The brass bell above the door of the "Stardust Archives" chimed softly, a nostalgic sound marking the transition from the warmth of old books to the cold, damp Vesperia night air.
Devon stepped out, followed by the soft sound of scales slithering against the wooden floor. Stella, the Lamia shop owner, locked the door behind them with a graceful motion, turning the large silver key with her slender fingers.
"You are too kind, Stella," Devon said, burying both hands into the pockets of his stolen black coat, trying to ward off the biting night wind. His breath formed a thin mist in the air. "Even though I'm a suspicious stranger. I came in at midnight, asked for a map, then asked for a place to sleep. In my world—I mean, where I come from—people like me would have been reported to the police by now."
Stella turned, her long purple hair fluttering gently. She smiled—a mature smile full of tenderness, yet harboring a hidden wariness. Her lower body, that of a giant dark purple serpent with gold patterns, coiled calmly on the cobblestone pavement.
"Well, you are indeed strange, Mr. Devon," she replied, her voice possessing a distinctive husky quality. "But the eyes of an old bookseller like me have seen many types of criminals. And you..." She looked into Devon's eyes—one pitch black, the other blood red—with a soothing intensity. "...you don't have the gaze of a criminal with malicious intent. You look more like a puppy lost in a storm."
"A puppy, huh?" Devon chuckled dryly. "An interesting metaphor for someone carrying a gun in his bag."
"Shhh," Stella placed her index finger on Devon's lips, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Don't ruin the mood. And one more thing... don't try anything perverted in my house later, okay? I have venom that can paralyze an elephant in three seconds, just as a warning."
Devon rolled his eyes, his expression flat, though a faint blush appeared on his cheeks at the tease. "Hah? Do I look like a pervert? I am a gentleman who upholds the ethics of being a guest."
"Fufufu, we'll see about that," Stella giggled, then shifted her body, beginning to glide down the street. "Come on. Before we go home, we have to stop by the night market. My fridge is empty, and I can't let my guest go hungry. We need ingredients for dinner."
Devon glanced at the large clock mounted on the bell tower in the town center. The hands showed it was nearly one in the morning. However, the streets of Vesperia never truly slept. Magitech gas lamps still glowed green and purple, and certain shops were just opening their blinds.
"Dinner?" Devon asked, raising an eyebrow. "At this hour? Perhaps you mean breakfast?"
Stella turned her head slightly, smiling with amusement. "In Nocturnus, Mr. Devon, the concepts of 'morning' and 'night' are relative. We live in an eternal twilight. The sun never truly rises high, and the darkness is never truly pitch black. We eat when we are hungry; we sleep when we are tired. Clocks are just mechanical decorations for those obsessed with numbers."
"Nice philosophy," Devon muttered, following beside her. "I could get used to that."
They walked side by side toward the market district. The atmosphere between them was strangely comfortable. There was none of the awkwardness that usually occurred between two people who had just met.
The night market was a kaleidoscope of colors and scents. Merchants of various races—Goblins, Imps, even some Werewolves in human form—shouted out their wares. There was the sharp aroma of roasted meat, the smell of foreign spices tickling the nose, and the boisterous sound of haggling.
Stella moved from one stall to another with the expertise of a veteran. She chose vegetables that looked like radishes but were neon blue, haggled the price of a piece of meat claimed to be "Fresh Cockatrice Thigh" with a sweet but firm smile, and bought several bottles of shimmering liquid spices.
Devon, automatically, took on the role of the pack mule. He carried the shopping bags in both hands, walking beside Stella who was busy choosing strange star-shaped fruits.
He stared at Stella's back, watching how her purple hair fell softly down her spine, how she interacted warmly with the merchants.
'Huh...' Devon thought, a wild idea crossing his mind. 'This... feels incredibly domestic. Like a married couple doing their monthly shopping.'
His imagination began to run wild. Imagining a peaceful life in this city. Forgetting Reven, forgetting Stormclaw, forgetting all the madness about gods and other dimensions. Just living here, tending the bookstore, having dinner at one in the morning with this beautiful snake woman.
'Maybe I should just propose to this woman and live peacefully with her... hehehe.'
