The elf only gave a snort, but there was pride in his eyes. We continued across the field, and this time Riza didn’t sprint headlong—she tried to step more carefully so she wouldn’t crush a случайный grasshopper.

  We kept walking through the endless meadow. The air here was so thick with fragrance it felt like you could drink it like nectar. Fired up by the recent lesson about the hare, Riza moved more cautiously now, but her curiosity hadn’t gone anywhere. She stopped in front of every new bush, studying it as if it were the greatest secret of the universe.

  At one point she spotted an especially large, vivid blue flower. Riza leaned in almost nose-to-petal, her face only a couple of centimeters from its bloom.

  Suddenly, with a loud, angry buzz, something bright yellow and striped shot out of the flower’s cup.

  “A-ah!” Riza yelped.

  Instinct moved faster than thought. A short flash of fire snapped off her fingers, and the little creature—turning into a tiny ember—dropped into the grass. Riza jerked back, breathing hard, ready to attack again.

  “What was that?!” she gasped, staring at the ash in fear. “It was bright and yellow and it attacked me!”

  Elvindor stopped and, with a faint sigh of disappointment, looked at the scorched flower.

  “That was a bee, Riza,” he said gently, stepping closer. “A little golden guardian of this field. It wasn’t trying to attack—you were just too close to its lunch.”

  He sat down in the grass and pointed at a nearby flower, where another bee was crawling around, unaware of us.

  “Watch carefully,” the elf began his next lesson. “This whole forest, this whole field—everything works like one enormous mechanism. Bees come to flowers to take their sweet juice—nectar. Later they’ll turn it into honey, which helps their family survive the winter. But while they crawl inside the flower, golden pollen sticks to their legs.”

  Riza, still trembling a little, crouched beside him. “And why do they need pollen? Is it tasty?”

  “No, they don’t need it,” Elvindor smiled. “That’s the magic of it. When a bee flies to another flower, it drops some of that pollen. That’s how flowers ‘talk’ to each other. Thanks to the bees’ accidental help, even more new flowers are born in the field. They’re connected, Riza. Without realizing it, bees help flowers live and multiply—while the flowers feed the bees in return with nectar.”

  Riza stared at the buzzing insect for a long time. Her eyes, which had been burning with battle-fury just moments ago, now held deep thought.

  “So…” she said slowly. “They help each other even if they don’t know it? If there are no bees, there’ll be fewer of these beautiful flowers?”

  “Exactly,” the elf nodded. “In nature, nothing is useless. Every small life carries a piece of this world on its shoulders.”

  I walked beside them, listening. My boots made no sound on the soft grass. I had nothing to add to Elvindor’s words. In my long life—my life as the Demon King—I’d grown used to seeing the world as resources or obstacles. The idea of “mutual help” without profit was something I was only beginning to relearn in this small body.

  I looked at Riza. She seemed upset that she’d burned the bee. She gently touched the petal of the blue flower with her fingertip, as if apologizing to it.

  Do you see it, Zenhald? the voice whispered. Can you be as patient a teacher as that old elf?

  I stayed silent, breathing in the lavender scent. We were nearing the border. Beyond the hills waited the human world—where bees and flowers were just scenery behind endless wars and intrigues. But for now… for now there was only the sun, the buzzing in the grass, and a little girl who had just understood how important the life of a tiny bee could be.

  Our journey continued, and I watched with interest (and sometimes with a slight shudder) as Riza learned about the world through taste. As we walked, she managed to sample half the local entomology.

  “This one’s bitter,” she declared, spitting out a bright green beetle. “But this striped one is sweet—like that lavender!”

  She sorted the world into “tasty” and “not tasty” with astonishing speed. Flowers were included too—some she chewed thoughtfully, others she spat out immediately. Elvindor only shook his head, but he didn’t stop her. A demonic stomach could digest stones, let alone unlucky bugs.

  At one point Riza stopped and stared up at the sky. High in the blue, dots circled slowly.

  “Look! Is that them? Those little creatures that can fly—the ones you told me about?” Her eyes flashed with excitement.

