Chapter 73: I Should Not Have Contacted Humans in the Beginning
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The young girl clung tightly to the hem of Ash's clothes, her fingertips turning white from the pressure, as if this hold was her last lifeline. Her previous words, combined with this desperate grip, seemed to silently convey, Please don't leave me. I'll change, I promise.
Ash looked down at her pale, slender fingers, sensing her silent plea, yet not fully understanding why she was apologizing. All he could do was stare at those small hands, his heart twisting in conflict.
The air around them felt as if it had stilled, time moving at an unusually slow pace.
Gradually, his eyes softened, shifting from confusion to a deep, tender warmth. A powerful, inexplicable force tugged at his heart, compelling him to reach out. He gently stroked Fern's soft hair, his other hand carefully wiping away the tears staining her cheeks. Speaking in the calmest, warmest tone he could muster, he said:
"I understand your feelings… I truly do. I'd like to agree, but it wouldn't be responsible for either of us. This is a serious decision for us both, so before I hand you over to a new family, let's talk things through, okay?"
"T-Talk… talk…" Fern's voice wavered, broken by her sobs, but her expression shifted as she grasped his words. And as soon as she understood, her head shook vigorously, her tone trembling yet firm, "No! I don't want to talk!"
"Listen, Fern, I'm—"
"I don't want it! Absolutely not… no, no!"
For Fern, who always carried herself like a little adult, this sudden, stubborn outburst was entirely out of character. But Ash quickly recognized that words were failing here.
It was as though she were that person who usually stayed calm and rational, bottling up her feelings for far too long, and now that emotional floodgate had burst. Those who keep their feelings under tight control daily can often react explosively once they've reached their breaking point.
He knew now that unless he agreed to her request, his words alone would mean nothing. When someone is in this state, negotiation is futile.
At times like this, there's only two outcomes: either you succeed in reassuring them, or you fail utterly.
But he didn't want to deceive her, nor did he want to face the consequences of a promise he might not keep.
He simply wanted to avoid negotiations that could lead to further heartbreak for Fern. If he couldn't fulfill his promise, he feared the child would come to resent him in the future.
So, when he saw her tearful face, her fragile hands clinging desperately to him, he chose a different approach. He simply reached out and pulled her into a gentle embrace.
Holding her close, he let her trembling form rest against his chest, lightly patting her back without saying a word. He hoped this quiet action could provide some solace—just like on the night they had first met.
And so, in this silent embrace, time seemed to lose its meaning. Gradually, her sobbing subsided, leaving only the soft rhythm of their breathing and heartbeats.
Though Fern's tears had stopped, her small hands remained clasped tightly around Ash's waist, as if she feared that letting go would mean losing the warmth and security she'd found in his arms.
Ash did not let go of her hand; instead, he continued to hold the young girl gently, embracing her with such care that it felt as though any added pressure might break her fragile frame.
...
...
Outside the room, Heiter hadn't gone far. Instead, he lingered just beyond the window, discreetly observing the exchange between Ash and Fern from a distance.
At that moment, even Heiter felt that everything around him seemed to fade into a monochrome world, as if the only color left was in the quiet, pure bond shared between them. But he murmured softly, "...Ash can't possibly accept this so easily, right?" Heiter knew Ash well, much like he understood Fern's situation.
While Ash hadn't explicitly revealed his true identity, Heiter could sense it. Ash wasn't human—at least, not in the traditional sense. No human could defy the passage of time as he did, with a body that showed no sign of aging and, if anything, continued to grow stronger.
For an immortal being to embrace the responsibility of caring for a human child...that would be incredibly difficult. This was why Heiter couldn't entirely fault Ash's hesitation; choosing to face short-term sorrow rather than risking long-term grief made sense, but...
"That child genuinely wants to stay by your side, Ash. He's so sensible...too sensible, really—it's heartbreaking," Heiter sighed, withdrawing his gaze from the window.
If he were ten years younger, or if Fern hadn't met Ash, Heiter thought he might have still considered adopting the child himself, even if it felt utterly unwise. But as things stood, with someone like Ash in the picture, there was no space for him to step in.
Because, in truth, his age simply didn't allow it. He was...over a century old.
