CHAPTER 61: A CRY, A FATHER, AND CASSEL’S BLOODLUST

Rosalia — POV

It had been two days since we arrived at the safe base.

Two days since we moved into this villa.

Two days—just forty-eight hours—and yet somehow, these short moments had been better than every year I had lived before. Better than the twenty-something years filled with heaviness, coldness, and a suffocating silence that clung to me like a second skin. I kept turning that realization over in my mind, again and again, as if afraid it would slip away if I didn’t examine it from every angle.

I mean... in that world, in that house, with that family... I never felt the peace and warmth I feel now. Not even for a second. Not even accidentally. Life back there had always been a bleak corridor that stretched endlessly, without a single open window to let in the smallest breath of comfort.

Isn’t that ridiculous?

Anyone who lived in this apocalypse—a world now rotting under death, corruption, endless fighting, and the desperate instinct to survive—would laugh in my face if I admitted such a thing. They would probably spit at me, curse me, maybe even kill me for daring to think that the past world was anything less than paradise.

For them, the past was heaven. A heaven that collapsed into hell.

But for me... it was the opposite.

This world—this broken, dangerous, blood-stained world—gave me something I had never had before: space to breathe. A place where I existed without being crushed. Maybe it was pathetic, but the proof was right there on my face.

I had been smiling nonstop for two whole days.

Smiling at the children as they ran about, letting them tug at my sleeves or climb onto my lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Smiling at Liz and the others whenever they spoke, cooked, argued, or simply existed beside me.

Smiling at Cassel—especially Cassel—whose mere presence, even from afar, quieted every trembling thing inside me. The way he walked, the way he breathed, the way he filled a room with silent certainty... it grounded me. Wrapped me in a feeling I had never known before—an unbelievable sense of relief, strength, and safety.

But living with him under one roof... hearing his footsteps echo through the villa’s hallways... knowing he might walk past me at any moment... that was something else entirely. That was like drinking warmth directly into my veins.

And touching him—even the idea of it—felt like a double dose of happiness.

Ahem... although I hadn’t actually touched him these past two days.

Not because I didn’t want to. Oh, I absolutely wanted to. But Cassel had been busy—constantly out on missions, always leading his men, handling matters around the base. He barely had time to sleep, let alone indulge my quietly ridiculous need for physical closeness.

Anyway... I wasn’t obsessed with touching. I wasn’t. But for some reason, my mind kept circling back to it, like a hand brushing against the same bruise over and over.

Maybe I had some haphephilia. That would be funny. Or embarrassing. Or both.

Or maybe the reason was much simpler... maybe I was starved for something I’d never had. Love. Warmth. A hand reaching out for mine without pulling away in disgust. Twenty-plus years without such things leaves a very strange emptiness—one that reacts too strongly when finally given even a drop of affection.

The truth was: I barely touched anyone in my old life.

What do you expect from someone who couldn’t even remember touching her own mother?

I sat in the villa’s backyard garden—a small patch of peace in the midst of chaos—where Katy had planted countless flowers of every kind she could find. The garden was far from perfect; some petals were wilted, some stems were half-broken, and some areas of the soil were dry. And yet, despite its flaws, it felt more alive than anything I had ever seen.

Sunlight filtered through the thin leaves overhead, brushing my skin gently. The faint scent of earth and flowers wrapped around me like a soft blanket, coaxing out thoughts I had never meant to think aloud.

Crazy thoughts. Vulnerable, fragile thoughts.

The kind of thoughts I never wanted Cassel to discover.

I didn’t want him to think I was unstable. I didn’t want him to pull away. I didn’t want to become someone he had to keep at a distance because she carried too much softness in a world too harsh for it.

While my thoughts swarmed like a storm in my head, I suddenly heard a noise from the far end of the garden—a soft clatter, followed by a cracking sound.

I snapped my head toward it.

It was the wooden fence separating our villa from the neighboring one. A section of it had crumbled inward.

And through the broken planks peeked a little girl.

How did I know she was little? Because the gap she squeezed through was tiny—two loose boards barely wide enough for a small body. She must have pushed them aside just enough to slip in, or maybe the old fence had been one nudge away from collapsing already.

