The morning sun rose over the village like a blessing. Golden light spilled across the mud huts, the cooking stones, the scattered remnants of last night's fire. The goblins stirred, stretching and yawning, their new bodies still unfamiliar to them. The wolves rose, shaking off the previous night's chill.
Chang'e watched it all from the village's edge.
She had been following Deva for two days now. Ever since the slime—Rimuru—had left with Ranga and a small group, she had shadowed her new master's every move. Not because she was told to. Because she needed to understand.
'Why me?'
The question had been burning in her chest since she was named.
She had been born different. A mutation. A white wolf among black ones. The pack had treated her with respect, but respect and acceptance were not the same thing. Every move she made was judged and analysed. One wrong choice, one moment of weakness, and the respect would vanish like the morning's mist.
She had learned to be perfect. To never falter. To never show fear.
But Deva...
Deva was different. They floated through the village like they owned it, their expression unreadable, their movements unhurried. They gave orders when necessary, observed when not, and seemed utterly unconcerned with what anyone thought of them.
'How do they do that? How do they just... not care?'
Chang'e didn't understand. She had spent her entire life caring. Caring about the alpha's approval and the pack's judgment. Caring about every single misstep that could cost her everything.
And now, she had a new master to worry about.
The village hummed with activity. Goblins carried water from the stream. Wolves patrolled the perimeter. Children chased each other through the dusty paths, their laughter loud and ringing.
Deva observed it all from above, floating just high enough to see everything. Their expression was distant, almost bored.
Chang'e watched them watch.
'They are always watching. But they never seem to truly do anything with that observation.'
The thought unsettled her. She had been watched her entire life. Watched by the alpha, the pack and by their expectations that pressed down on her like a physical weight. But Deva's watching was different. There was no judgment in it. No expectation.
Just... curiosity? She couldn't quite confirm it.
'What are you looking for? What do you see when you look at us?'
By afternoon, the village had settled into its routine. The hunters had returned with a handful of food. The foragers had found a patch of wild berries. The children, their chores finished, had gathered near the village center, their energy boundless and their attention short.
Deva was watching them again.
Chang'e padded closer, settling near a tree where she could observe without being obvious. She had learned to be subtle over the years of constant surveillance.
The children had noticed Deva. A small goblin girl, tugged at her friend's sleeve and pointed.
"Look! It's the floating one!"
"The one who made the houses?"
"Yes! Do you think they'll play with us?"
"I don't know. They look scary."
"But they built the houses! And they cooked the meat! And they gave us the stars!"
Chang'e didn't understand what the girl meant by "stars," but she understood the sentiment. Deva had given them something valuable. Something that made them seem less like a distant, untouchable figure and more like someone who cared.
Deva had overheard the conversation. Their expression flickered, surprise? Hesitation? Maybe something that might have been embarrassment.
Chang'e followed, keeping her distance.
The children surrounded Deva immediately, their voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of questions and pleas.
"Can you teach us to float?"
"Can you make the fire again?"
"Can you show us more games?"
She expected Deva to ignore them. To float away. To maintain that careful distance they always kept.
Instead, they descended.
Slowly, gracefully, they lowered themselves to the ground. A small, practiced smile crossed their face—the kind that didn't quite reach their eyes.
"Alright," they said. "Let me show you something."
The first game was called "Oni Gokko."
Deva explained the rules with patient clarity, their voice flat and practical. One person was the oni and the others were the fugitives. The fugitives ran. The oni chased. If you were caught, you became the oni.
Simple. Familiar. Fun.
The children scattered immediately, shrieking with laughter. Deva stood at the center, watching them run, and for just a moment, Chang'e saw something flicker across their face.
The mask slipped.
A genuine smile. Small. Barely there. And it vanished as quickly as it had appeared—replaced by that same careful, practiced expression.
'Why hide it?' Chang'e thought.
The games continued.
Takeuma—walking on wooden stilts. Deva crafted them from fallen branches, their hands moving with practiced precision. The children wobbled, fell, and got back up again.
Shippo Tori—tail capture. Deva made ribbons from tree bark, smooth and pliable, and tied them around the children's waists. The chase was wild, chaotic, and utterly joyful.
Daruma Otoshi—a game of balance and precision. Deva stacked wooden sections, showing the children how to knock them off without toppling the figure at the top.
Shogi and Go—strategy games, played with pieces carved from thin wood. Deva's explanations were brief, efficient, but they had a patience that seemed almost out of place.