  She didn’t wait for an answer. One powerful beat of her wings—and she shot upward, cutting the air like an arrow.

  Poor eagle, I thought as I watched a huge bird try to escape—but Riza was dozens of times faster.

  A couple minutes later she returned, landing gracefully in front of us. In her hands she held—carefully, but firmly—an adult golden eagle. The bird was in shock and didn’t even try to peck, only blinking in fear.

  “Let it go, Riza,” Elvindor said gently, stepping closer. “It’s a free hunter. It doesn’t belong in hands.”

  “I was just studying it,” she replied obediently and opened her fingers. The eagle, hardly believing its luck, shot upward as fast as it could. “So that’s an ‘eagle.’ Interesting. Its feathers are stiff—not like mine.”

  We kept going, but then Riza froze again. She dropped to the ground, listening to something even the elf and I couldn’t hear. Her arm plunged into the turf almost to the elbow. A yank—and she pulled a small, dirt-smeared creature into the light, with tiny eyes and powerful clawed paws.

  “Elvindor, look!” She held out her find. “It’s weird. It doesn’t look like the ones up here. Does it not have eyes?”

  The elf smiled, carefully taking the animal. “That’s a mole, Riza. Master of underground tunnels. It spends its whole life in darkness, digging passages. It almost never comes up because its eyes are too sensitive—but it can feel the slightest tremor in the earth.”

  “A-ah,” Riza nodded, understanding. “So it’s like me when I was hiding in the cellar… only it likes it there?”

  She took the mole back and gently lowered it into the hole she’d made. It immediately burrowed down and vanished into its element. Riza spread her wings and rose just above our heads, hovering over the grass.

  “The human world… it’s so beautiful,” she breathed, staring at the endless fields and forests stretching to the horizon. “There’s so much life here. Everything is so different.”

  I watched her and felt the storm inside me quiet down. To her, this world was a discovery—a miracle. After the endless ash of her homeland, these green hills looked like paradise.

  The field gradually fell behind us, and we were swallowed by the cool shade of an ancient forest. For Riza it was a new challenge: now the world didn’t lie open in front of her—it hid in roots, climbed to the tops of pines, and rustled in the thick undergrowth. She explored everything with doubled energy, scrambling up trees with the agility of a wild cat.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “What’s this? And this?” came from above.

  “That’s moss, Riza. It grows where there’s more shade,” Elvindor answered calmly. “And that’s a pine cone. And over there—see that fluffy tail? That’s a squirrel. It stores food for the winter.”

  Riza jumped down, nearly clipping a branch with her wing, and froze by an old stump. Between two bushes stretched a silvery web, with a spider sitting in its center. At that moment a small beetle got caught in the sticky trap. It thrashed desperately, and the spider began to descend toward its prey.

  Riza reached out, wanting to tear the threads and free the poor thing—but Elvindor gently caught her wrist.

  “No,” he said.

  “Why not? It’s going to eat it!” the girl protested.

  Elvindor crouched beside her, watching the tiny drama unfold. “Listen, Riza. In the forest there is no ‘evil’ and ‘good.’ If you save the beetle, the spider will go hungry. It has no apples—it only knows how to hunt. If it doesn’t eat this beetle, it dies. Interfering just because you pity one means condemning the other. The forest lives in a balance where every death gives life to someone else. Don’t try to be God where it’s enough to be an observer.”

  Riza frowned and pulled her hand back. She watched for a long time as the spider wrapped its prey, absorbing the harsh truth: the world isn’t always made of rescue.

  We walked a bit farther and came upon a huge mound of needles and twigs—an anthill. Riza practically glued herself to it. We sat for a good half hour just watching thousands of tiny creatures carry loads three times their size.

  “They’re so small, but so organized,” Riza whispered. She caught a grasshopper in the grass and carefully tossed it onto the edge of the anthill. The ants swarmed it instantly, acting like one living mechanism.

  I sat beside her, and a little child woke up inside me too. The “Zenhald” in me demanded an experiment.

  I found that same spider Riza had wanted to save, carefully moved it on a stick, and tossed it straight into the thick of the ants.