She looked like a doll. A tiny, delicate doll no older than three or four. Her hair framed her round cheeks softly, and her clothes were crumpled in a way that only very young children could manage.

I stayed where I was for a moment, watching her cautiously from a distance. She seemed curious, confused—until she got stuck halfway. Her little legs kicked helplessly, and when she couldn’t pull herself free, her face crumpled.

Then she started crying.

Loudly. Heartbreakingly.

My instincts reacted before my mind did. I rushed toward her.

"Come here—don’t be scared, darling. Don’t worry, you’re okay. I’ll get you out, just don’t move."

My voice softened without me realizing it. Something in me naturally shifted around children.

The moment she heard my tone, her sobs softened into sad little whimpers. She sniffled, trembling lightly, eyes wide and glossy with tears. The sight melted me instantly. Her tiny hands gripped the broken wood as if it were the only thing keeping her from drowning.

I carefully examined the fence. Thankfully, it looked like it had been decaying for years. I grabbed the loose plank and shifted it, and it gave way easily. Once I cleared enough space, I gently pulled the girl out. It only took seconds.

"Why did you go in there? You could’ve gotten hurt, little one."

"Papa... bwaaaah!"

She burst into tears again—louder than before—and this time her cries were almost frantic.

I tried everything—rocking her slightly, patting her back, making gentle sounds—but she refused to calm down. Her tiny body shook with each sob, and she clung to me like a terrified kitten.

And then—

A sudden gust of wind shot toward me.

So fast I didn’t understand what happened.

One moment I was standing by the fence with the child in my arms.

The next moment—

I was no longer standing.

I was being lifted—swept, carried—into someone’s arms so swiftly the world blurred around me.

My heart leapt into my throat. Instinctively, I clutched the little girl tighter, afraid she might fall.

I looked up—

And saw Cassel.

Or rather... the sharp angle of his jaw, because he wasn’t looking at me.

He was staring straight ahead with an expression so terrifying it felt like the temperature in the garden dropped several degrees.

The air around him thickened, heavy and suffocating.

Even the little girl, who had been crying seconds earlier, fell completely silent. Her tears froze on her cheeks, her small body trembling in fear.

I wanted to whisper to her, "Sweetie, trust me, you’re not alone. Even I’m scared to breathe too loudly right now."

I had no idea why Cassel looked so deadly—until I looked toward the spot he was staring at.

The place where I had been standing moments ago.

It was destroyed.

A massive crater ripped the ground open. Earth was torn apart, stones shattered, dust rising in a thick cloud. The soil was churned violently, as if some explosive force had slammed into it with murderous intent.

And standing amid the destruction...

Was a man.

A man so painfully ordinary it was almost insulting. Not strong. Not intimidating.

He looked like one of those teachers you forget as soon as the semester ends—bland expression, forgettable features, plain clothes.

And yet, I would never forget his face.

Because he had almost killed me.

If Cassel hadn’t arrived at that exact moment...

"P-papa... papa..."

The little girl’s voice shook as she reached her tiny hands toward the man.

The man’s expression changed instantly—twisted with panic and rage.

"Let go of my daughter, you bastards! LET GO OF MY DAUGHTER!"

He charged forward like a madman. Without hesitation, he swung his arm, and the wind around him coiled, sharpening into a blade that tore through the air with frightening speed.

I stared at him in disbelief.

Seriously?

If he loved his daughter so much, shouldn’t he try to save her instead of attacking blindly?

What if we couldn’t dodge?

What if his attack hit her?

But I didn’t have time to say any of that.

Because Cassel didn’t dodge.

He didn’t move.

He simply raised one hand—calm, effortless—and caught the wind blade as if it were nothing more than a child’s toy.

Then came his voice.

Cold.

Merciless.

Beautiful.

"You dare attack my people inside my territory? You’re begging for death."

Before his sentence even ended.

The man was lifted into the air—violently, helplessly.

His body contorted, limbs pinned by invisible force, his face draining of color.

He couldn’t scream.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t move.

Cassel was angry.

Very angry.

Angry enough to kill.

And in that moment... I realized the full weight of what it meant to be protected by him.