And throughout it all, Chang'e watched.
She watched the children laugh. She watched Deva's careful composure crack, just a little, each time a child succeeded. She watched the way their eyes crinkled at the corners, just for a moment, before the mask slid back into place.
'They are happy,' she realized. 'They are happy, and they don't want to show it.'
She didn't know why the thought made her heart ache.
The water balloons were a surprise.
Deva had created them from water, their magic forming bubbles that floated on the breeze like captured sunlight. The children batted them back and forth, their laughter rising and falling with the movement of the spheres.
Chang'e found herself participating, her body moving before her mind caught up. She chased a balloon with her nose, batting it toward a young goblin. He caught it, laughed, and sent it flying back.
She laughed too. The sound surprised her.
'I had forgotten how to do this,' she thought. 'How to just... be.'
She glanced at Deva. They were watching her, their expression unreadable, but there was a warmth in their eyes.
'You see me,' she realized. 'You don't judge.'
The sun was beginning to set by the time the games ended. The children were exhausted, their energy finally spent, their faces flushed with joy.
Deva shooed them toward their homes, their voice flat but not unkind.
"Go eat dinner. Rest. We can play again tomorrow."
The children protested, of course—a chorus of pleas and pouts that Deva ignored with practiced indifference. But they left, eventually, their laughter fading into the evening air.
And then Deva turned, and Chang'e saw something she had not expected.
Their face was pale. Their eyes were unfocused. And as they took a step forward, their knees buckled.
She moved before she thought.
Her body curled around them, soft and warm, catching them before they hit the ground. She felt the faint hum of their magicules, the way they pulsed erratically, like a flame struggling to stay lit.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice low.
Deva blinked, trying to focus. "I'm fine," they said. "Just used too much. It's nothing."
'Nothing.'
Chang'e looked at them and saw the exhaustion buried beneath their careful composure. The shadows under their eyes. The tremor in their hands. The way their aura struggled to regain its shape.
'This is not nothing. This is everything.'
She guided them to a nearby tree, settling them at its base with her body curled protectively around them. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, dappling their skin in silver and shadow.
"I don't understand you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "You seem distant, unbothered. As if you do not care about anyone or anything. But then you do this. You give everything you have, until you collapse, just to make children smile?"
Deva was quiet for a long moment. When they spoke, their voice was flat, dismissive.
"Someone has to do it. If we don't teach them now, they'll grow up useless."
Deva sat up and leaned into Chang'e's warm body, "We are building a civilization and the most important thing is to nurture the future generations, a world cannot thrive without a future."
Chang'e bristled at the words. 'That's not it. That's not the truth. The whole truth atleast'
"You are hiding something," she pressed.
Deva's expression flickered. For just a moment, the mask slipped, and she saw something raw beneath it. Something painful.
"Everyone hides things, my dear," they said. "It's what keeps you alive."
They fell unconscious before she could respond.
Chang'e curled tighter around them, feeling the faint pulse of their magicules against her fur. She thought about her own childhood—the pressure, the scrutiny, the constant fear of failure. She had been born different, a mutation among wolves, and everyone had watched her with expectation. Every mistake was a mark against her worth. Every misstep a threat to her position.
She had never been allowed to be simply. She was expected to be extraordinary beyond belief even at the risk of her own being.
But Deva... Deva was different. They held themselves to high standards, yes, but they did not seem to care what others thought. They were graceful, elegant, unbothered. They made mistakes and moved on.
'They are free.'
The realization hit her like a physical blow.
'I want to be too.'
She looked down at Deva's unconscious form, her resolve hardening.
'I will learn from you. I will learn to be as graceful and astonishing as you. To be as unbothered. I will become a wolf you can rely on. A source of comfort.'
She pressed closer, sharing her own magicules with Deva's depleted form, feeling the faint hum of their connection.
'I will be worthy to be called your sanctuary.'
The village fire crackled in the distance. The goblins were cooking, following Deva's instructions, their laughter carrying on the night air. It was peaceful. Perfect.
Chang'e looked at the sleeping elemental in her paws. Their face was relaxed, finally free of that careful mask. They looked younger. Softer.
'You don't have to be perfect,' she thought. 'I wish you knew that.'
'But I will show you. I will show you that you can let go. That you don't have to carry everything alone.'
She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of their presence against her fur.
'This is my purpose. This is my choice. And I will never let it go.'