  “Watch, Riza,” I smirked. “What happens if we throw the hunter to the warriors?”

  A real slaughter began. The spider was enormous compared to them—it struck with its legs—but there were too many ants. They covered it, bit it, dragged it from all sides.

  “Look, look, Zenhald!” Riza leaned forward. “The spider is losing! Even though it’s so big and strong!”

  “Strength isn’t size,” I said. “Strength is numbers and unity.”

  Then I felt a sharp—but not painful—tap on the back of my head. It was Elvindor.

  “What are you teaching her, brat?” the elf asked sternly.

  “What?” I rubbed my head, making an innocent face. “It’s interesting. A scientific experiment!”

  Elvindor sighed sadly and looked at both of us. “Zenhald, you’re acting like a boy playing with other lives. Look at Riza. She learns everything from you—your power, and your attitude toward the world.”

  He turned to the girl, who was still staring at the spider’s remains. “Riza, what Zen just did—that’s cruelty for entertainment. In the forest, they kill to survive. But killing just to ‘watch a slaughter’ leads to emptiness inside. When you become strong, you’re tempted to treat everyone weaker than you like toys. A true ruler—or a true teacher—is different from a tyrant because he doesn’t create chaos out of curiosity.”

  He looked at me again. “Your power is great, Zenhald. But if you teach her that life is a show in the coliseum, you will raise someone who one day—‘out of interest’—will decide to smash whole nations together the same way.”

  I fell silent, feeling he’d hit the exact nerve. Riza watched the ants dragging the spider deep into their home, then looked at me. There was no judgment in her eyes—only a question.

  “Fine,” I muttered, standing up and dusting off my pants. “Got it. Stop lecturing me, or you’ll grow moss yourself.”

  Elvindor’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Come on. The forest ahead gets denser. Soon we’ll meet creatures bigger than ants.”

  We went deeper into the thicket, where sunbeams pierced the canopy in golden pillars. Suddenly the forest opened into a small glade where a herd of deer was grazing. At the sight of them, Riza got so excited she almost lunged forward, wings spreading.

  “Shh!” Elvindor instantly caught her by the shoulder. “Stop. Don’t move.”

  He stepped slowly into the open. The deer lifted their heads, sensitive ears twitching, but they didn’t bolt. The elf whispered something softly, extending his hand—and a minute later the herd leader, a magnificent stag with branching antlers, approached and pressed its nose into Elvindor’s palm. The elf turned and waved us over.

  “Why did you stop me?” Riza whispered, creeping closer. “I just wanted to look.”

  “Deer are very skittish,” Elvindor whispered back, still stroking the animal’s neck. “Any sudden rustle or fast movement—and they vanish into the trees.”

  “Then why don’t they run from you? You’re big too.”

  “Elves are closely tied to nature, Riza. Our aura carries no threat—it sounds to them like the rustle of leaves or a stream. Try it yourself. Walk slowly and touch her.”

  Holding her breath, Riza reached toward a young doe. Her fingers brushed the soft fur. She froze, and her face bloomed with such wonder it was like she’d touched the sun itself.

  At that moment the very same stag headed toward me. The huge deer stepped in front of me, blocking the herd. It stared at me not with curiosity but with clear wariness, head lowered. Its hoof struck the ground nervously.

  “Hey, Elvindor,” I raised an eyebrow, not moving. “If you don’t calm him down, he’s going to think I came for his head.”

  “Yeah, yeah, one second,” the elf said, walking up to the stag, placing a hand on its forehead and whispering into its ear. The deer snorted, but didn’t relax.

  “Zenhald, why is he afraid of you?” Riza asked, still petting the doe. “He doesn’t bother me, but he looks at you like an enemy.”

  “Because he’s human,” Elvindor said, shooting me a sly look.

  “Hey! What are these insults?” I protested theatrically. “I’m part of your nature too, you know!”

  “Humans have hunted deer since ancient times,” the elf explained calmly to Riza. “Their fear of the human shape is written into their blood. They sense predators in humans—the ones who come for their meat and hides.”

  “But they really are delicious!” I blurted out, remembering juicy roast from my past life.

