Reincarnated as the Villainess’s Unlucky Bodyguard

There is a particular ache in approaching a place you once called home, knowing you might be chased away with pitchforks and, if your reputation is especially bad, possibly a ceremonial spear. Add to that the knowledge that you personally helped burn it down under the influence of a deranged shadow queen, and the ache grows teeth.

But after a few hours of limping over muddy ruts, climbing half-collapsed walls, and pausing only twice to argue with a particularly judgmental magpie, I finally stood before the demon castle or what remained of it. Towers still smoldered, scaffolding crisscrossed the battlements, and the once-grand gate had been replaced by a makeshift barricade of scorched doors and, for some reason, a wardrobe. Whoever was in charge of repairs had a flair for tragicomedy.

As I stepped from the treeline, the sentries spotted me instantly. There were three of them: a harried-looking demon with a bandaged horn, a celestial guard with silver eyes and a very large crossbow, and, inexplicably, a human volunteer wearing the kind of armor that suggested he'd lost a bet. They froze, staring as if I'd materialized out of their nightmares which, to be fair, I had.

"She's back!" one yelped, voice cracking as he fumbled for a whistle.

I stopped dead, hands raised, cloak flapping behind me like the world's most apologetic bat. "I come in peace!" I called, keeping my voice as nonthreatening as possible. "No spells, no curses, no shadow monsters in my pockets. You have my word!"

This failed to reassure them. In fact, the human nearly dropped his sword and the celestial loaded a bolt with trembling fingers. "Liria Silverthorn, you are under arrest!" the demon declared, though his knees knocked audibly.

"Honestly, that's fair," I conceded. "But if you could avoid the stabbing part, I'd appreciate it. Also, if anyone sees fit to offer tea, I won't say no."

"Silence! Remain where you are!" the celestial barked. "Do not attempt to cast anything!"

"I swear on my grandmother's soup," I said, "the only thing I'm casting today is long, lingering glances of regret."

Behind the guards, a runner dashed toward the castle. I watched as he vanished through the half-ruined gate, presumably to summon Enara. Or possibly an execution squad.

[Good start,] the system remarked, droll as ever. [Though I would suggest less humor and more groveling if you want to avoid a fireball to the face.]

Noted. Next time, I'll weep openly. That always goes over well.

The guards kept their weapons trained on me, as if expecting me to sprout fangs and start biting masonry. I remained very still, doing my best impression of a repentant lawn ornament.

Minutes stretched. My nerves frayed. The wind whipped through the broken teeth of the castle, carrying the scent of smoke, steel, and that strange, slightly floral note that always meant Enara was near.

Then: footsteps. Not the panicked patter of an underling, but the brisk, decisive stride of someone who had spent the past week keeping chaos at bay with little more than willpower and sarcasm.

Enara emerged, flanked by Ananara hovering, as always, in a bubble of magical self-importance and Kael, whose armor gleamed far too heroically for my taste. The sight of the three together would have made for an inspiring mural, had it not also made my stomach twist with dread.

Enara's eyes locked on me, gold and violet both narrowed to slits. I couldn't read her. She looked regal, exhausted, and just for a heartbeat heartbroken.

"Is this real?" she asked, more to Ananara than to herself.

The pineapple studied me with the cold scrutiny of a fruit who'd seen too much. "She's here. She's alone. But I wouldn't discount the possibility of a trap. Shadow magic leaves a stink."

Enara drew closer, every muscle tensed. "If this is some trick of Azael's, I swear—"

"It's not," I said, my voice low, steady, and more fragile than I intended. "She's not in my head anymore. I promise. Test me. Use any spell you want."

Kael stepped forward, blue eyes wide, full of a devotion that might have been flattering if it weren't so inconvenient. "Liria…" He sounded reverent, as if I'd stepped from legend, not from the woods reeking of sweat and moss.

I gave him a withering look. "Don't you start. Last thing I need is a hero getting poetic about my mud stains."

He flushed, then smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I just , I'm glad you're not dead."

Ananara rolled his eyes, his leafy crown trembling. "Can we get on with it? My patience is shorter than your memory, Kael."

Enara stopped three paces from me. I saw her weighing every word, every possibility, as if expecting me to erupt into violence at any moment. The silence thickened.

I spoke first. "I'm sorry," I said, the words rough-edged and genuine. "For everything. For betraying you. For hurting your people. For " My throat tightened. "For letting her use me."

Enara's jaw worked. "How do I know you're not still hers?"

"Because I'm afraid," I said. "Afraid you'll never trust me again. Afraid I'll never deserve it. If Azael was still inside my head, I'd feel nothing at all."

That seemed to catch her off guard. A faint tremor ran through her shoulders. For a long moment, she just looked at me looked into me, the way she used to, as if she could read my very soul and find the truth there, even if I couldn't.

Behind her, Kael cleared his throat. "I, um, can vouch for her." He squared his shoulders, sword glinting. "Her aura's… different. There's no shadow in it. At least, not anymore."

Enara shot him a glance that would have withered a less determined soul, then returned her attention to me.

"So," she said, "what do you want?"

"Forgiveness, if you can manage it," I replied. "But mostly, I want to help. I want to fight with you, not against you. I want to earn my place back, whatever it takes."

Ananara snorted. "Or maybe you just want a hot meal and someone to fuss over you."

"I can want both," I replied, raising my hands in surrender. "Even tyrants get hungry."

Enara's lips twitched, and for a wild moment, I thought she might smile. Instead, she said, "If you're lying, if there's any part of you still hers, I'll end you myself."

I nodded. "Fair enough."

The silence returned, heavier this time, but not as sharp. The guards glanced between us, uncertain, as if waiting for the other shoe or perhaps the other fireball to drop.

At length, Enara turned to the guards. "Lower your weapons. Escort her to the hall. I'll decide what to do after."

The tension in my chest eased, just a fraction. The guards hesitated, then stepped aside, forming a cautious corridor. I followed them, keeping my movements slow, every muscle aching with exhaustion and gratitude and a fear so sharp it might have been hope.

Inside, the castle was a ruin of hasty repairs and soot-stained memories. I saw familiar faces some that flinched, some that stared, some that glared with open hate. But no one attacked. No one shouted. For the first time since I'd escaped, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, redemption was possible.

Behind me, Enara followed, Kael at her side, Ananara bobbing like a prickly, regal balloon. Their presence steadied me, a reminder that the world hadn't ended, that second chances could be forged even in the aftermath of betrayal and war.

As we reached the hall, Enara pulled me aside, out of earshot of the others.

"Why come back?" she asked, voice softer now, almost a whisper.

"Because running only ever brought me to worse places," I replied. "Because I couldn't stand the thought of you fighting her alone. Because…" My voice cracked, a half-smile tugging at my lips. "Because some things are worth risking everything for."

Enara stared at me for a long time, her gaze searching, fierce, unbearably gentle.

"Don't make me regret this," she said.

I shook my head. "I'll try not to. But knowing me…"

She actually smiled then, small and real, the kind of smile that said we might survive this yet.

Kael, standing behind her, beamed like he'd just won a medal for dramatic timing. Ananara simply floated, unimpressed.