My breath is still. The return to whence I came proved to be easier than the departure. My body, which approaches Vela with silence and speed, stops a foot short from her.

"Apologies, I have returned."

I accompany my words with a bow. As per customs, it should make my pardon seem more plausible.

She does not reply. Her previous expression, which showed her shock is no longer there. In its place is a smile instead.

"Oh, uh, there's no need to worry," Vela replies as she brushes her hair backwards. "Actually, I should be thanking you, so, uh, thanks."

I did not imagine that she would say those words. To thank me for doing my natural obligation seems more than questionable.

"Very well then, I receive your thanks with my gratitude."

I prepare to leave this area. But I am stopped again. Determined as Vela is, a hand grasps my shoulder.

"W-wait! I still need to speak to you before you go do wild people stuff."

I see, then she has come here for business. This would not be the first or last of these exchanges. As I do not have a specific contractor or employee, the only way to reach me is through either physical or mental communication.

"Ok then, speak to me before I do wild people stuff".

I communicate using her own terms.

"Alright, quick question, would you prefer meat pie or noodles?"

Day, which now dominates the sky, shines its brilliant light unto the earth.

A perfect time for what is known as 'lunch'.

All the while, hurried steps of people upon pavement ring outside the establishment. Caught in their day to day lives, it is a sound that dominates the atmosphere.

That, and one other other. One, though far smaller, takes place right in front of me. The sounds of the sucking of noodles alongside splashing broth.

Creating these noises is Vela, who seems equally uneased as she is cheerful.

With nothing else to do, I also eagerly follow. Imitating the customs of this restaurant, I slurp.

Warm and delicious, I offer a brief thanks to the pig that died for this meal.

While this is happening, Vela's eyes watch my every move. With a strange expression, the first word that comes to mind is 'indecisive.'

Unable to stay in one position, her eyes incessantly shift to me, then to her noodles. Over and over again, this repeats itself until she is done.

"Fwah." She reacts as she finishes what is left of her food.

Napkin in hand, Vela wipes away the remains of the pork soup on her face.

"Damn, this really hits the spot." She declares as if offering some kind of prayer.

Though people still surround us, I see no one that even attempts to hit her. With nothing in the environment to base my assumption on, I stare at Vela instead. Smiling at the bowl before her, I suspect that she is referring to the noodles.

"Are these noodles a practitioner of some martial arts I'm unaware of?"

A brief pause ensues. Vela's mouth opens into a grin, then transitions into a cough.

"Probably not no, but anything is possible right?"

While responding, she leans back into her seat and rests both of her hands behind her head. The prelude to some kind of conversation of sorts, it has been a long time coming.

So far, our dialogue has been characterized by small talk and comments on the food. Without any allusion to her true desires or thoughts, it is, in essence, far too normal.

A few more coughs leave her throat. Being urged by some unknown cause, I stare at her in turn. The only thing that can happen now is our unavoidable exchange.

"Let me get myself straight." Vela declares, her eyes now matched with mine. "I want you to work with me."

"Just tell me the location and target, and I'll get it done."

That should have been the end of our arrangement.

Truth be told, was that what she came for, this whole ordeal would have wrapped up already. As a killer, I do not possess any standards or morality that confines me. Normally, that should put my employer at ease, but this time was different.

Or rather it was. Perhaps recalling some past training or conditioning, Vela takes a deep breath.

Letting out a spirited sigh, she leans in. As if she had become a new person entirely, she no longer carried the same angst and uncertainty as before.

A newfound resolve has blossomed within the woman.

"I mean like a long term partnership, me you, maybe a few other nutjobs along the way, you get what I'm saying?"

Unexpectedly, though she is without fear, her actions are still odd for a mage. With far more excitement than one of her profession normally does.

It is as if she is viewing this from the lens of not an employer but a person. A person who acts independently of the excellence and merit expected of a position of authority.

But that does not change anything. Our situation is only further complicated by the inclusion of these so-called 'emotions'.

It is precisely because of this new element, so to speak, that the dynamic is now different. A dynamic that I am unused to, I can only guess at what is to come.

"It'll really be no different than what you're doing right now, only you'll have to live indoors, actually shower, and take contracts from me alone."

After her great speech, Vela's face closes in even further to me. There is a fingers length of space between us. Her eyes are trembling. Or rather, her whole face is. Even if she tries to control it, it's as if a raging demon has taken over her body.

From an outsiders perspective, it must seem like the trembles of fear.

But what fear has such an earnest smile alongside it?

While thinking it over, I shake my head.

"Unfortunately, I have no interest in your proposal."

That is my truth. No matter what conveniences of modern civilization she offers, they shall not sway me.

Vela observes my reaction and looks to the ceiling.

It is the reaction of one who expected as much.

At this confrontation where neither of us would relent, she knows something must be done. In order to win, she must pull out a trump card.

"Well, would you prefer working for me or dying?"

It's apparent that her idea of a trump card is that of violence.

It is befitting of the negotiation strategy of an aristocratic mage. Even knowing I can kill her in a few seconds, she threatens me. To do such a thing is either foolish or courageous.

Both attributes that magic practitioners often share.

"Make no mistake." I utter, devoid of anger or movement. "That I will kill every one of the assassins you send after me, then make sure that's the end of it.

I do not need to elaborate on what would come next.

For it is the roots where the strength of the tree lies, and not the other way around.

"Well, probably." Vela relents. After hearing that threat, her body trembles more than before. Tremble as she did, however, it is not enough to quell her desire.

"But, there would be quite a bit of collateral damage."

Two of Vela's fingers curl upon the mention of 'collateral'. With a satisfied expression, the woman thinks she has me. Neither I nor her need any elaboration of what this damage refers to.

"That's right, where are you going to run to if your whole forest is destroyed?"

The mage mentions such ruination with the same nonchalance one would their lunch in a passing breath. That is, with total disregard.

My expression is like stone.

This is the reality I am accustomed to. By the morality and conventions of the magical world, such threats are standard.

Using that standard, I should not pass judgement. But I don't stop to consider what 'should' is anymore.

Instead of replying, I tense my arm.

Eyes, throat, and heart, my eyes gauge each of their respective sizes. All of these are an impulse away from obliteration. Unprotected and vulnerable. If we took out the idea of 'morality', this conversation would already be over.

"You are reckless, mage. It's conceited to assume that I wouldn't just kill you right now." I speak frankly.

Sweat pours down from her forehead as she stares at me in astonishment. Gulping down her saliva, she defiantly looks for a way out.

"Well, maybe I am conceited. But that doesn't change on a simple fact."

One of her curled fingers unfolds. Pointed to the sky, she gives me a few seconds to look at her index finger. Under her breath, words of magic come through. The next moment, a small fire emerges from the tip of it.

"Even if you kill me, I've already made the proper arrangements."

In place of her previous angst, these words lack a sense of uncertainty to it. Declared, rather than blurted out, Vela, who has been on guard up until now, has taken the offence.

Either truth or a clever farce, I am unable to tell.

I owe that land my livelihood, home and care. If there is even the slightest chance that it will be destroyed, I must snuff it out.

No matter how small, any fire can become ablaze if left unchecked.

A tight feeling grips my chest.

"...".

How persistent.

To remove my feelings, I breathe from the depths of my lungs and sigh.

"You strike a hard bargain, mage. I agree to your terms."