavyset man with a bushy mustache, gave Azaril a cursory gnce as Silvius led him through the common room. Whatever Silvius had told or paid him seemed sufficient to quell any suspicion.

  Once in the small, sparse room, Azaril finally let his disguise spell fade. The relief was immediate—maintaining the illusion had drained him more than he realized. His horns emerged fully, and his skin returned to its natural pale reddish-purple hue.

  "Better?" Silvius asked, seemingly unperturbed by Azaril's true appearance.

  "Yes." Azaril studied his unexpected benefactor more carefully. "You still haven't expined why you're helping me."

  Silvius sat on the room's single chair, regarding Azaril with those unusual silver eyes. "Let's say I have an interest in those who cross boundaries. The spaces between established realms have always fascinated me. What brings a demon with mental abilities rather than physical strength into human nds, I wonder?"

  Azaril tensed. "How could you possibly know about my abilities?"

  "The way you controlled your disguise spell—that's not typical demon magic. They favor direct, physical applications." Silvius leaned forward. "And when that woman in the market startled you, the items on her stall briefly organized themselves into perfect geometric patterns. A mental projection, I'd guess."

  Azaril hadn't even noticed that slip of his abilities. The discovery that this stranger had observed so much was unsettling.

  "You needn't worry," Silvius continued. "Your secret is safe with me. In fact, I might be able to help you navigate this new world. Human nds can be dangerous for a lone traveler, especially one unfamiliar with local customs."

  "And what would you want in return?"

  Silvius smiled. "Company, perhaps? Traveling alone grows tedious. And you, I suspect, will prove far more interesting than most companions." He stood and moved toward the door. "Rest now. Tomorrow, once you've recovered your strength, we can discuss where you intend to go. The capital, perhaps? Aurelium would offer many opportunities for someone with your... unique perspective."

  "I haven't agreed to anything," Azaril noted.

  "Of course not." Silvius's silver eyes seemed to glimmer with amusement. "But consider this: I've already proven I can identify what you are, yet I've chosen to help rather than harm you. In a strange nd, that may be the closest thing to trust you'll find." He opened the door. "I've taken the room across the hall. Rest well, demon prince."

  Before Azaril could react to the use of his title, Silvius was gone, closing the door softly behind him.

  Azaril stared at the space where Silvius had stood, mind racing. How much did this mysterious man truly know about him? And what did he really want?

  Yet despite these concerns, Azaril felt an unfamiliar sensation—relief at not being completely alone in this strange new world. For better or worse, he had found his first connection in human nds. Whether Silvius would prove ally or threat remained to be seen, but for now, the immediate danger had passed.

  Exhausted, Azaril y on the simple bed, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of human life continuing outside—so different from the disciplined silence of demon territories. As sleep began to cim him, one question lingered: how had Silvius known he was a prince?