Chapter 14: "I Love Papa"
I remember that day so clearly. The air was crisp, the sky painted a soft blue as we sat outside in the Netherlands, in a small suburb just outside of Prime City. I was ten years old, and everything seemed perfect back then. My mother and I were sitting at the table, playing board games as laughter filled the house. The warmth of the sun streamed in through the open windows, casting golden light on the floor, and I couldn't have been happier.
My dad wasn't around as much—he was always busy with work, with fighting. He was a hero, after all, always out there protecting people, saving lives. But when he was home? He was everything to me. My hero.
"Your turn, sweetie," my mom said with a gentle smile, her eyes bright as she pushed the board game pieces toward me.
I grinned up at her, my heart full. My mom was the softest person I'd ever known, her laughter a melody that seemed to make everything in life easier. But as much as I loved her, my heart always drifted toward thoughts of my dad. The hero. The protector. He was in the army for a few years, he always said that the world needed him. I know that people really like papa.
My favorite days were the ones where he'd finally come home. I'd wait by the door, peeking out the window until I saw him walking up the path. And when he came through the door, it felt like the whole house lit up, like all the strength and courage he carried with him became ours too.
"Papa!" I'd shout as I leapt into his arms, and he'd lift me high into the air, spinning me around like I was flying. It was the closest thing to magic, even though I didn't have any magic of my own. It didn't matter—I had him.
One of those days is etched into my mind. He hoisted me up in the air, his strong arms holding me above his head as I looked down at him with pure admiration. I threw my arms out, pretending to soar like a bird, and the sound of his deep laugh echoed around us, filling me with joy.
"I love Papa," I said, my voice small but certain.
His laughter only grew as he brought me down into his arms, squeezing me tight. "And I love you too, little man. More than anything."
Those were the good days, when the world felt like it was as it should be. Days where my dad was my hero, where I looked at him like he could do no wrong, where the future seemed full of promise.
But things changed.
It wasn't long after that I started feeling... different. It was subtle at first, little things. I'd get tired quicker. My body felt heavier. And then, when I turned eleven, the doctors told us the worst news imaginable.
Magic-consuming illness.
I didn't even know what it meant at the time, only that it sounded like some kind of curse. And that's what it felt like—a curse that drained the magic from me, left me with nothing. My mother, I soon learned, had the same illness. And though she fought it with everything she had, it eventually took her life.
That was the day everything broke.
My father wasn't the same after that. He couldn't handle losing her, and even though I tried, I couldn't bring him back from the brink. I had just started to recover, to find some kind of balance in my own life, but he couldn't. He fell into despair.
