The moment the ancient door closed behind us, sealing the altar in shadows once again, the air outside hit different. Fresher. Warmer. The heavy miasma that had clung to the chamber seemed to vanish the moment we stepped into the tunnel. For a brief moment, it felt like we had escaped from time itself.
She clung to me tightly, her small hands curled against my tunic, chin resting on my shoulder. Her breathing was calm, almost peaceful—something that confused me. By all rights, she should've been starving. This was the girl the goddess feared. The primordial human who once consumed the world in an untold future. The glutton born of miasma and sorrow. The child who, in another timeline, would devour cities in a single breath.
And yet… she was smiling.
"Lira," I said softly, beginning to walk through the ancient passage that would lead us out of the sealed cave. The crystals embedded in the walls flickered as we passed. "Why were you in that chamber?"
She blinked slowly, rubbing her eye as if half-asleep. "Because… Mama said it was the safest place for me."
"Safe?" I echoed.
She nodded. "After I hurt everyone… After I started eating things I didn't mean to… she cried a lot. She told me it wasn't my fault, that I was just… made wrong."
My steps faltered slightly. Made wrong.
"She carried me here when I couldn't walk anymore. Her body was all… red. Broken. But she smiled. She said, 'I love you, even if the world doesn't.' And then… she sang while the chains closed around me. I didn't like the chains."
"…I'm sorry," I whispered.
"It's okay," she whispered back. "I don't remember most of the time. Only the warm stuff."
The warm stuff. Like her mother's arms. Or perhaps…
"You've been sealed for a long time," I said. "But you're not hungry right now. Why?"
She tilted her head, touching her stomach thoughtfully. "…I don't know. It's like… I should be. I always am. Like something's missing all the time."
I waited.
"But now it feels… not full, but warm. Like the hunger's taking a nap."
I didn't say anything for a moment.
Could it be… me?
Back in the chamber, I had touched her bare skin. She had leaned into me. Fallen asleep on my lap. And ever since then… she hadn't once shown signs of needing to feed. Could her hunger, the one that consumed magic, miasma, life itself… be soothed by something else?
Connection?
Is she feeding on my presence? My soul? Or… is it just kindness?
"Do I make it better?" I asked gently.
She looked up and smiled. "Yes. You feel like Mama. But not the same Mama."
"…Different how?"
"You feel like… like someone the world can't eat."
Those words echoed in my chest like a deep bell.
Someone the world can't eat…
As we stepped out into the sunlight at last, the forest greeted us like a long-lost friend. Trees towered overhead, swaying gently. Light broke through in golden threads. The sounds of birds chirping, wind whistling, leaves rustling—it was all new to her.
She gasped and hid her face in my neck at first, overwhelmed.
"It's too bright!"
"You'll get used to it," I said softly, adjusting my hold on her.
"…It smells like flowers. Is that okay?"
"Very okay."
She peeked out slowly, staring at the butterflies, the wind-blown petals, the distant call of a deer. Her eyes shone—not with hunger or greed, but with wonder. She pointed at everything like she was discovering a new world.
Because to her, she was.
This girl… she's not evil. She's not some ancient horror. She's just a child with power no one understood… abandoned by fear, locked away by desperation.
I kept walking slowly, letting her absorb it all.
Each step felt heavier—not because of her weight, but because of what it meant. I wasn't just carrying a girl. I was carrying a possible future. One the goddess feared. One the world wouldn't forgive.
But I had made a choice.
No one else had tried to help her. No one else had even asked.
So I would.
I looked down. "Lira."
She blinked. "Hmm?"
"If I take you with me, the world might come after you. You know that, right?"
She paused… then nodded slowly. "That's okay. I'll be strong… if you're there."
A small, brave smile.
I patted her head gently. "Then I'll protect you. As long as I can. No matter what."
She hugged me tighter.
In that moment, I made a quiet vow—not to the gods, not to fate, but to myself.
This girl will not be a destroyer. Not while I'm still breathing.
And as we disappeared into the green, sun-dappled forest together, I didn't know what path lay ahead.
But I knew one thing for certain:
She was no longer alone.
The massive double doors of the throne wing creaked open as I entered, my boots echoing against the polished marble. Servants whispered. Guards exchanged looks. Some of them were used to my quiet returns from solo travels, usually scuffed or muddy. But today?
Today, I carried a barefoot little girl in a tattered white dress—her face half-buried in my collar, her silver hair cascading over my shoulder like moonlight spun from thread.
