But I Can Only Live Until the Day After Tomorrow

Three years have passed since the establishment of Aura Village.

Most of the villagers' lives had settled into a stable routine. Although daily prayers and occasional large gatherings to offer reverence to Aura's direction still occurred, the arduous mountain paths and the solitary nature of their divine envoy meant that fewer believers ventured back to the mountain stronghold which now become mountain sanctuary.

They had built a new home for themselves. While they continued to revere the divine envoy, their dependence on her was no longer as profound.

The overgrown path leading up the mountains was now decorated with wildflowers and untamed grass. Among the faint trails, a single set of footprints remained, pressed into the earth as if one person alone still braved the journey.

That person was Sasha. She had come to spend the night at the sanctuary once again.

Sasha, her pale pink hair now braided into an intricate knot, strode up the overgrown path leading to the sanctuary. The sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the land as she made her way toward the door. Her freckled face was marked with a hint of weariness, her thick eyebrows furrowed as she adjusted the staff woven from roots she had crafted herself. It wasn't much, but it was a symbol of her growth—both in strength and magic.

Raising her free hand, Sasha knocked firmly on the heavy wooden door.

"Master Aura, are you asleep?"

A long pause. Sasha tilted her head, listening for any sound from within. Just as she was about to knock again, the door creaked open.

Creak—

A familiar purple-haired figure peeked out, her expression utterly blank, as if her soul had temporarily left her body. Aura looked like she had just stumbled out of bed—her hair mussed, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. She wore a white cloak that was draped so loosely it looked like it might fall off, the hem dragging behind her like a lazy shadow.

Sasha's temples throbbed at the sight.

"Master Aura," she said, her voice sharp but not unkind, "I've told you before—your clothes shouldn't drag on the ground."

Aura stared at her, unblinking. "What does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter to you, but I'm the one who has to wash them."

Aura yawned, unimpressed. "Well, there you have it. Come in."

Stepping back to allow Sasha inside, Aura turned to shuffle away. She made it exactly three steps before Sasha, without warning, scooped her up by the armpits and lifted her clean off the ground.

"Huh?" Aura blinked, her drowsiness momentarily giving way to confusion.

"Your dress is already dirty," Sasha said matter-of-factly, adjusting her grip. "I don't want to make it worse before I wash it. Tell me which room you want to go to, and I'll carry you there."

Aura dangled in Sasha's arms, her small frame dwarfed by Sasha's now much taller and sturdier build. For a moment, the demon stared at her former student in stunned silence. Sasha's freckles, once the mark of a shy, insecure girl, now gave her a youthful yet confident charm. Her grip was steady and unyielding, a testament to years of physical labor.

"Well, aren't you bold," Aura murmured, though there was no real malice in her tone. Her purple eyes flicked toward the hallway, and she lazily gestured. "The study. I had an interesting idea about magic earlier. I was halfway through jotting it down when you interrupted."

"Understood."

Without breaking stride, Sasha carried Aura toward the study. Her strength made the task seem effortless—she even shifted to cradle Aura more comfortably with one arm, holding her close like one might carry a bundle of firewood.

Aura, for her part, didn't protest. If anything, she seemed oddly content, resting her cheek on Sasha's shoulder as if she'd already forgotten how undignified the situation looked.

Sasha, on the other hand, found herself quietly marveling. This was the same Aura who had once seemed larger than life, a towering presence in Sasha's mind. Yet here she was now—petite, light as a feather, and entirely unbothered by being hauled around like a child.

"Developing harvest magic must be paying off," Sasha muttered to herself.

"Hmm?" Aura hummed, her eyes half-closed as if she were already mentally drifting back to her magical notes.

"I said you're light," Sasha clarified. "All that strength I built up carrying crops makes it easy."

"Good," Aura said simply, stretching her arms like a lazy cat. "If you're going to invade my sanctuary, you might as well be useful."

Sasha rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. 'Master Aura really hasn't changed at all.'

