The demon introduced himself without ceremony.
"My name is Inkaris," he said.
He didn't bow.
Didn't gesture dramatically.
Didn't make the undercity tremble.
He simply stated his existence like a line item on a universal ledger.
Aiden expected something more theatrical.
Liora didn't.
She simply watched him breathe
(and appreciated that he did so in perfect rhythm, as if even his lungs obeyed contracts).
Seris lingered a short distance away — within reach, but not participating.
Her shoulders were steady.
Her eyes sharp.
Alive.
But… different.
Inkaris clasped his hands calmly behind his back.
"Lesson one," he said. "Your previous mentor was Fae. He was incapable of lying."
He paused.
Not for effect.
For clarity.
"I am not."
Aiden blinked.
"…comforting."
"No," Inkaris replied without a hint of humor. "It is simply true. You must assume that nothing I say can be inherently trusted unless it is signed."
Liora smirked faintly.
"So we should constantly doubt you."
"Yes."
He approved of that answer.
"Is this training?" Aiden asked.
"Yes."
That might have been a lie.
Or it might not have.
That was the point.
They stood in a broken circular chamber once meant for maintenance meetings — chalked symbols scratched onto the floor by the demon's hand, not mystical, not elaborate.
Functional.
Aiden frowned at them.
"…this is math."
"Yes," Inkaris replied.
"I don't like math."
"That is not a factor," Inkaris said.
Seris snorted quietly in the background.
"Wishcraft responds to truth," Inkaris stated evenly.
"Magic responds to shape.
Systems respond to structure.
Power survives by recognizing all three."
He gestured to the first symbol.
"Control begins with containment.
Not of power.
Of self."
Aiden swallowed.
This already felt different.
Ardent taught like a storm teaching lightning how to fall more beautifully.
Inkaris taught like a surgeon explaining how not to bleed to death.
He stepped toward Aiden.
"I want you to make a wish."
Aiden blinked.
"…mine?"
"Yes."
"I can't."
"Yes."
Aiden frowned.
"…you just said—"
"Yes."
Liora choked on something like a laugh.
"Are you trying to be unhelpful?"
"No," Inkaris replied politely. "That is simply an emergent consequence of accuracy."
He met Aiden's eyes again.
"You cannot grant your own wishes. But you must still know what they are, or every desire around you will pull you like a tide. You must learn the weight of yourself."
"What happens if I don't?" Aiden asked.
Inkaris answered instantly:
"You become something that moves only because other people want you to."
He let that settle.
Aiden didn't like how true it felt.
Meanwhile, Liora's lesson was not spoken.
It was watched.
Observed.
Measured.
Every time she shifted.
Every time she breathed around pain.
Every time her hand instinctively brushed her injury like she was reminding herself she'd chosen to remain.
Inkaris noticed.
Without comment.
Until:
"You chose to stand before something all other logical minds fled."
She stiffened.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Would you like me to teach you how to do that and live?"
Her jaw tightened.
"Yes."
"Then your lesson is discipline," Inkaris said calmly. "Courage without control becomes martyrdom. Martyrdom is inefficient."
Liora breathed… slowly.
Martyrdom had almost been her story.
She nodded.
Fair.
Seris stayed just far enough away to not invite attention.
That… was new.
She was used to being the one in authority.
The one with a badge.
The one with rules behind her.
Now there was paperwork being written with her name on it —
not to protect,
but to justify.
Her eyes drifted upward.
Not to the surface.
Just… up.
She wasn't angry.
She wasn't grieving.
She was relieved.
"I don't have family," she muttered to herself.
Normally, that sentence hurt.
Today, it didn't.
Today, it meant nobody could be chained by her existence.
Nobody could be dragged screaming because of her choices.
Nobody could be collected as payment.
For once… her lack was safety.
She laughed softly under her breath.
The demon's head turned slightly.
"You appear reflective."
"Fugitive," she corrected dryly.
"Both can be accurate."
She blinked at him.
"…that wasn't a lie, was it?"
"Possibly."
She almost smiled.
Training continued.
Inkaris criticized without cruelty.
Corrected without warmth.
Guided without kindness.
And somehow?
It worked.
Because there was relief in clarity.
Relief in not guessing.
Relief in knowing that if this demon promised, the world would break before he did.
Later — when exhaustion made their bones feel older than time —
Seris sat beside Aiden.
Quiet again.
But comfortable.
He leaned slightly toward her.
She didn't pull away.
Neither of them named anything yet.
They didn't need to.
The undercity hummed low around them.
They were fugitives.
They were learning.
They were scarred and uncertain and alive.
And above them —
a city that had tried to own everything
had no idea that what it had pushed underground
was only getting stronger.