“Humans can learn anything?” Damien asked, his voice quiet.

“Mmhmm,” you nodded. “We have libraries and bookstores full of books we can read.”

“Humans… have the freedom to learn anything…” Damien repeated, almost to himself.

You looked at him, puzzled. There was something in his expression—was it jealousy?

“What about demons?” you asked cautiously. “Can’t they learn whatever they want?”

Damien shook his head, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Demons don’t have schools like humans do,” he explained. “Everything we learn comes from experience or verbal mentoring. Books… books are only allowed for the higher nobles.”

Your eyes widened. No books in the Abyssal Plains? It sounded unreal—but somehow, it also wasn’t surprising.

“The only ones who’ve ever touched a book are James and Erik—they’re the oldest,” Damien continued. “Sam and Matthew… they chose not to read.”

“And you?” you asked.

Damien was silent for a long moment before sinking to the ground, leaning against the massive desk. You followed his lead, sitting beside him.

“You brought food?” he asked, noticing the plates you had.

“Oh! Yeah, I did,” you said, passing him a plate.

“Thank you,” he smiled.

He began eating politely, and you did the same. But it was painfully obvious he was avoiding your question. Curiosity bubbled up, and you were about to ask again when he looked at you, stopping you.

“Because… I’m technically not a noble,” Damien said finally.

You tilted your head, confused. “Not a noble? But… aren’t you all brothers? If the others are nobles, that would make you one too.”

Damien sighed, eyes returning to his plate. You immediately regretted pushing the topic.

Before you could apologize, he spoke.

“We’re all half-brothers,” he said quietly. “We share the same father, but our mothers are all different. James, Erik, Sam, and Matthew… their mothers were nobles, queens now. Mine… wasn’t. She’s not a queen.”

Sadness lingered in his eyes. You bit your lip, wishing you hadn’t pried.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Damien shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts, and offered a small smile.

“For what?” he said. “You didn’t know. You were curious. It was only natural to ask.”

“Still…” you murmured. “It was rude of me to pry. I’m sorry.”

He only smiled lightly before returning to his meal.

Your mind drifted to the Abyssal Plains. What was it like? What did it look like? Was their castle massive? How many servants did they have?

A quiet chuckle from Damien pulled you from your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you said.

“You keep saying sorry when you don’t need to,” he replied, smirking. “It’s kind of cute.”

You pursed your lips, saying nothing, and went back to eating. But then a low groan of pain escaped Damien’s lips.

“Damien, are you okay?” you asked, alarmed.

“Y-yeah… it’s nothing,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about it.”

You heard him swallow another groan, and your worry deepened.

“Damien…”

“It’s… just a headache,” he admitted. “I get it when I run out of… mmnah… energy. I’ll be fine.”

Energy? You realized he hadn’t taken much when you first met—just enough to heal his wounds.

“None of us took… more than we needed to heal,” he groaned.

Pain was evident in his voice. You felt a pang of guilt and concern.

Damien gave you a faint smile. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

If he needed energy, you were willing to give it.

“Damien…” you started.

He spun away before you could finish.

“N-no! No… I’ll be fine,” he stammered. “I’m used to this…”

Frustration flared. You grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Damien, let me help you. Please,” you said, voice firm but gentle. “I don’t want to see you in pain like this.”

For a moment, silence. Then his gaze shifted—from nervousness to something sharper, more intense. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. His other hand cupped the back of your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice low, edged with something that made your chest tighten.