Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

The scent of baking bread usually filled Grandma Neli's kitchen with warmth and comfort, a symbol of the kind and gentle woman the village had come to adore.

Yet today, her movements were slower, dull, and mechanical. The cheerfulness that usually radiated from her seemed drained, replaced by a weariness that clung to her like the flour dusting her apron.

She stared at the dough beneath her hands, kneading it with less vigor than usual. Her lips pressed into a thin line, thoughts swirling behind her tired eyes.

The oven crackled faintly, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold settling over the room.

A shadow flickered near the door, subtle yet palpable.

"You always linger in places you aren't wanted," Neli said without turning, her voice flat.

A cloaked figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows as if birthed by them.

The cloak rippled unnaturally, shimmering like oil on water.

Beneath the hood, two faintly glowing eyes pierced the dim room.

A hint of something ancient and foul clung to the figure—a presence that made the air heavier with each breath.

"Am I truly not wanted, Neli?" the figure taunted, its voice smooth yet venomous. "After all, you summoned me first."

"What is it now?" Neli snapped, her voice sharper this time.

The figure took a step closer, its presence chilling.

"Are you still so desperate to save your precious son?"

Her fingers clenched around the dough until it tore apart in her grip.

"You've already massacred my entire family," she growled. "Is that not enough to satiate your bloodlust?"

The figure laughed softly, a sound like brittle glass shattering.

"Still clinging to that story, are we?"

Neli stiffened, her back rigid as stone.

"We both know the truth about you, Neli Golurem," the figure continued.

"The fierce warrior turned doting grandmother. The woman who slaughtered her enemies without hesitation and walked away without a flicker of guilt. Tell me, did you ever truly care for those you lost?"

Neli's lips pressed into a grim line.

"Ah," the figure mused mockingly, "not a tear for your parents, your siblings, even your comrades. Not a moment of grief, except for your beloved husband. He was the only one who mattered, wasn't he? The only one who could temper the beast inside you."

Neli turned, her gaze icy. "I wear no masks."

The figure chuckled darkly.

"No masks? And yet here you are—Grandma Neli, the kind matron who bakes bread and tells stories to wide-eyed children. You've fooled them all, haven't you? Such a sweet, gentle soul."

It leaned in closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"But we both know better, don't we? The warrior never truly left. She just hid behind flour and smiles."

Neli's jaw tightened.

"Say what you came to say, or leave."

The figure straightened, its amusement fading into something colder.

"Very well. The curse."

Neli's breath hitched, but she masked it with a sharp exhale.

"You still intend to honor our deal?" the figure pressed. "The day I was to pass this burden onto your husband—the only man strong enough to bear it—you stepped forward instead, offering your son to bear it."

Neli's voice was hard.

"Because he was too important. The curse would have ruined him."

"And yet," the figure drawled, "you're willing to condemn your son. A boy who knows nothing of what awaits him. How noble of you, Neli."

Her eyes flickered with pain, but her voice remained steady.

"He's stronger than you think."

The figure laughed again, the sound cruel.

"Strength has nothing to do with it. The Curse I bear binds itself to the soul. It twists, consumes, and corrupts. Your husband might have endured it, but your son? He'll break. And when he does..."

The figure leaned closer, the glow of its eyes intensifying, flickering like embers in the dark.

"The world will know the truth about you," it whispered venomously.

"The truth hidden beneath your kind grandmother act. They'll see you for what you are—a mother who traded her son's life for a desperate chance to save the man she couldn't let go."

Neli's breath hitched, but she steadied herself. Her shoulders straightened, forcing strength into a body riddled with guilt and defiance.

"I'll find a way to break it eventually."@@novelbin@@

"You won't," the figure hissed, its voice curling through the room like smoke.

"The Curse doesn't just pass—it grows. And when it's done with your son, there won't be anything left but ruin."

Silence settled between them, thick and choking. The air seemed colder, heavy with unspoken consequences.

The figure's shadowed form shimmered, flickering like a flame about to snuff out. Its voice sliced through the stillness, low and poisonous.

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Neli inhaled deeply, steadying her trembling fingers.

"I will not." Her voice was steel, unyielding. "You will give me back my husband... and in return, you may pass your curse to my son."

The figure paused, as if savoring her words. Then it laughed, a cruel, hollow sound.

"Oh, Neli. Do you even hear yourself? Tell me—who's truly the cruel one here? Me, the cursed beast seeking release... or you, the mother who condemns her own flesh and blood for the man she couldn't bear to lose?"

Neli's jaw clenched, her knuckles whitening as she dug her nails into the edge of the counter. Her voice came out low, raw.

"I'll do whatever it takes to protect this family. Even if it means making impossible choices."

"Protect?" the figure mocked, its voice dripping with disdain. "Is that what you tell yourself? That sacrificing your son is somehow noble? Such a lie... even for you."

The shadows around it twisted, swirling in restless patterns. The figure stepped back, half-submerged in darkness.

"Very well. The deal stands—for now. But remember, Neli..." Its form began to dissolve into smoke, voice echoing through the room like a haunting refrain.

"The curse doesn't just pass—it consumes. And when it does, we'll see just how strong your family truly is."

The figure vanished, leaving the room cold and hollow.

Neli stood still, the flicker of the fire casting faint shadows across her hardened face.

The dough beneath her hands had been forgotten, torn and ruined, much like the peace she had once clung to.