Chapter 44 I own you

I loosened my grip on Anira, letting her slide back onto her feet. She glared at me but didn’t speak, and I ignored her for the moment, crouching to help Nira into her chair at the small wooden table. She smiled, swinging her legs under the seat as though this was any ordinary day. My chest ached. For her, it might have been.

I pulled out the opposite chair and sat down, my eyes shifting back to the witch. I forced my voice to come out casual, teasing, as I leaned against the table. “Darling, what’s for lunch?”

Anira’s eye twitched. A tiny reaction, but enough to tell me I was pricking at her composure. She turned away with a practiced grace, humming softly as she busied herself at the hearth. The smell of broth thickened, steam rising from the pot. She ladled it into bowls and set them before us: a vegetable stew with carrots, turnips, and chunks of meat, accompanied by coarse brown bread glistening with butter. It looked hearty, even comforting, and for a moment I almost believed the lie she was spinning.

I played along with Nira while the witch worked, trying to coax out glimmers of memory. “Remember how we used to sit like this, just you and me?” I asked softly. She blinked at me, her spoon clinking against the bowl. “You’d always complain how Lydia didn’t put enough carrots in the stew.”

She giggled, uncertain, but something flickered in her eyes, something that made me hope.

When I finally took a spoonful of stew myself, I nearly gagged. The salt was overwhelming, searing my tongue. I swallowed hard and tried not to cough.

Anira leaned forward, lips curling. “Oh, darling,” she asked sweetly, “how do you like it?”

Under the table, I pressed the heel of my shoe down firmly onto her toes. My face twisted into a polite smile as I answered, “It was good.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but her leg shot out beneath the table, her foot striking my shin with precision. I didn’t let my expression break, though Nira’s wide eyes darted between us.

“What is it, sweetie?” Anira asked her, her voice honeyed.

Nira set her spoon down and looked at both of us with a seriousness only a child could muster. “I want a little brother.”

The words hit me like a hammer. I choked on my water, coughing into my fist while Anira arched a brow in amusement.

“Oh, I am sure we can manage,” she purred, her tone heavy with implication. Beneath the table, I felt the brush of her toes sliding along my leg, deliberate and taunting.

I stiffened, forcing a thin smile as if I hadn’t noticed. “That’s… not quite how it works, Nira,” I managed, my voice rough.

Nira tilted her head. “But Old John said if a boy and a girl touches fingers, they can make me a little brother.”

The witch chuckled, her dark gaze locking onto mine as though savoring the trap she was weaving. “Oh, dear,” she crooned, “there’s more to it than touching fingers, and I am sure your daddy is looking forward to it.” She flashed me a look equal parts flirtation and challenge, daring me to play her game.

I forced myself to stay in the role she’d cornered me into, to keep up the mask of a father. If I broke it, if I let her turn this memory fully into her fantasy, I would lose Nira. My only weapon here was restraint. So I smiled gently, deflecting, steering the conversation back to the girl clutching her spoon. “What matters is this… someday, you’ll understand. But right now, you already have something better. You have family.”

Nira’s eyes softened, and her smile returned, the silver in her hair faintly shimmering again. For a heartbeat, I thought I was winning.

But then the walls of the cottage shuddered, and outside the window the world shifted. Smoke curled upward in thick plumes, the sound of steel clashing and screams piercing the air. Soldiers and adventurers swarmed through the village, cutting down men and women indiscriminately as flames began to spread from one building to the next.

The witch’s smile widened. The memory was moving forward, toward the day Nira’s mother perished.

Nira’s little body shook as panic seized her, her silver hair clinging to damp cheeks. She pressed her face against Anira’s chest, and the witch wrapped her arms around the girl’s small frame as if she were a shield. Her eyes, however, were not soft or maternal. They were fixed on me with a bold, taunting challenge.

