At dawn, the village of Lugt and its inhabitants made their final preparations for the festival, set to begin with the first light of the sun.
A few kilometers away, a duo of artists was on their way to join the celebration. The pair was none other than Dürer and his apprentice—and adopted daughter—Elisabeth.
Their appearance was completely out of place in a remote village like Lugt.
Elisabeth, instantly eye-catching with her shoulder lenght cyan hair , wore a grayish dress and a tall, pointed hat like the ones witches wear in children's stories—except the tip of hers was made of brown paintbrush bristles. A matching cloak, fastened with six golden buttons, shielded her from the morning chill.
Walking two steps behind her master, the teenage girl scribbled runes and inscriptions into a small, circular notebook, using a brush she occasionally dipped into Dürer's shadow to restore its rich hue.
Her blue eyes were focused.
A golden monocle, etched with the same kind of symbols and runes she was drawing, rested over her right eye, aiding her in writing with greater precision.
Dürer walked ahead, silent and steady.
Pale as always, he wore a patchwork coat made of black and white fabric. The oversized garment hung loosely on him, its uneven stitching making it look like it had been mended countless times. Straps crossed his chest and legs, each holding bundles of paintbrushes that softly clinked with every step.
Under a sagging bonnet weighed down by oily crow feathers, his black-and-white hair spilled out in disheveled waves. Hidden beneath the brim were two smooth, curved horns—pale as ivory—tucked out of sight to avoid scaring villagers.
His expression was unreadable: neither cold nor kind, simply detached, as though he saw no reason to pretend at the moment.
Even in silence, Dürer moved like someone more accustomed to observing than acting, with a distant, almost alien detachment in his grey eyes.
As the village came into view, Elisabeth trotted up beside the demon-painter and tugged gently on one of his pointed ears. He slowed his pace but didn't stop walking.
Though some distance remained, the village was now clearly visible. They'd arrive before the festival began, with plenty of time to set up their materials—even if they dawdled.
Tired from her magical exercises, Elisabeth tucked away her spellbook and brush. Bored by the long silence of their journey, she stepped in front of her master, walking backward with a playful grin so she could speak to him directly.
"Master Dürer, this is the second time we've come to this village to paint. Any special reason you chose it over our usual spots? The scenery's beautiful, sure—but it doesn't really seem worth the detour. Coming here every ten years just to paint the same thing... isn't that a bit much for you?"
The monochrome demon remained as unreadable as ever, though his eyes flickered with a faint emotion—just for an instant. Elisabeth noticed it only because she had been trained to.
That faint spark was rare. A miracle. An anomaly for a demon. None of the others she had encountered—or fought—possessed anything like it.
Even her master knew he was unlike the rest of his kind.
Without a word, Dürer reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a painting of a radiant sunrise. He let it go.
It fell through the air like a sheet of water, rippling into concentric rings of light before dissolving into nothing.
In an instant, the peaceful landscape around them disappeared. The salty breeze was gone—replaced by a sky choked with ash, a bitter wind, and the nauseating stench of burning flesh.
"It was during one of the worst periods of the war between humans and demons. Back then, climate-altering spells were used recklessly by both sides. The earth was scorched by droughts, trees torn up by violent winds, and the skies raged with storms."
As the memories materialized around them, ghostly figures followed Dürer, unaware of his demonic nature, concealed beneath his hat.
"Originally, I came to paint the local fauna and landscapes over a 25-year span. But given the circumstances, I changed subjects just to stay occupied. People started to follow me, though they didn't know why. They noticed the disasters didn't seem to reach me. My mana was so dense it stabilized the environment around me. I didn't stop them. I didn't send them away. I had no desire and saw no reasons to turn them away. I'd already painted enough death and war while serving in the Demon King's army when i was young. "
The spectral crowd reached the cliffs overlooking the Granz Channel. There, a breathtaking sunrise spread across the sky.
Dürer painted that same sunrise over and over for 25 years.
A new village slowly took root around those cliffs, thriving through fishing and trade.
"These people," he said softly, "had lost everything. But they rebuilt. Out of gratitude, they wanted to build a statue of me. I refused. So they celebrate the sunrise that marked and lead to their survival. That's how the festival began."
With a slow wave of his hand, the illusion faded. The world returned to normal.
The vanished painting reappeared in his hand.
"You're pretty cool for a demon, Dürer," Elisabeth said, brushing a strand of blue hair from her face, still dazzled by the vision. "But why didn't you tell me that story the first time you brought me here as a kid? That's so unfair."
Still expressionless, Dürer replied:
"I did tell you. Just without the illusions and flashy lights and sounds. I guess your goldfish brain didn't retain anything that didn't sparkle."
Elisabeth stuck out her tongue in mock offense and made a dramatic face.
Unfortunately, she wasn't watching where she was going. Walking backward, she tripped on her cloak and crashed directly into a wall.
Her cheeks flushed red.
They had arrived at the entrance to Lugt.
The village of Lugt hadn't changed much in ten years. The same crooked rooftops. The same narrow, meandering paths. The same gulls circling lazily above.
But to Elisabeth, everything felt brighter, warmer, more alive than last time maybe because she matured.
Dürer walked with his usual rhythm, unhurried and unimpressed, his shadow stretching unnaturally long despite the lack of sun.
