The more Celia spoke, the more her natural softness returned.

　　Her downcast eyes shone a tender spring green, like newly sprouted leaves, and color rose to her cheeks. Her hair, as though spun from sunlight, gleamed a brilliant gold.

　　When she smiled, the gentleness in her nature shone through completely. She looked pure and delicate, almost fragile.

　　That was Celia as she truly was.

　　The fox let out a long, distressed yelp.

　　“Yes, I know. You don’t like this. You want me to let you go, right?”

　　The fox growled in response.

　　“If you drink some water—”

　　Celia broke off.

　　The fox, who had been struggling without pause, had finally landed a truly dangerous blow.

　　His claws, sharp enough to tear through human flesh as though it were paper, raked across her throat.

　　Blood streamed from the wound.

　　The fox himself froze, startled by what he had done.

　　Celia quickly pressed a hand to her neck to stop the bleeding. Her neck and fingers were soon slick with blood, and she could feel its warmth running down her forearm.

　　That was deep.

　　A strangled sound escaped her lips.

　　As Celia’s eyes narrowed with pain, the frightened fox’s gaze filled with tears.

　　He had clawed open a human’s throat.

　　Whenever he had done something this serious before, the punishment had always been far worse than the offense. Having every one of his claws torn out was hardly unusual.

　　His legs went weak. His heart pounded as though it might burst.

　　All nine tails curled tightly against his belly, and his unusually large ears flattened against his head.

　　Feeling him tremble, Celia reached for him.

　　The fox squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for brutal violence.

　　But no pain came.

　　Instead, something soft and careful brushed the tears from the corners of his eyes.

　　The fox cautiously opened one eye.

　　Celia was looking down at him, concern filling her tender green eyes.

　　“Why are you crying? Did you hate it that much?”

　　He said nothing.

　　“I’m sorry I forced you. I was afraid you’d get sick. You have to drink water.”

　　Breathing unevenly, Celia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, apparently fighting off a wave of dizziness.

　　Then she soothed the fox, settled him more securely in her arms, and carried him into the bedroom, searching the shelves without setting him down.

　　Ugly smears of blood marked everything her hands touched.

　　Only then did the fox truly look at her.

　　After all his clawing and scratching, there was hardly a part of her that wasn’t bleeding.

　　Why isn’t she angry?

　　While he stared at her in confusion, Celia sprayed an emergency coagulant over the wound in her neck.

　　It was infused with holy power and worked quickly.

　　“I’m sorry, little fox.”

　　Celia wasn’t angry.

　　If anything, she looked genuinely apologetic.

　　“For locking you up. For touching you when you didn’t want me to. For hurting you.”

　　The fox stared.

　　“I have my reasons too. I can’t let you go right now. I just hope you’ll understand that I’m not doing this only for myself.”

　　No human had ever spoken to him this way before. Of that, he was certain.

　　The fox could only stare at the holy knight in astonishment.

　　“I don’t want to kill you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

　　Nothing wrong?

　　No, the fox knew perfectly well what he had done wrong.

　　Being born.

　　Being born a demon.

　　That was his crime.

　　A demon, yet capable of reason.

　　A demon, yet carrying the blood of a sacred beast.

　　A demon, yet able to understand human speech.

　　A demon. A mere demon. A creature that had dared to be born in the shape of a nine-tailed fox and continue breathing.

　　His very existence was a sin.

　　Every human he had ever met had treated him that way.

　　Everything was always his fault.

　　“You haven’t done anything wrong. The humans were wrong.”

　　Celia stroked his head and whispered in the same lilting voice she always used to soothe him.

　　“The humans failed to see you for who you were. They condemned you for being a demon and treated you however they pleased. That’s why you were hurt.”

　　The tears wouldn’t stop.

　　He wasn’t even afraid of the holy knight in front of him anymore, yet he couldn’t make them stop.

　　“I’m sorry, little fox. You don’t have to hurt anymore. You’ve been wronged enough.”

　　The fox remained silent.

　　“You should grow up healthy and happy. All right?”

　　Still cradling him, Celia carried him into the kitchen and drew the water bowl closer.

　　“Good boy.”

　　She kissed the top of his head and held out the bowl.

　　“Just one sip?”

　　The fox glared silently at the water, then looked at the wound on her neck.

　　“Hmm? Just one.”

　　She coaxed him, offering the bowl with almost desperate earnestness.

　　At last, the fox reluctantly began to lap up the water, though not because he was doing what the holy knight asked.

　　There was simply too much blood in the air. The scent rising from her wounded body made his head spin.

　　He didn’t want to smell any more of it.

　　That was all.

　　“Thank you.”

　　And yet the strange holy knight rewarded him with the brightest smile he had ever seen.

* * *

　　The holy knight spent her mornings and afternoons on duty and returned home late at night.

　　Sometimes she even rushed out in the middle of the night to subjugate monsters.

　　She always came back with food, usually a live chicken or duck from which the fox could draw life essence.

