To Love A Villain

Chapter 247: Side Story - The Father-Daughter Bond

>>Third Person POV

The faint hum of the teleportation circle filled the room like the low murmur of a tide about to turn. Magic etched in magic symbols glowed beneath Amber’s boots, flickering with soft white light. But she wasn’t looking at the ground.

Her eyes were fixed on the crib.

Just a few steps away, Zola lay beneath a light cotton blanket, her little body still, cheeks flushed with a warmth that was just enough to set every nerve in Amber’s spine on edge. Her tiny breaths came steady but shallow, and her brow was faintly furrowed, as if the fever had followed her into her dreams.

Amber’s hands were clenched at her sides.

Six months.

That’s how long it had been since Zola had entered their lives and changed everything. She had slowly begun to form attachments—to their voices, to their arms, to the rhythm of the house. And lately, to Hael.

But still, Zola reached for Amber first. Still, her cries softened quickest in her mother’s arms.

’Normally,’ Amber thought, ’This would be alright. If I were leaving just for the café, just for a few hours behind the counter...’

But today was different.

The event. A gathering she had spent weeks planning—music, baked goods, small performances from the apprentices. A celebration of the café’s Fourth year under her ownership. The staff would already be there. The tables would already be set.

And yet—

"I’m not going," Amber said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Hael turned from the nearby shelf, where he had been preparing a mild fever draught, and looked at her. He didn’t speak at first. He just studied her face.

Amber turned toward him, her arms folding, her posture defensive before he could even respond.

"She has a fever. It’s wrong to leave her like this."

Hael walked over slowly, expression calm, unhurried. "It’s barely above normal. And you know that. You checked it twice."

Amber’s lips pressed together. "Still."

"She’s sleeping," Hael said gently. "And when she wakes, I’ll be here."

Amber shook her head, her voice low and urgent. "What if it rises? What if it’s something more? What if—"

"She’ll be alright," Hael said softly. "She has me. And you said it yourself, it’s just exhaustion fever, it will go away with rest and sleep." He pointed at Zola, "And she’s sleeping."

Amber looked over at Zola again. Her small frame rose and fell with each breath, those delicate lashes fluttering slightly, as if even in sleep she could sense her mother’s worry.

Amber’s heart twisted.

Hael followed her gaze and stepped up beside her. "I know it’s hard to leave. But the event—you said you put your soul into it."

"Yes..." She frowned, "Everyone is waiting for me..." She furrowed her brows

"I don’t care about the people," He whispered. "But I know that you will regret not going later. To me, events don’t matter at all. But it’s different for you. Especially because the event is for you too."

Amber’s shoulders slumped. "I’ll regret it more if she gets worse."

Hael reached out and gently took her hand. His palm was warm and steady.

"She won’t," he said with quiet certainty. "She’ll sleep. I’ll cool her down with a touch if she warms again. Feed her if she stirs. And if she needs you—I’ll call you home. I promise."

Amber looked up at him, searching his eyes for any flicker of doubt.

But all she saw was calm.

Trust.

And maybe—just maybe—a little pride.

"You do realize she’s still more attached to me," she said with a faint, almost reluctant smile.

"Of course," Hael replied with a soft chuckle. "But today... she has the world’s greatest mage for a babysitter."

Amber laughed under her breath, the sound bittersweet. "You’re really going to use that title like that?"

"I am what I am," There was no pride in those words, it was as if he was stating a fact.

She looked at Zola one last time. Then back at him.

Her thumb brushed over his knuckles before she nodded. "Alright. I’ll go."

Hael’s smile widened. "I’ve got her." Hael had thought that Zola would be fine after sleeping. Like he had been as a kid. When there were times in the resolute darkness when he ended up sick, fainting and waking up had done the job.

So he only knew that sleep would do the job.

Amber stepped off the circle and went to the crib, leaning in to press the softest kiss on Zola’s temple. "Sleep well, my star," she whispered. "Be good to your father."

Then, with a flash of light and a breath held tight in her chest, she stepped back onto the circle.

The runes flared.

And she was gone.

Left in the hush that followed, Hael turned toward the crib and whispered, "What could go wrong?" He then walked away.

Zola, in her sleep, sighed softly and turned toward the sound of his voice. Hael stood in the doorway of the bedroom, arms folded, eyes fixed on the sleeping bundle in the crib.

Zola’s breaths were shallow, her cheeks still kissed with that soft red hue from the lingering fever. The blanket Amber had tucked around her had begun to slip down, exposing the faint glimmer of sweat on her forehead.

Hael, who had paused by the door, hadn’t moved for nearly a minute.

Was he allowed to leave her alone?

Not for long—not even just across the hall. She was sick. And though the fever wasn’t dangerous, it still hummed in the room like a warning spell just shy of activation.

