I hate him.

I hate how the townsfolk praise him. I hate the smile on his face, the way he carries himself. Everything he does sets me on edge, filling me with anger. I hate that his blood runs through my veins. I hate that I am the great-granddaughter he dotes on. That bastard is nothing but a false god.

And yet… why do I let him hold me? Why do I allow his hand to stroke my hair, to pat my head as though I'm some cherished child? Why do I let his words of praise for my work seep into my heart?

Lost in thought, I didn't even notice him pick me up.

"Daydreaming again, Alexandra?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

As I looked into his crimson eyes, all I could see was love—a love that stood in stark contrast to the hatred burning in my heart. Our feelings were opposites: he loved me, while I despised him.

"Stop! I'm a big girl now! I don't need you to carry me!" I whined, tugging on his long, pointy ear. He let out a soft chuckle, his laughter only stoking my frustration.

"Stop laughing at me!" I demanded, balling my little hands into fists and pounding on his chest.

"Fate! You said you'd teach me magic when I turned eight, so teach me!" I demanded, crossing my arms with a pout.

He chuckled softly, tipping his hat. "Alright, very well. Let this old man teach you the basics of magic."

Placing me gently on the ground, he removed his top hat and reached inside, pulling out an old, ticking watch. Tick… tick… tick. The sound was steady, rhythmic.

"I'll show you how to conjure a droplet of water," he said, slipping the watch into his breast pocket. He then pointed his cane forward with a commanding presence.

"First, feel the mana within you," he instructed, his voice low and deliberate. "It's like your blood, coursing through your veins, warm and alive."

I closed my eyes, focusing on his words.

"Now," he continued, "imagine it traveling through your body—from your toes to your fingers. Guide it, like a current. When you feel it in your hands, shape it into water. Picture the coolness, the flow, the weight of a droplet. Imagine it forming into a perfect sphere in your palm."

I took a deep breath, clenching my fists momentarily before letting them relax. I focused, imagining the cool sensation of water in my hands, the faint tingle of magic waiting to surface.

The world around me seemed to fade as I concentrated, his words echoing in my mind. The soft tick of his watch lingered in the background, a steady rhythm that matched the pulse of mana I was trying to channel.

"Feel it, Alexandra," he coaxed gently, his tone firm but patient. "Don't force it—guide it. Let it flow naturally."

I inhaled deeply, imagining the mana coursing through me like a gentle stream, pooling in my palms. My fingers tingled, and warmth began to gather at my fingertips. I focused harder, picturing the water droplet he described: cool, weightless, shimmering like the dew at dawn.

And then… it happened.

A small, shimmering bead of water appeared in my cupped hands, trembling slightly as though uncertain of its place in the world. I opened my eyes, marveling at the tiny sphere.

"I… I did it," I whispered, a sense of triumph swelling in my chest.

Fate smiled warmly, his crimson eyes gleaming with pride. "You did indeed, my dear. Excellent work."

His praise cut through me like a double-edged sword—one side glowing with warmth, the other jagged with resentment. How could I despise him so much and still crave his approval?

Before I could wrestle with my feelings any longer, the water droplet quivered and burst, drenching my hands and sleeves.

"You need to maintain focus," Fate said with a chuckle, extending his hand to help me up. "But that was a splendid first attempt."

I glared at him, shaking the water from my hands. "I'll do better next time! Just you watch!"

He laughed softly, his cane tapping against the ground as he turned to walk away. "I have no doubt you will, Alexandra. You have more potential than you realize."

As I watched him go, the conflicting emotions churned within me once more. Hate and love, resentment and longing. One day, I'd understand why I felt this way. But for now, I clenched my fists, vowing to surpass him—not for his approval, but to prove I could stand on my own.