Burying her head between Aura's horns and into the soft, chaotic mess of purple hair, Sasha took a deep, greedy breath.

Huff—

The faint scent of lavender, tinged with something uniquely Aura, filled Sasha's senses. She had wanted to do this for so long—to press herself into Aura's warmth, to feel the weight of her presence so intimately.

And since Aura didn't seem to protest—nor did she pull away—Sasha grew bolder.

When they finally arrived at the study, Sasha didn't set Aura down. Instead, she shifted to sit on a chair by the desk, settling Aura onto her lap as if she were cradling a small child.

Aura blinked, startled, and glanced over her shoulder at Sasha.

"What… are you doing?"

"Saving you the trouble of standing," Sasha replied with a grin.

Aura's eyes narrowed for a moment, clearly debating whether this was worth protesting over. But then, as though deciding she had better things to worry about, she shrugged and turned her attention to the desk in front of her.

Sasha watched in quiet awe as Aura leaned forward, completely absorbed in her manuscript. The demon's small hands moved deftly, her quill scratching across the parchment in elegant strokes. Occasionally, she would pause, tapping the quill against her chin, her gaze distant as she dove deeper into her thoughts.

Sasha, emboldened by Aura's indifference, couldn't resist wrapping her arms around Aura in a loose, protective cross. She rested her chin lightly on Aura's shoulder, her eyes darting to the parchment to sneak a peek at the notes being written.

The text was filled with intricate magical symbols and theories—far beyond anything Sasha could understand. But even so, she found herself captivated by Aura's concentration, the graceful curve of her handwriting, the way her brows furrowed ever so slightly when she was deep in thought.

Aura sighed, patting Sasha's arm in a silent gesture for her to loosen her hold. "If you keep squeezing me like that, you'll ruin the notes."

"Sorry." Sasha relaxed her grip slightly, though she made no effort to move away.

Aura didn't seem to care. She continued writing, her focus unbroken, as though having Sasha cling to her like a blanket was the most natural thing in the world.

Sasha closed her eyes for a moment, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. There was something intoxicating about holding Aura like this.

Small. Soft. Fragrant.

Aura's warmth seeped through her thin cloak and into Sasha's skin, radiating like a slow-burning ember. It was comforting, soothing—yet also dangerous, like holding onto a piece of freshly burned charcoal. The heat became almost unbearable over time, but even then, Sasha couldn't bring herself to let go.

Her thoughts wandered as she savored the moment.

'When it snows, if I can hug Aura, it must be as warm as taking a hot bath.'

'I want to hang Aura on my body.'

The thought made Sasha laugh quietly to herself. Oh, don't misunderstand—it wasn't a weird thought. She meant something like a wooden pendant, carved into the shape of Aura's likeness. After all, it was perfectly normal for devotees to carry a small idol of their deity, wasn't it?

Aura paused her writing and tilted her head slightly, her horns brushing against Sasha's cheek. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Sasha said quickly, though her grin betrayed her. "Just thinking about something silly."

Aura's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she didn't press further. She returned to her manuscript, her quill resuming its rhythmic dance across the parchment.

"Master Aura, you are completely different from when we first met," Sasha said suddenly, her voice tinged with a quiet nostalgia.

Aura, seated on her chair with her legs curled up, barely glanced back at Sasha as her quill continued scratching faintly on the parchment. "Different how?" she asked lazily, her tone indifferent but curious enough to entertain the conversation.

Sasha leaned back in her seat, resting the plant-woven staff across her lap. "I remember that empty cave when I first saw you. The air was damp and cold, and there were bones scattered all around. You were hunched over, glaring at me with those sharp, greedy eyes… You looked like you hadn't eaten in weeks. I thought you'd kill me."

Aura paused her writing for a brief moment, then continued without comment. Her face betrayed no reaction, though the faint twitch of her ear suggested she was listening.

"But then," Sasha continued with a faint laugh, "after I gave you food, you became so… well-behaved. Like a big dog that had been chained up and starving for far too long. Once you were fed, all the fangs and claws disappeared. You even let me stay."