’If I’m right,’ he thought grimly, ’you’re not supposed to leave a sick baby alone. Even for a few minutes.’

His fingers twitched against his forearm.

After a moment more of hesitation, he sighed and pushed up his sleeves. "Fine," he muttered to himself. "We’re moving."

Within minutes, he had gently carried the crib into his lab using floatation magic. With a swirl of his finger he lifted the crib into the air and had it follow him.

The room was sterile, although the place was filled with tomes, scrolls, hanging herbs, and magical tools, all of the things were neatly organized since that is how Hael liked his things. He cleared a space beside the alchemy bench, placing Zola where he could see her from any angle of the room.

He gave her a brief glance, brushing a thumb across her flushed cheek. Even though she was resting, it didn’t seem like her temperature was going down.

Then he turned to the tree stump sink, its bark dark and veined with natural lines that shimmered when fed with arcane water. His hands moved automatically, pouring ingredients from etched glass vials into the simmering brew. The potion needed to be mixed carefully—drop by drop, no magic assistance, until the color turned from pale silver to moss green.

But as the mixing deepened, the temperature in the room began to shift.

The spell-infused reagents had a natural cooling property—intentional for the tonic’s preservation. Hael barely noticed at first, only rubbing the back of his neck absently when the air became crisp, his breath briefly visible near the cauldron.

Then his gaze darted toward the crib.

Zola!

He watched her and saw her shaking.

He cursed under his breath and reached for a thicker wool blanket, wrapping Zola up carefully until she looked like a tiny, bundled caterpillar. Only the top of her flushed cheeks and lashes peeked out from the blanket’s edge.

"There," he said under his breath. "I’ll use a spell as well," He used his magic to make her even warmer, creating a small balloon of warmth around her.

Then he returned to the mixture, focused again, the room silent except for the bubbling potion and the occasional scratch of pen on parchment as he took notes.

But the silence didn’t last.

Zola’s cry tore through it like a cracked spellstone—high, sharp, full of pain.

!!!!

Hael’s head whipped toward the crib, his stomach dropping.

He was at her side in seconds, heart pounding. She thrashed weakly against the thick blanket, her cry only growing louder as he reached down.

The moment his hands touched her, he froze.

WHAT!?!?!?????????

Her skin was hot. Burning.

The fever had spiked.

His breath caught in his throat as panic surged up—cold and jagged. "No—no, no," he muttered, lifting her carefully, trying to keep his touch gentle even as dread tightened his grip.

Her body felt like it radiated heat, even through the thick cloth.

Zola cried harder.

Hael held her close, nearly forgetting how to breathe himself. Why is she hotter? Isn’t the sleep supposed to make her better?? What do I do now?

He paced around a little, unsure what his next move should be.

’Orenya would know what to do. Orenya would—’

But his orenya wasn’t here.

And for now, it was just him.

Hael clutched Zola close, her cries piercing the stillness of the lab, echoing off stone and spell. Her forehead pressed into his shoulder, burning like live coal through his robes. His heart thundered in his chest—wild, uneven, like it didn’t know how to carry this moment.

He didn’t know what to do.

For all the magic he wielded, all the arcane knowledge stacked in shelves around him, he stood frozen.

’There has to be a spell,’ he thought, frantic. ’There has to be something to reduce fever. A cooling charm. A purging incantation. Something.’

But when he reached into his mind—through the years of tomes and teachings, of runes etched in midnight and rituals memorized—all he found was silence.

No spell for fevers. No charm for burning infant skin.

’Why hadn’t I learned this?’ Why, in all his pursuit of ultimate knowledge, had he never thought to study something so... mundane?

Because it had never mattered.

Because he’d never had anyone this small. This fragile. This soft and burning in his arms.

His breath came sharp now, matching Zola’s sobs. He shifted her in his arms, whispering useless comforts—words without shape or sense.

"Okay, okay... I’m here, I’ve got you..."

But she cried harder.

His hand sparked, magic swirling to life at his fingertips. A teleportation spell. The glyphs burned bright in his mind as his mana rose, his body preparing to shift planes.

He would go to Amber. Pull her back. Wherever she was.

But his hands froze in mid-air

His magic stuttered.

Amber had been here every day. She barely stepped away. Woke at every sound. Sat up through the night. Fed, soothed, swaddled, rocked.

This was her first time away in weeks. Months, even. And she’d gone reluctantly. Her steps backward on the teleportation circle still haunted him—her eyes darting to the crib again and again.

And now...

He looked down at the child in his arms. Her face scrunched in pain, little fists curled near his chest.

’Should I call her back?’ he thought, heart twisting.

But even that question was layered in doubt. In confusion.

She deserved these few hours. She trusted him. He made her go.

So what to do now?