　　Her expression was normally so cold that she looked as though she would not bleed even if stabbed, yet whenever she tended to him, she somehow became remarkably gentle.

　　Of course, that didn’t mean she let him go.

　　The fox still hadn’t stopped trying to escape.

　　“I’ll let you out if you stop running away.”

　　She kept her word with maddening consistency.

　　He had met plenty of humans who loved laying down rules for everyone else, but few who held themselves to those same rules as strictly as Celia did.

　　Would she be late again today?

　　The fox lay there, bored.

　　Being locked up all day left him with nothing to do but sleep. Perhaps he should be grateful that he was still a cub and slept so much.

　　He had only just drifted into a shallow doze when a whip struck the floor, its report exploding through his ears.

　　“You damn fox!”

　　The sleeping fox jerked awake.

　　A vicious-looking pirate stood over him, filthy hair bound beneath a headscarf and yellow teeth bared in rage.

　　One of his eyes was bathed in blood.

　　The fox had done that with his claws.

　　“I won’t let you get away with this!”

　　The leather whip, coated in powdered glass, came down across the fox’s tiny back.

　　A sharp yelp tore from him.

　　Flesh ripped away at once, exposing bone.

　　But that much wouldn’t kill him.

　　He was a demon.

　　Knowing that, the pirate lashed him again.

　　And again.

　　The fox screamed in pain, but no one cared.

　　No one ever cared when he hurt.

　　No one came to save him.

　　His mother was dead.

　　Killed by humans dressed far more elegantly than the pirate before him.

　　Who had they been?

　　He couldn’t remember.

　　“A nine-tailed fox cub born from a sacred beast. Does that mean you’ll become a sacred beast too?”

　　“If so, I suppose we can’t kill you yet.”

　　A dim memory surfaced of someone saying something like that.

　　“If it weren’t for the commission, I’d strip the flesh from your bones!”

　　The pirate spat the words at him.

　　The fox ran endlessly through the passage beyond his cage.

　　The pirate chased him with a vicious laugh.

　　The whip twisted into a monstrous serpent and surged toward him in a rushing wave, its jaws open to swallow him whole.

　　He yelped again and again as he ran, his tongue hanging from his mouth.

　　His pink paw pads grew hotter and hotter, as though they might catch fire.

　　Before he knew it, he was racing across fields of molten lava.

　　“Little fox.”

　　His body shook violently from side to side.

　　“Little fox, wake up!”

　　His eyes flew open.

　　The dark gray sky vanished, replaced by blinding light spreading across his vision like an aurora.

　　No, it was not sunlight.

　　It was the holy knight’s hair. Her golden strands still carrying the warm scent of an afternoon spent beneath the sun.

　　The hatred and rage clouding his vision cleared, and Celia’s bright, gentle eyes filled it instead.

　　She blinked down at him, concern in her spring-green gaze.

　　“Are you okay?”

　　The fox stared at her.

　　“You looked like you were having a nightmare.”

　　She gathered his exhausted body into her arms.

　　Her armor made the embrace hard and unyielding, but the warmth beneath it was comforting.

　　She must have run all the way here. She smelled faintly of sweat and earth.

　　It reminded him of his mother, the Celestial Fox.

　　The fox blinked slowly.

　　“You must have been scared.”

　　Celia carefully stroked his trembling back.

　　It was the same back that had once been split open by the pirate’s whip.

　　Not even a scar remained now.

　　But the wound was still there inside him, ugly and raw.

　　“What kind of nightmare made you scream like that?”

　　No one had ever cared when the fox screamed.

　　If he cried too loudly, they called him annoying and hurt him even more.

　　But now, things were different.

　　“When you’re grown up, tell me who did it. I’ll deal with them.”

　　There wasn’t a trace of humor in Celia’s face.

　　Then, without warning, she held out her other hand.

　　A raw sweet potato rested in her palm.

　　“They say something sweet can make you feel better. Do you eat sweet potatoes? I went to a village to subjugate monsters today, and the villagers gave me some.”

　　She broke off a piece small enough for him to eat and held it near his muzzle.

　　It smelled earthy and sweet.

　　“Well?”

　　The fox said nothing.

　　“You don’t like it? Should I cook it?”

　　She tilted her head and carried him toward the kitchen.

　　“I’ll cook it and let it cool first.”

　　He still did not respond.

　　“What if you burn your tongue?”

　　Celia murmured to herself as she set the water to boil.

　　All at once, the fox grew angry with himself for resting so quietly in a human’s arms.

　　He began kicking, trying to wriggle free.

　　Celia gave a start and immediately tightened her hold.

　　“Careful. I’m boiling water. You could get burned.”

　　The fox growled.

　　“Good boy.”

　　Celia soothed him as she carried him back toward the living room.

　　“Little fox. I gave you a name today. Do you want to hear it?”

　　His growl deepened.

　　“Just listen once. The moment I thought of you, this name came to me.”

　　The fox ignored her and kept struggling.

　　Then Celia’s warm voice drifted softly into his ears.

　　“Rahn.”

　　The name seemed to pierce straight through him.