Claude's body burned with fever, his organs straining desperately to keep him alive. Every breath was a battle.
He didn't want to die—not when this life was so perfect, filled with everything he desired. This world was his heaven, brimming with beauty and MILFs, and he wasn't ready to give that up.
'Damn it, Enzo! How could he poison his own child?! Even if I'm the result of my mother's affair, this is too much!' he raged silently, his consciousness flickering between darkness and light.
Faint voices echoed around him, and he fought to open his eyelids, but they felt impossibly heavy.
His chest tightened, and each breath was shallow, labored. But amidst the haze, he could hear the soft sound of crying—a sound that pierced his heart.
It was Dalia, his mother.
Her sobs were raw, filled with pain. The sound shattered something deep within him, like a delicate vase breaking into a thousand pieces.
In his previous life, he had never known this kind of love. His mother back then had resented him, a constant reminder of his cheating father. The more he grew to resemble the man, the colder she became.
But in this life, Dalia loved him. She cherished him, and he couldn't bear the thought of causing her pain.
Claude's dry, cracked lips parted as he tried to speak, his voice barely a whisper. "M...mom..." he mumbled weakly.
He couldn't see her, but he felt the warmth of her hand as it gently clasped his. The tremble in her touch only deepened his sorrow.
"Hang in there, sweetie... Claude, please..."
Dalia's voice was thick with fear and desperation, each word a plea for his survival.
Her grief broke him. Tears welled up in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks as he choked back sobs.
He didn't want to die, he didn't want to leave her. The thought of losing everything—his mother's love, his life—was terrifying.
But beneath the sadness, there was anger too. How could Enzo do this to him? Claude's blood boiled with fury even as his body weakened.
He had to do something. He couldn't let Enzo get away with this. That man needed to pay.
'If only I had power... if only I had some kind of OP skill to fight back,' Claude thought bitterly, frustration gnawing at him.
But reality was harsh. He was still just a five-year-old boy, weak and helpless, with no special abilities to call his own.
And in this moment, all he could do was hold on, praying for the strength to survive.
Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang, startling Dalia in the room. Theo stormed in, his face a mixture of worry and anger.
His gaze immediately locked onto Dalia, and without hesitation, he marched over, gripping her arms tightly, causing her to flinch.
"What happened to him, Dalia? Who did this?"
Theo demanded, his voice sharp with frustration.
Before Dalia could respond, Enzo, who had been standing quietly behind Theo, stepped forward.
He wedged himself between them, his hand gently pushing Theo's arm off Dalia. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with restrained fury.
"You're hurting my wife," he growled.
Theo blinked, realizing what he'd done. His expression softened with guilt, and he let go, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," Dalia interrupted quickly, stepping away from both men.
Her movements were awkward, stiff, as if being near Enzo made her uncomfortable. She cast a quick glance at Enzo, but something in her eyes had changed.
She no longer addressed him as "husband" or "honey," and the distance between them spoke volumes.
Enzo noticed it too, and the muscles in his jaw tightened, veins pulsing on his temple.
Dalia had her suspicions about who had poisoned her son, but without proof, she couldn't act on them.
Enzo took a deep breath, visibly controlling his rising emotions, crossing his arms over his chest. For now, he remained silent.
"We should call the temple," Dalia said, breaking the heavy silence. Her voice was steady but laced with urgency.
"They can heal Claude. They'll know what to do."
"NO!" both men said in unison, their voices firm.
Dalia stared at them, stunned. Her eyes flicked between the two, her suspicion deepening.
"What do you mean?" she asked slowly, confusion clouding her voice.
"The temple is the safest option. They'll help Claude, and they can investigate this poisoning!"
In this world, the Temple of Asphodel held the highest authority over holy powers, especially in cases of dark magic.
They took such threats seriously, and any incident of poisoning would become their top priority as it was sometimes tied with dark magic.
Enzo shifted, his arms still crossed tightly against his chest. His eyes flickered with unease.
"Dalia, we need to think about this carefully. The temple... it's not safe for you. We should keep our distance."
Theo nodded, echoing the sentiment, he might hate Enzo and suspect him to be the one who poisoned his son. But he couldn't deny that Enzo was right.
Dalia's eyes widened, her patience snapping. "Not safe for me? I've never hurt anyone! I haven't used my power since Claude was born! They have no reason to detain me!"
"You are also working there, Enzo! Calling a priest will be easy for you! But why you! you-"
Her voice rose in frustration, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her heart ached for her son, and the two men standing before her, refusing to act, only deepened her disappointment.
She stared at Enzo, her eyes filled with suspicion. His insistence on avoiding the temple only confirmed what she had begun to fear.
Enzo's posture stiffened further, but he said nothing, silently pleading with her through his eyes.
Theo gently placed his hands on Dalia's shoulders, his touch firm yet comforting. "Calm down, Dalia," he said softly, his voice low and reassuring.
"Claude is a strong kid. He'll be alright."
His smile was warm, and for reasons she couldn't quite explain, it soothed her frayed nerves.
Dalia's shoulders, tense with anxiety, began to loosen, and she felt a flicker of hope. Theo always had that effect on her, grounding her when the world felt like it was falling apart.
"I'll find the antidote for him," Theo continued, determination clear in his voice.
"You just stay here and take care of him. If... if things get worse, you can call the temple then."
Dalia was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting to Claude. Her heart ached as she watched his small chest rise and fall unevenly.
He looked so fragile, so unlike the vibrant, cheerful boy she was used to.
Her son, with his sweet dimples and mischievous smile, was now lying there, pale and weak.
Guilt gnawed at her insides, and tears streamed down her face unchecked.
She wanted to do more. To save him. But Theo's presence calmed her, if only slightly. He was Claude's father, after all.
She trusted him. Somehow, seeing the quiet strength in his broad shoulders, half of her burden seemed to lift and rest on him.
Taking a shaky breath, Dalia nodded, finally agreeing to wait as Theo had asked. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and managed a weak smile.
Theo sighed in relief, then gently rubbed her back, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles. "It'll be okay," he whispered.
But across the room, unnoticed by both of them, Enzo's eyes blazed with barely contained fury.
His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, his jaw set in a rigid line. Rage bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.
The sight of Dalia and Theo together, their quiet connection, and the concern they shared for the child—'that child'—burned through him.
In his mind, curses flew like daggers. He wanted nothing more than to tear them apart. Dalia, Theo, even Claude. His thoughts turned dark, full of bitterness.
But then something strange happened.
Contrary to what any of them expected, Claude's condition began to improve. His breaths, which had been labored and shallow, started to even out.
The blue tint in his lips faded, and color returned to his cheeks. His body, once frail and still, began to regain strength, his healing almost unnatural.
Enzo's eyes narrowed. This wasn't supposed to happen. The poison he had used wasn't just any poison—it was strong enough to kill an elephant instantly.
Claude shouldn't be surviving, let alone recovering.
A cold realization settled over him, creeping up his spine.
His bastard child was no ordinary boy.