Dale, a seasoned adventurer known for his prowess with water magic and his cool demeanor, sliced through a horde of pesky forest imps with practiced ease. His clothes, splattered with grime, were quickly cleansed with a wave of his hand, water swirling around him in a miniature typhoon before evaporating into the afternoon sun. As he settled down to grill his dinner, a tiny figure emerged from the trees.
It was a devil girl, barely taller than his knee, her single horn snapped in two. Dale’s hand instinctively went for his sword, but something in her wide, innocent eyes stopped him. He saw hunger in their depths and, with a gentle smile, gestured for her to come closer, offering her a piece of grilled fish.
“Rough day, huh?” he asked in her native tongue, surprised to find himself soothing the creature he was usually paid to slay.
The little devil, her cheeks smeared with dirt and tears, nodded eagerly, devouring the fish in a few ravenous bites.
Dale knew that devils who committed crimes were banished, their horns broken as a mark of their exile.
“Where are your guardians, little one?”
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