At this point, I expected it.
"The Fifth Prince returns with a child? Who is she?"
"Maybe it's a royal mission!"
"Maybe it's his daughter!"
I almost dropped her.
---
Royal Office, Mid-Afternoon
The air inside the royal office was thick with old parchment, warm tea, and the heavy scent of seriousness.
King Lunstein von Airillesta, ruler of one of the mightiest kingdoms in the continent, was hunched over maps, quills, and trade reports—until the click of the door interrupted him.
His golden eyes lifted—calm, commanding, piercing.
Then he noticed her.
The little girl.
In my arms.
Blinking up at him like an owl peeking from a tree branch.
"…Alein," he said, voice cool but suspicious. "Please explain to me why my son has returned from a recon mission carrying what appears to be an unsupervised, feral child."
Lira gave him a small wave and whispered, "Hi."
He blinked. Once.
"I can explain," I said.
"You'd better."
I stepped closer, keeping my tone even. "While I was exploring the deep woods near the borderlands, I came across an abandoned tribe village."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "A forbidden zone. Filled with Miasma. The one I expressly told you not to go near."
I cleared my throat. "Yes, that one."
"You continue to age me rapidly, boy."
I smiled sheepishly. "Anyway… when I got there, the village was completely ruined. Half-burned huts, torn banners, empty offerings. Looked like it had been dead for years."
"And she?"
"She was there. Hiding."
I gently adjusted Lira in my arms. Her eyes flicked around the room—wide, cautious, but not scared. Just alert.
"She's the only survivor. Probably the last of that village. Looked malnourished. Scared. Couldn't speak properly at first. When I asked her name, she said 'Lira.' I figured she'd been orphaned. Maybe left behind when the others fled."
The King raised one eyebrow. "She doesn't look afraid. In fact, she looks rather comfortable."
"She's very adaptive."
"She looks like she's ready to live here."
"She's already picked which window she wants to sleep under."
King Lunstein stood, slowly pacing around his desk, hands clasped behind his back.
"Do you have any proof of her story?" he asked. "Anyone alive who saw her? Any records from the tribe?"
I shook my head. "Nothing but ruins and ashes. Whoever lived there left no trace. But… something happened there. Something dark. I couldn't leave her."
He came closer, narrowing his eyes at Lira. "Child, do you understand where you are?"
Lira nodded. "Big castle."
"And who I am?"
"Angry father?"
I stifled a cough.
The King blinked.
"…Close enough," he muttered.
He looked at me. "You're telling me you found a little girl, alone in a Miasma-infested ruin, and just… decided to bring her home?"
"Yes."
"To a royal castle?"
"Yes."
"Where nobles, diplomats, and foreign dignitaries walk freely?"
"Yep."
"Without any idea of what she really is?"
"She's a child, Father. That's enough."
He stared at me for a long, hard moment. His lips tightened. Then he slowly walked back to his chair and sat.
"You said her name is Lira?"
"Yes."
"Tribal names usually have roots in ancient dialect. Did she say where she came from specifically?"
"No," I lied smoothly. "But she called the place 'home.' That was all."
The King steepled his fingers. "And what do you want to do with her now?"
"Let her stay here. In the castle."
He stared.
"Please don't throw her in the dungeon," I added.
"I wasn't going to throw a child into the dungeon."
"You hesitated before saying that."
He sighed, rubbed his temples. "You realize the nobles will ask questions. They'll poke into her origins. Some of them already think you're strange. This won't help."
"I'll deal with them," I said. "I'll handle the paperwork. I'll get her registered. She's… she's not just someone I picked up, Father."
I looked down at Lira. She smiled up at me, still holding the corner of my cloak like it was her anchor to this world.
"She's someone who deserves a second chance."
There was a pause.
Then King Lunstein leaned back in his chair, groaning.
"Fine. Let her stay. But if she explodes, combusts, or starts summoning shadow wolves in the garden—"
"I'll take full responsibility."
"Of course you will," he muttered. "You always do."
Lira giggled suddenly. "What's a shadow wolf?"
"A theoretical nightmare I pray we never see," he muttered again.
---
As We Left the Office…
Lira tugged at my sleeve. "Did he believe it?"
"He suspects half of it."
"So… we're safe?"
"For now."
She grinned. "I like your father. He's scary like a volcano but warm inside."
"Don't say that near him."
"Why not?"
"Because he'll start saying he raised me like fire again, and then I have to listen to metaphors for an hour."
End chapter 28