“Mommy’s always going to be with you, sweetie,” Anira cooed, stroking Nira’s hair as if I wasn’t standing there. Her voice dripped with venom masquerading as affection. “Do you want the bad people to go away? I can make it so, just leave it to mommy.”

Something snapped inside me. She wasn’t going to steal Nira’s heart with honeyed lies, not when I had already sworn to myself I would never abandon her. I took a step forward, voice steady and sharp. “I am not going to leave you, Nira. Never.”

Nira turned, eyes wide, hope flickering where fear had lived moments before. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Dad?”

The word tore through me. Without thinking, I lashed out. My fist collided with Anira’s face, her head snapping to the side. She staggered, her expression blank with surprise, then slowly twisted back toward me. Instead of fury, her lips curled into a delighted grin.

“Darling,” she breathed, exhilaration glinting in her gaze, “what’s the problem?”

“Dad! Don’t hurt Mom!” Nira screamed, her tiny hands clutching at my sleeve, trying to pull me back.

I shoved her aside, gently, but firmly, because if I faltered now, if I showed hesitation, Anira would win. My palm struck Anira’s cheek with a sharp crack.

She laughed, a low, breathless sound. “Is that the best you can do?”

Her mockery burned through me, but I clung to the thread of belief that there was more I could do. I only needed to cast aside the fear that had chained me since death itself had claimed me.

“DAD! NO!” Nira’s voice ripped through me, a cry heavy with betrayal. “NO! YOU ARE NOT MY DAD! YOU CAN’T BE!”

Her words cut deeper than any blade. My fist trembled as I raised it, intent on breaking Anira’s smirk. But before I could strike, half of my body unraveled into smoke, the edges of my form dissolving. My strength faltered, the world growing faint.

Anira’s laughter rang like victory bells. She tilted her head back, triumphant. “Look at you. Fading away. Vanishing.”

And then, I was gone.

The void swallowed me whole, weightless and cold. Darkness stretched infinite, a silence that devoured thought itself. Yet even here, even in nothingness, one thing endured: the bond between me and Nira. I reached out with everything I had, my soul clawing toward her light.

“Nira…” My voice broke in the emptiness. “Call me back. Please…”

A circle of radiant sigils burst open beneath me, glowing bright against the void. The pull was irresistible, dragging me back into the world, back into the memory that defined her pain.

When my eyes opened, I stood again inside the ruined room. Nira clutched the lifeless body of a silver-haired woman, her true mother. Her sobs echoed through the chamber as her small frame shook with grief.

Around them lay the corpses of an elf, an orc, and two humans. It was the very intruders I had slain the moment I was summoned into this cursed world. Their blood stained the floorboards, mute witnesses to the tragedy.

At the threshold stood Anira. For once, her mask cracked. Her eyes widened, not with joy or mockery, but with fear. “What… did you do?”

I met her gaze, my voice calm, unyielding. “The magic that binds me and Nira was stronger than you. After all, who can contend with a mother’s love? Certainly, not a pretender like you.”

Nira lifted her tear-streaked face toward me, her words shattering me the same way they had the first time we met. “Please, save my mom.”

The last time, I had been silent, lost in my own confusion. But now, I knew what I should have said all along. I knelt, brushed her cheek gently, and whispered, “Don’t worry. Dad is here.”

The choice crystallized in my heart. This wasn’t pretense anymore. This was my daughter.

I rose, turning toward Anira, who lingered by the doorway like a serpent ready to strike. I surged forward, faster than her feigned composure could handle, my hand wrapping around her throat. Her nails clawed at me, but I tightened my grip, pouring every ounce of will into the act. My body shimmered, ghostlight flaring as I invoked my power.

“Let’s see,” I said, voice low and steady, “if the ancient hero could seal you in his soul, then I should be able to do the same.”

Her eyes widened with dawning horror. “No… nooo!”

“From now on,” I declared, pressing my forehead against hers as my essence swallowed hers whole, “I own you.”

Her scream tore through the memory, jagged and shrill, as I devoured her soul.