Chapter 58: How to Care for a Child
The sun hadn't even risen properly, its first, faint fingers of light barely touching the highest spires of the Academy, but I was already awake.
Not because of nightmares. Not because of a blaring system alert or the ingrained habit of pre-dawn combat drills. Not because Rin was breathing down my neck with some newly acquired divine weapon.
No, this time it was different.
I was awake because of her.
Yumi.
The small, white-haired vampire girl was still curled up in her bed in the guest room, her tiny form almost lost in the sea of plush blankets. She was clinging to a fluffy, one-eyed rabbit that Masha had somehow conjured for her overnight. Her breathing was soft, even, and peaceful. And for the first time since I had brought her home from that den of monsters, I could see the faintest, sweetest smile twitching at her lips as she dreamed.
It did something to me.
I didn't know what, exactly. But it stirred something deep inside—a warm, uncomfortable, and utterly foreign thing that tugged at my chest and made me restless.
I leaned back in the armchair I had dragged into her room, my hands folded behind my head, and watched the slow, gentle rise and fall of her shoulders.
"…What am I supposed to do with her?" I murmured under my breath, the words a ghost in the silent room.
A part of me—the logical, cold, and ruthlessly pragmatic part that had kept me alive for so long—told me to find an orphanage. Maybe a noble family with a better, more stable environment. Someone who actually knew how to raise a child. A safe place, far from the brutal war games of the Academy, far from the shadowy tendrils of the demon cult, far from the chaotic, bloody path that I was destined to walk.
But even as I thought it, the idea turned my stomach, a sour, bitter taste in my mouth.
No. That wasn't happening.
I could ask her about her family. If she had any living relatives, that might change things. Maybe they were looking for her. Maybe she had a home somewhere out there, a place where she truly belonged.
…But why did that idea make me feel so sick? Why was I so profoundly, selfishly unwilling to let her go?
I had barely known her for a full day. And yet… the thought of her leaving felt like a physical blow.
"I want her to stay," I whispered to myself, the words a raw, honest confession in the pre-dawn quiet. "I want to protect her. I want to spoil her."
My heart clenched again, a tight, painful knot in my chest. "In both my lives… I never had anyone to call mine."
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Maybe it was selfish. Maybe I just wanted someone who needed me, a small, warm anchor in the cold, empty sea of my existence.
But even so—I'd decided. No one was taking her away from me.
I would be her parent.
But how the hell do you be a parent?
My mind, a chaotic archive of two lifetimes of pain and loss, immediately jumped to the one name that had ever meant safety, that had ever meant home.
My mother.
She was… everything. She wasn't a warrior. She wasn't a queen. She wasn't powerful in the way this world measured strength. But she was present. She was love, patience, and a quiet, unyielding warmth—all wrapped up in one human being.
I could write an entire book about her.
She gave me her time, her undivided attention, even when the world demanded hers. She stood up for me when the other noble children mocked my weakness, her gentle voice a shield more powerful than any magic. She was there when I cried, her arms a safe harbor in a world of storms. She was there when I succeeded, her proud smile the only reward I ever truly craved.
She was there when no one else was.
If I could be even a fraction of the person she was… then maybe, just maybe, Yumi would be okay.
"…Let Rin save the world," I murmured with a smirk, the first light of dawn now bleeding through the window. "Let him deal with divine destiny and ancient prophecies. I'll take the better job—being a dad."
Still, I wasn't arrogant enough to assume I knew how to do this on my own. I needed… advice.
"You're asking me?" Sasha said, blinking at me as we walked along the path outside the training arena, her usual bubbly energy tempered by a look of profound confusion.
"You're the kindest person I know," I said, my voice flat and matter-of-fact. "You're empathetic. Nurturing. Overly emotional. You're basically the opposite of me."
"That was almost a compliment," she said with a mock gasp, her hand flying to her chest. "Who are you and what have you done with Ashen?"
"Focus."
She laughed, then put her hands on her hips, her expression turning serious and thoughtful. "Well, I guess… kids need stability. A routine. Don't let her stay up too late. And give her choices! Like, let her pick her own clothes or what she wants for breakfast. It makes them feel safe, like they have some control over their own world."
"Right… and food?"
"She's a vampire, isn't she?"
"Half. Her file from the auction said her magical composition is a hybrid."
"Okay, then small portions. Sweet things, probably. But nothing too spicy. And…" She hesitated, her gaze turning soft and serious. "Make her feel wanted, Ashen."
I raised an eyebrow. "Wanted?"
"She's been treated like property her whole life," Sasha said, her voice a low, fierce whisper. "You need to show her that she's not a tool or a burden. You need to show her that she matters."
That hit harder than I thought it would.
Noora was in the library, as usual, her nose buried in a thick, leather-bound enchantment textbook.
"Raising a child?" she said, glancing up, her lilac eyes sharp and analytical. "That's… not a variable I had factored into your future."
"Life surprises us all."
She closed the book slowly, her full attention now on me. "Honestly, I don't know much about children. But from a psychological perspective—they need a foundation of safety and trust. And they thrive on repetition. It helps them understand the world."
"Anything else?"
She thought for a moment, her finger tapping against the cover of the book. "Don't lie to her. Kids can tell, even when you think they can't. And don't act like she's made of glass, either. She'll grow stronger if you believe in her."
"…You're surprisingly good at this."
"I read a lot."
Seraphina raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Is this a hypothetical, or are you actually, seriously, raising a child?"
"Her name is Yumi."
"She's strong in magic, yes. I can feel it from here. But emotionally? That child has been through hell."
"…How do I help?"