At his age, Heiter worried about whether he'd wake up from each night's sleep. He feared the thought of his body decaying in bed if he passed unnoticed.
As grim as it sounded, this was the reality he faced as an elderly person living alone.
So, even if Ash might one day walk away from his responsibilities, Heiter knew he had to find someone to look after Fern. Otherwise...how would this child survive alone?
Originally, he had intended not to meddle too much. But watching Fern tugged at his heart, and he couldn't help but step in, even if only slightly, and push things along in the hope of securing the girl's future.
Finally, after a long wait, Fern cried herself to sleep. Ash gently lifted the exhausted child, carrying her to bed. Heiter slipped quietly back into the room.
Noticing that Fern still hadn't let go of Ash's hand, even in sleep, Ash glanced toward the open drawer across the room. He cast a questioning look at Heiter, who approached silently, even foregoing his cane to avoid making a sound. In a hushed voice, Ash said, "Heiter, you're the one who opened that drawer, weren't you?"
"...Are you suspecting your friend now?" Heiter replied, feigning surprise. "Did you forget to lock it yourself?" There was even a trace of mock indignation on his old face.
But Ash only looked at him with a cool, unwavering gaze. "Stop pretending—I know you too well."
Heiter heaved a long sigh, clasping his hands behind his back and shaking his head. "Ahh...I never expected that, at the twilight of my years, my own kin and friends would turn against me."
Ash's urge to punch Heiter was almost overwhelming, yet he held back. His hand brushed over Fern's hair as she slept soundly, her head resting on her knees, tears in her eyes. Ash let out a long, weary sigh, as though trying to release all his pent-up emotions into the air. Only then did he manage to calm himself.
"If she'd simply forgotten to lock it, the child would never have opened it. It must have been opened by someone else, and that's how the name was revealed…"
"You really do know Fern well," Heiter commented.
"…Whether I like it or not, I've known her for over a year. I suppose I understand her," Ash replied.
"Really? Really~?" Heiter nodded with a mischievous smile.
Seeing his attitude, Ash couldn't help but want to throw something at him. "You got me into this mess for no reason, and now you act like this??"
"Oops~ My bad, haha" Heiter laughed, clearly unfazed.
He had already made his plan clear and, now satisfied, he smiled to himself, assured of his goal. With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
What's gotten into him all of a sudden? Ash stared at the closed door for a moment, his mind clouded, before he lowered his head in frustration. Looking down at the little girl lying on his lap, he absently stroked her hair, letting out another long sigh.
"Taking care of a child is more troublesome than I thought. I shouldn't have gotten involved with humans in the first place…"
But by now, it was too late to regret it. He had even started forgetting that he'd once been human—he had spent far longer as a demon than he ever had as a man.
…
The next day.
When Fern woke, she found Ash lying beside her. After a closer look, she realized… she was in his room. The memories of the previous night came flooding back, making her nose tingle and her chest tighten as she struggled to hold back her emotions.
She carefully gathered the clothes she'd worn the night before, then quietly got up. She went out to the yard to fetch water from the well, as she usually did every morning.
In the open yard, without a fence, the gentle morning light brushed against her skin, bringing a soft, delicate warmth. Birds chirped in the trees, as if nature itself were embracing her in a quiet hug. The peace of the scene didn't soothe her entirely, though; just thinking about what happened the night before left Fern feeling downcast—Ash hadn't agreed to her request.
It felt as though everything had already been fated, and the thought of having to bring up the topic again later filled her with dread. When the weight of the wooden bucket handle dug into her fingers, nearly overflowing, she clenched her teeth, determined to press on, swaying unsteadily as she walked. She wanted to prepare water for Ash's morning routine, just as she always did, despite the ache.
But it wasn't only Fern who felt burdened—Ash did too. He had woken up the moment she had slipped out of the room. The thought of having to discuss the matter again made his stomach ache.
Until now, he hadn't stopped to wonder why he was so conflicted over simply helping care for a child, even if it was only temporary.
But when he saw, through the gap in the window, the small figure of the girl struggling with the heavy bucket, water splashing onto her feet and skirt, he couldn't help but sigh. Straightening his clothes, he walked out of the room to meet her.