Aura finally turned her head, arching a brow. "A dog?" she repeated flatly, her voice carrying a hint of offense.

Sasha smirked, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "Yes, a dog. A big, dangerous one. You were scary back then, but now… Look at you." She motioned toward Aura, who was now sitting slouched, her cloak slipping off one shoulder and her quill drooping lazily in her hand. "I can hold you on my lap if I wanted to. It's hard to believe you're the same person."

Aura clicked her tongue, returning to her parchment. "I'd advise you not to test that theory," she muttered, though there was no real threat in her voice.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of Aura's quill scratching against paper filling the air. Sasha watched her teacher write for a while, her sharp eyes tracing the elegant strokes Aura made on the parchment.

Suddenly, Sasha broke the silence. "Master Aura," she asked softly, "do you ever feel lonely being by yourself?"

The question made Aura pause again, though she didn't look up this time. "I don't feel that kind of thing," she replied bluntly, her tone dismissive.

Sasha tilted her head, studying Aura's face. "What have you been busy with lately?"

"Magic summaries," Aura answered, her voice flat. "Organizing knowledge."

"For me?" Sasha asked with a hopeful smile.

Aura finally turned her head, her piercing gaze meeting Sasha's. It was a cold, calculating look, one that Sasha had grown used to but still found unnerving. "Don't get the wrong idea," Aura said sharply. "It's just a habit I developed long ago. Recording magic, improving it… That's all it is."

"Oh," Sasha murmured, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I see." Her voice carried a faint note of disappointment that Aura didn't miss.

"But," Aura added after a moment, turning back to her work, "if you're willing to learn, it's okay for you to take one or two magic summaries. They'd be wasted on anyone else here."

Sasha's face lit up with surprise and excitement. "Does that mean Master Aura wants me to study new magic?"

"Don't misunderstand," Aura replied, her tone still cool. "I just don't want to see you relying on that weak plant magic of yours to fight. You'd die pointlessly in some corner."

Sasha grinned. "But Master Aura would protect her most devoted follower, wouldn't she?"

"I won't protect you forever," Aura said matter-of-factly, her voice like ice.

Sasha blinked at the bluntness of the statement. "You won't…?" she echoed, her voice suddenly quieter.

Aura sighed, setting her quill down for a moment as she stretched her arms. "I'm only staying here for a hundred, maybe two hundred years at most. Not very long," she said nonchalantly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sasha bit her lip, her fingers tightening around her staff. For a moment, she didn't say anything. To Aura, a century was a fleeting moment, but to Sasha, it was a lifetime.

"...Isn't that the same thing?" Sasha muttered under her breath, her words barely audible.

Aura's ears twitched, catching the quiet remark. She turned her head slightly, regarding Sasha with a curious expression. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Sasha said quickly, shaking her head.

After a moment, though, she spoke again, her voice unexpectedly casual. "By the way, when did you get taller, Sasha?"

Sasha blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. "Two years ago?" she guessed.

"Wasn't it yesterday?" Aura retorted, her tone dry.

Sasha laughed softly, shaking her head. "But I can only live until the day after tomorrow."

"...Eh?" Aura's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized Sasha's face. For a brief moment, something flickered in her expression—a hint of alarm, perhaps even concern. But it vanished almost instantly, replaced by her usual calm detachment.

"Oh," Aura said simply, turning back to her work. "Humans are such short-lived creatures… What a useless species."

Sasha chuckled, though there was a faint sadness in her voice now. "You're heartless, Master Aura."

"I'm practical," Aura corrected, her tone sharp but devoid of malice. Her quill resumed its steady rhythm, the sound filling the room once more.

Sasha leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting toward the window where the last rays of sunlight painted the horizon in shades of orange and gold. Despite Aura's cold words, there was something oddly comforting about her presence—something that made Sasha feel, if only for a moment, like she wasn't so alone after all.