Seraphina looked at me carefully, her violet eyes searching mine. "Be her warmth," she said softly. "Be her constant. You're not her hero, Ashen. You're her home now."
That stayed with me.
I returned to my dorm before sunset, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting advice and a strange, new sense of purpose. Masha had just finished preparing dinner when I walked in. Yumi was already seated at the table, her small hands wrapped around a mug of warm milk.
When she saw me, her face lit up. "Ashy!"
I blinked. "…What did you call me?"
"Ashy!" she chirped again, her small feet kicking excitedly under the table.
Masha stifled a laugh from the kitchen.
I sighed, a sound of weary resignation. "Alright, you little gremlin. Are you ready for an evening of fun?"
She tilted her head, her rose-pink eyes wide with a genuine curiosity. "What's fun?"
"You'll find out."
We started with snacks. I sat across from her at the table, sipping my own milk while I brought out a small plate of pastries I had "borrowed" from the Academy kitchen.
She poked one with her finger. "Can I eat it?"
"Of course. I wouldn't feed you poison."
She gave me a big, brilliant grin. "Okay!"
Watching her eat, her small face a mask of pure, unadulterated joy, was weirdly satisfying.
Next: drawing. I pulled out an old sketchpad and a box of colored chalks. She drew a bunny, a fluffy, adorable creature with long, floppy ears. I tried to draw the same.
She stared at my lopsided, mutant rabbit and burst out laughing. "That's not a bunny!"
"It's abstract."
"It's ugly!"
She giggled so hard she nearly fell off her chair. I caught her, my own laughter, a genuine, unrestrained sound, mingling with hers.
Bedtime. I tucked her in gently, pulling the soft, warm blanket up to her chin.
"Can you tell me a story?" she asked, her voice a sleepy murmur.
So I did. A story about a lonely shadow prince and a tiny, brave vampire girl who made his dark, empty world a little brighter.
She fell asleep halfway through, her small hand clutching mine. And I stayed there beside her, a silent guardian in the moonlight.
Because for the first time in both my lives—I wasn't alone.
Morning came gently, the soft, golden light of dawn filtering through the windows. I sat on the edge of the couch, bathed in the morning sun. The rest of the dorm was quiet—Masha had already gone to the market, and the Academy hadn't yet begun its daily chaos. A rare, peaceful hour.
But my mind was far from peaceful. I turned my eyes to the hallway. To the guest room. Where Yumi slept.
Or pretended to.
I could hear her breathing, steady but shallow. She'd been that way for an hour—awake, but silent. And I had decided.
It was time.
I rose quietly and knocked on the guest room door. A pause. Then a small, hesitant voice: "Come in."
I opened the door slowly. Yumi sat on the edge of the bed, her pale legs dangling over the side, her white curls mussed from sleep. She looked up at me with those rose-pink eyes, her expression calm and unreadable.
I closed the door behind me and crossed the room, sitting on the floor beside her bed. "I wanted to talk," I said.
Yumi nodded. "Okay."
I hesitated for a moment, unsure how to begin. "You don't have to tell me everything," I said gently. "But I'd like to know who you are. Where you're from. If you… have someone waiting for you."
Yumi looked down at her small hands, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. "I don't remember much," she whispered.
I didn't interrupt.
She continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I remember snow. A big house. And people who spoke like me. With glowing eyes. But… one day, they were all gone."
She swallowed hard. "There were fire mages. Soldiers. They came and took the older ones. I was hiding under the floor. Someone found me later and sold me to the bad men."
My hands tightened into fists.
She glanced up at me, quickly adding, "It's okay. I was lucky. Most of the others were… not."
I reached out slowly, my hand trembling slightly as I placed it gently on her head. "No child should ever have to say that."
She blinked at me, her rose-pink eyes wide with a surprise that broke my heart.
"You don't have to be strong right now," I said, my voice a low, fierce whisper. "You don't have to be useful. Or clever. Or quiet. You can cry if you want. You can scream. You can throw something."
Her lips trembled. "I'm not crying," she muttered, wiping her face quickly with the back of her hand. "It's just… dust."
I smiled faintly. "Of course."
We sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. Then she whispered, "Why did you buy me?"
I looked at her, my gaze steady and unwavering. "I saw someone trying to survive in a place where no child belongs," I said. "I saw someone who didn't deserve what was happening to them. And I had the chance to stop it."
"But you were there for the sword."
I blinked. She was far more perceptive than I had given her credit for.
She met my eyes. "I heard the other nobles talking. About the sword. You lost it because of me."
I chuckled softly. "I did. And I don't regret it for a second."
"Why not?"
"Because I got you instead."
Yumi looked stunned, as if no one had ever said something like that to her before. Then, her eyes, which had been so dry and stoic, welled up with tears.
She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, her small body shaking with silent sobs. I had expected tears. But not a hug. Not this warm, desperate, clinging thing that shook in my arms.
"I don't want to go anywhere," she whispered into my shoulder.
"You don't have to," I replied softly, my own voice thick with an emotion I couldn't name.
"Even if I can't cook?"
I laughed. "Especially then. I need someone to blame when I burn the eggs."
She sniffled. "Even if I have nightmares?"
"I'll be there when you wake up."
"Even if I'm… different?"
"You're perfect."
She hugged me tighter. I wrapped my arms around her gently, holding her close.
It was quiet. No quests. No threats. No fire or shadow or war.
Just a hollow boy and a broken girl, filling a space in each other's lives that neither had known they were missing.
And for once, I let myself feel.
Not the weight of destiny. Not the pull of ambition.
Just the warmth of a child's trust.