He shook his head vigorously, dispelling the escapist fantasy.
'Ah, no, no. Snap out of it, Devon. I feel bad for Stormclaw if he has to fight Reven alone. That cat might be strong, but he's stupid. I can't leave him.'
As they walked past a clothing store with a large glass display, Devon paused for a moment. He saw his reflection in the glass.
His black suit was still neat, though slightly dusty. His face was pale. His mismatched eyes stared back. However, his attention was drawn to the side of his head.
He leaned his face closer to the glass.
"Is this... just my feeling," he whispered, touching the black hair above his ear. "Or have these two wings... grown a little bigger?"
A pair of small, feathery red wings, Valkyrie-style, protruding from his head seemed a few centimeters longer than when he had looked in the alley mirror that morning. The feathers looked denser, the color a more vivid red, as if they were drinking energy from the surrounding air.
"What is it, Devon?" called Stella, who had already walked a few meters ahead.
"Ah, no. It's nothing," Devon answered quickly, stepping away from the glass. 'I'll think about it later. My new body is full of unsolicited surprises.'
Finally, they arrived at a two-story building made of dark red brick, with vines covering part of the walls.
"Well, so this is my home," Stella said as she opened the front door. "Not as luxurious as a vampire's palace, but it's cozy. Consider it your own home."
The interior of the house was warm and cluttered in a pleasant way. Books were piled on every flat surface, thick carpets covered the floor (perhaps to make it comfortable for Stella to glide), and there was a fireplace lit with magical blue flames.
"I'll prepare the food," Stella said, placing the groceries in the kitchen.
"Let me help," Devon offered. "I'm quite an expert at chopping things up. Whether it's onions or... well, other things."
Stella laughed. "Alright, Mr. Expert Slicer. You handle the blue vegetables."
They cooked together in the cramped but warm kitchen. The sound of a knife hitting the cutting board, the hiss of oil in the pan, and the rising steam created a soothing domestic harmony.
"Hey, Devon," Stella called out as she stirred a pot of soup. "Could you get the salt on the top shelf? My hands are full."
Devon nodded. He turned, stretching out his hand to grab the jar of salt. As he did so, he didn't realize that Stella had slithered up close behind him.
Suddenly, Devon felt a soft touch on the side of his head.
"Hiiiymmmm!"
Devon flinched violently, his shoulders hiking up, his neck shrinking back, and he dropped the salt jar (luckily, he caught it again with his super reflexes before it shattered). His entire body shivered as if stung by static electricity.
He spun around, his face flushed. Stella stood there, smiling mischievously, her finger still raised in the air.
"What... what are you doing?!" Devon exclaimed, his voice cracking.
"Your wings," Stella said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "They twitch so cutely when you're serious. I was curious and wanted to touch them. Turns out you're sensitive there, huh?"
"Don't touch that!" Devon protested, covering the two wings on his head with his hands, looking defensive. "That... that's a private area! It feels weird! It tickles!"
"Fufufu, sorry, sorry," Stella chuckled, going back to stirring her soup. "You look so tough with that flat face of yours, but your reaction is actually cute."
Devon snorted, trying to normalize his heartbeat. "Cute my foot. That was a combat reflex."
"Sure, sure. Combat reflex," Stella teased.
To change the subject and hide his embarrassment, Devon asked, "Hey, Stella. What time do you actually open the shop, anyway? You said 'morning' and 'night' are relative, but don't you need a schedule?"
Stella tasted the soup broth. "Hmm... Well, it depends. If I wake up in the morning, I open in the morning. If I wake up in the afternoon, I open in the afternoon. And if I wake up at night... well, I open at night."
Devon stared at her in disbelief. "Hah? You're weird. What kind of business practice is that? How do your customers know when to come?"
"Customers who truly need a specific book will come when fate brings us together," Stella answered casually. "Like you did tonight."
Devon fell silent. He couldn't argue with that mystical logic.
"Ahh, look! It's ready!" Stella exclaimed.
They sat opposite each other at a small candlelit dining table. The dish in front of them—Night Mushroom Cream Soup with Roasted Cockatrice Meat—looked and smelled incredible.