  At once the stag, as if understanding my words, stepped forward. Wild fire flared in its eyes; it stomped again and took a fighting stance, angling its sharp antlers at me.

  I quickly raised my hands, palms out, and began backing away. “Alright, alright! I get it! You’re not delicious! You’re bitter, tough, and… basically grass!”

  The deer kept advancing until I disappeared behind the nearest tree. Riza, watching this “duel,” couldn’t hold it in and burst into bright laughter, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “The great Zenhald lost to a deer!” she said through giggles.

  “I didn’t lose, I made a tactical retreat!” I grumbled from behind the tree. “And anyway, Elvindor, your friends are way too smart. That’s suspicious.”

  The elf only chuckled quietly as the herd, deciding the danger was gone, slowly wandered deeper into the forest.

  “Come on, ‘predator,’” he called. “We still need to find a place to camp for the night—before you decide to hunt someone else.”

  We walked on, and the forest smell didn’t seem so pleasant anymore—it kept getting mixed with the growl in my stomach.

  “Look, Riza—there’s a boar!” I pointed toward thick brush where a massive body was rooting around. “We’ll eat that one, because I’m about ready to chew my own boots.”

  Elvindor glanced at me with light elven disdain. “Seems out of the three of us, only you are thinking about food right now, Zenhald. We elves need little.”

  “Oh, come on, Elvindor,” I waved him off. “I’m not an elf—I don’t feed on sunlight and dew. I need meat. And you’ve never turned down a good roast either, so don’t act holy.”

  Elvindor sighed, realizing arguing with me was pointless. “Fine. If you can’t stand it—kill that one. The oldest boar. His time is nearly done anyway.”

  I grimaced like I had a toothache. “What do you mean ‘old’? His meat will be like the sole of an old boot—tough and nasty! Let’s take a younger one.”

  Elvindor turned to Riza and raised his brows triumphantly. “See, Riza? That’s human nature. Even when taking a life, he isn’t thinking about fairness or balance—he’s thinking about how tender the cut will be.”

  “What do you mean?!” I yelped. “If I have to choose between ‘tasty’ and ‘not so tasty,’ why would I pick worse? That’s just logic! Fine, you bore—I’ll do it your way. Riza, see that old grandpa with tusks? Want to try hunting?”

  The girl transformed instantly. She grinned wide, and that predatory spark I’d seen in the wastelands lit up in her eyes. “Yes!”

  One second—and she was gone. The air whistled; the branches didn’t even have time to sway. Riza moved so fast a normal eye would see only a blurred shadow. There was a dull удар, a crack of bone—and a moment later Riza stood in front of us, breathing hard, dragging a huge boar by the leg. The beast was still alive, wheezing and twitching in agony.

  “Uh… Riza,” I hesitated. “Finish it?”

  She tilted her head, confused—then, deciding she was doing it right, she lifted the boar overhead and, with all her demonic strength, slammed it onto a sharp каменный выступ. The sound was sickening.

  “No!” Elvindor cried, pain twisting his face.

  He was beside the animal instantly. A brief flash of a dagger—and with one swift, precise movement he cut the boar’s throat, ending its suffering. Silence fell, broken only by the rustle of leaves.

  Riza froze, her wings drooping. She stared at Elvindor, tears glittering in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Elvindor. I didn’t think. I didn’t want to hurt him. I just wanted to do it like Zenhald… fast and strong.”

  Elvindor wiped the blade on the grass and looked at her heavily. His anger softened into sad wisdom. He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Remember this, Riza,” he said quietly but firmly. “Death is part of life. Suffering is not. If you take a life to feed yourself, do it with respect. Kill so quickly they don’t even realize their life is over. That is true strength—not crushing, but sparing pain.”

  I stood aside, feeling a little guilty. My lessons in “efficiency” sometimes bore bitter fruit.

  “He’s right, kid,” I added as I walked up. “We’re hunters, not executioners. Remember that.”

  Riza nodded, wiping her eyes with her fist. She looked at the boar for a long time, then stepped closer and touched its fur as if apologizing.

  “I’ll remember,” she said seriously. “Fast. So they don’t understand.”