Elisabeth, by contrast, danced through the alleyways, stopping at almost every stall already open for the festival.
"Master, look! Jellyfish charms. These are supposed to ward off sea-spirits," she said, holding one up. It was a translucent bauble with thin blue tendrils, suspended inside a glass orb. Without waiting for a reply, she bought two and shoved one into Durer's hand. "You need this. You're way too cursed-looking. It might help balance things out."
He didn't argue. He simply clipped it to one of the empty straps across his chest.
Their progress was slow, interrupted by villagers waving in cheerful recognition.
"Ah! Isn't that Master Dürer?" a baker called, waving a bread paddle. "Didn't think we'd see the elf again this year! Two elves here for the festival. What an event!"
Elisabeth beamed. "Another elf? He's quiet today, but yes, that's him. He came for the sunrise."
The vendor laughed. "And brought his little witch, eh? You were barely four apples tall last time you were here!"
"I've officially graduated to an apprentice mage," she said proudly, pointing to the brush in her holster. "I cast real spells now. With lights and everything."
"Ooh! Scary!" the vendor joked, handing her a sweet lemon bun. "On the house—for the apprentice of the village's favorite elf."
"Thanks!" Elisabeth chirped, splitting the bun. She gave the smaller half to Dürer, who bit into it with his usual indifference.
But the way he munched showed he enjoyed it.
Later, Elisabeth bought him a ring—black stone with faint silver swirls. "It matches your eyes, Master."
Dürer accepted it wordlessly, then fastened a hand-carved fish hairpin into her hat, just above her temple.
"Because it matches your eyes, Beth."
She pinched his ears. She could've sworn she saw a smug glint in his eye.
Eventually, they reached the cliffs above the sea. The path became rocky. The air turned salty.
"This way," Elisabeth said, tugging his sleeve. "A villager told me about a hidden lookout. It's not marked, but fishermen use it to watch the weather."
They climbed in silence. The first light of dawn bathed the channel in fire-orange.
They reached a half-circle of flattened grass and worn stone, facing east. Wind whipped at the edges, but the center was calm.
"Perfect," Elisabeth whispered.
Dürer nodded, crouching. From his shadow, he pulled a blank canvas.
Jars of paint—some glowing, some labeled with mundane ingredients—followed, along with brushes, feathers, sticks, blades were pulled out of his shadow along other tools.
Elisabeth summoned her own stool—smaller, brighter wood. She clipped a scroll to a portable board.
They painted together. As always.
Not in silence—in rhythm.
As the sun crested the horizon, Elisabeth broke the flow.
"You always start with the light, not the sea or sky."
With soft light tracing his face, Dürer didn't look up. "The light defines both."
"You're too poetic for a demon."
He flicked golden paint in a clean arc. The stroke shimmered unnaturally.
"Poetry is accidental," he replied.
She snorted and gave dramatic hand moves with her brush. "Deep. You should write a book: The Demon Painter's Guide to Brooding and Existential Dread."
He didn't reply.
But a small minimal faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Bells rang in the village. Cheers rose.
"They've started. We doing portraits after this?"
Dürer gave a slow nod—then suddenly looked up from his canvas and muttered:
"Frieren? So it was her."
Elisabeth nearly fell off her stool at the name. She grabbed Dürer's arm and shook him until her witch's hat flew off, blue hair whipping in the wind.
"Frieren, like Frieren the Slayer?! The elf girl in the hero party—the one in all the statues? The same one you have hundreds of paintings of?! She's HERE? Didn't you fight her many times for no reasons? Didn't you STEAL HER HAIR and made your favorite brushes out of it? She hates demons—and with you it's personal! She'll kill us, Dürer! She'll think I'm a traitor to humanity! I'm sure Elves are savages! She'll peel me like a fruit and boil me ... no,,,, She'll eat me alive! You-"
Dürer pinched her lips shut, halting her panicked tirade mid-sentence. Tears welled in her wide blue eyes.
"Alright, you've deafened me with your screeching and shaken me half to death. As punishment, go bother Frieren and beat up her apprentice—Heiter's daughter, if I'm not mistaken. I don't know if you remember her with your goldfish memory. Your first commissioned portrait was of her, back when you were still as big as your hat, you sold her a sketch as if it was a finished portrait maybe she remembers."
Dozens of ink clones materialized behind him. One seized Elisabeth by her collar, hoisting her up as she wailed dramatically—her tears making the scene look like a demon kidnapping an innocent girl.
As he returned to his painting, Dürer said calmly.
"Don't worry. She won't kill you… in theory. Facing Frieren builds character. And if you're truly in danger, I'll stop painting and come save you. You're clever enough to buy time. If not, good luck."
When he looked back at his apprentice, he almost thought he was hallucinating—he could see something like a soul escaping her mouth. Her stare was even emptier than his. An impressive feat.
"I'll haunt you for a millennium if I die, you two-horned bastard!"
Her final cry echoed as the clones carried her off—leaving behind her pointy hat fluttering in the wind.
"I'll take my time," Dürer muttered, as he continued to paint the rising sun accompanied by the song of the seagulls.
/////////
Author's Note:
Elisabeth's clothes are inspired by Kieffrey's in The Wizard's Workshop manga. The same goes for some aspects of the magic used by the master-apprentice duo.