They ate voraciously. Conversation flowed easily. They joked about the taste of the blue vegetable which turned out to be similar to a potato, about the strange customers Stella had met, and Devon told a censored version of his adventures (omitting the slaughter parts and focusing on the weirdness of the world).
Stella looked at Devon, who was eating with his cheeks puffed out. A warm feeling spread in her chest.
All this time, she had always lived alone. This house was big, full of books, but quiet. The sound of Devon's spoon and fork clinking, his small chuckles, and his solid presence filled a void she hadn't realized she had. She felt... content.
Time passed unnoticed in Nocturnus. Devon slept on the plush living room sofa, and for the first time in days, he slept without nightmares about turtles or same-sex marriages.
When he woke up, the aroma of coffee and toast already filled the air.
After a shower and a delicious breakfast made by Stella, Devon knew it was time.
He stood in the doorway, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, his black umbrella in hand.
Stella leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms beneath her chest. She wore a casual house dress, her purple hair falling free. Her expression was slightly melancholic, though she tried to hide it with a thin smile.
"Are you sure you have to leave so soon?" Stella asked softly. "You could stay longer, you know. I don't mind. The upstairs room is empty, and... well, it's nice to have someone else here to talk to besides books."
The offer was genuine. Warm. Tempting. A sanctuary in the middle of a storm.
Devon looked at the snake woman. He could see the loneliness in her eyes, hidden behind her glasses.
Devon shook his head slowly. "Thank you, Stella. Truly. But I can't. There are... things I have to take care of. A missing friend. And someone I have to... meet."
Stella gazed at him intently. Then, in a tone that was slightly joking but held seriousness behind it, she asked, "Are you not interested in me, Devon?"
She flicked the tip of her snake tail slightly. "Many men in Vesperia would kill to be able to have breakfast with me every day."
Devon looked at Stella. His mismatched eyes swept over the woman's beautiful face, the curves of her body, and the kindness she radiated.
"How could I not be interested in you," Devon answered honestly, his voice low. "You are beautiful. Kind-hearted. Your cooking is delicious. Gentle. And um... sexy."
Stella's cheeks flushed a faint purple.
"Ahem," Devon cleared his throat, averting his gaze for a moment. "Listen, Stella. I have to go not because I don't want to be here. But because... the place I'm heading to, and the things I'm going to do... are dangerous. I'm not cut out for a peaceful life. Not yet."
Stella fell silent. She sighed, then smiled. A smile that was understanding, yet sad.
"Oh, I see," she said softly.
She slithered closer, her serpentine body moving soundlessly. She straightened up until her face was level with Devon's. Then, she hugged him.
The embrace was warm, soft, and smelled of old books and vanilla. Different from Kageyama's aggressive hugs or Xylia's deadly ones. This was the hug of a home.
"You're a good man, Devon. Even though you try hard to look like a bastard who doesn't care," Stella whispered in his ear.
She released her embrace, holding Devon by both shoulders.
"Go. Do what you have to do. Beat up whoever you have to beat up," Stella said, looking straight into Devon's eyes. "But promise me one thing."
"What is it?"
"Someday... when you are done with all your dangerous business... promise me you will come back here. The doors of the Stardust Archives will always be open for you."
Devon was silent. He looked into Stella's hopeful eyes.
He raised his hand, and gently stroked Stella's back, feeling the smooth scales beneath the fabric of her dress.
"I promise," Devon said. "I will come back."
The words slipped out of his mouth. A sweet promise.
However, deep in his heart, his logical voice whispered coldly: 'Ah, who knows, Stella... I don't even know if I'll still be alive in the future. Fighting Reven... searching for Stormclaw... my chances of returning here in one piece are very slim.'
But he didn't say that. He just smiled, a thin, slightly lopsided smile.
"Take care of yourself, Stella."
"You too, Devon. Don't die."
Devon turned, opened his black umbrella, and stepped out into the streets of Vesperia, which were once again drenched in eternal drizzle. He walked away, his back straight, striding toward the station, toward danger, leaving behind the only place that felt like home in this crazy world.
And behind him, Stella stood in the doorway, watching the figure disappear around the bend of the road, praying to invisible stars that the promise was not just a beautiful lie.