Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 62: A Family Conflict

"Her… son?" Ivaim repeated, keeping his tone steady though his grip on the flour bag tightened ever so slightly.

He masked the shiver that threatened to crawl up his spine with a polite smile.

The man’s smile grew just a touch, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"That’s right," he said, his gravelly voice calm yet carrying an unsettling weight.

Ivaim’s heart thudded in his chest, but he forced himself to nod as if the response was completely ordinary.

"Well… nice to meet you," he managed, his voice light but not too casual. He took a step toward the bakery door, keeping his movements unhurried.

The man’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and unblinking, before he gave a faint nod in return.

"Likewise," he said simply, stepping aside to let Ivaim pass.

As soon as Ivaim crossed the threshold of the bakery, the comforting warmth of the shop wrapped around him, carrying with it the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries.

Yet, it did little to soothe the unease that curled tightly in his chest.

’Grandma Neli’s son? But that’s impossible... She said he died years ago.’

Ivaim swallowed hard, his thoughts racing as he carefully set the flour bag down on the counter.

Turning back toward the door, he cast a quick glance through the window, his eyes narrowing as they searched for the man.

He was still there, leaning against the doorframe, his posture as casual as before—but there was a sharpness in his demeanor, like a blade hidden in plain sight.

Ivaim inhaled deeply, trying to shake off the creeping tension. He turned back to the interior of the bakery, his voice steady though his mind remained anything but.

"Can I help you with anything?" Ivaim asked, glancing over his shoulder toward the man.

"We’ve still got some pastries left from this morning. Maybe a loaf of bread, if you’re hungry."

The man didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped into the doorway, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor.

His eyes scanned the bakery slowly, taking in the shelves lined with loaves and the counter filled with sweet treats.

Finally, he spoke.

"I’m not here for pastries." His tone was casual, almost dismissive, but there was an underlying current that made Ivaim’s lips twitch.

Ivaim hesitated, forcing a chuckle to lighten the mood.

"Well, if you’re here for a chat, I’m a good listener too," he said, his smile faint but polite.

The man glanced at him briefly, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes before his expression returned to that unreadable calm.

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His lips curled into another small smile, but he said nothing.

Before Ivaim could press further, a voice rang out from behind the counter, sharp but tinged with the warmth of age and familiarity.

"What are you doing here?!" Grandma Neli’s voice carried a mixture of anger and disbelief.

She emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her eyes, usually soft and kind, were now alight with something fiery.

"I told you never to come back!"

The man turned slowly, his posture remaining relaxed despite the weight in her words.

"Mother..." he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.

"Mother?" Neli snapped, her tone cutting like a blade. Her hands clenched the edge of her apron as she stepped closer.

"Don’t call me that! I lost my son years ago—the moment he joined those cursed arenas that took everything from us. Everything, including his father!"

Ivaim blinked, frozen in place as the weight of her words sank in. He looked between the two, his mind struggling to piece together what he was hearing.

The man’s face twitched, but his expression remained calm.

"I didn’t come here to argue," he said softly. His gaze lingered on her, steady but pained.

"Then why are you here?" Neli demanded, her voice trembling with anger.

"To stir up old wounds? To remind me of what I lost because of your choices?"

"I came to see you," he replied simply, his tone devoid of the sharpness her words carried. "That’s all."

"You gave up that right when you left us for the arenas," Neli said, her voice cracking as she turned away from him.

"You were my son once, but that boy died a long time ago."

The man didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened slightly, and his hands rested loosely at his sides.

Ivaim, unsure of what to do, cleared his throat softly.

"Uh.. I’ll give you guys some space, I’ll head out" he said, his voice quiet, hoping to defuse the situation.

Neli turned to Ivaim, her eyes softening slightly as if remembering he was there.

"No, no, you stay," she said, her voice weary. She looked back at the man, her face hardening again. "He’s leaving."

The man met her gaze for a long moment before giving a slow nod.

"I’ll go," he said. His voice carried no anger, only a quiet resignation. He turned toward the door but paused, looking over his shoulder.

"For what it’s worth... I’m sorry," he said, his words hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Neli didn’t respond, her back rigid as she busied herself at the counter, her trembling hands betraying the storm of emotions beneath her calm facade.

The bakery door creaked softly as the man stepped out, his heavy boots scuffing against the cobblestone before the faint sound of his footsteps disappeared into the distance.

Ivaim stood silently, unsure of what to say. His eyes shifted between the closed door and Grandma Neli’s hunched figure.

The warmth of the bakery seemed almost stifling now, the comforting aroma of bread and pastries unable to chase away the tension lingering in the air.

After a long moment, Neli let out a weary sigh, the sound heavy with years of bottled pain. She turned slightly, her face etched with a mix of guilt and sorrow.

"I’m sorry for that, Ivaim," she said softly, her voice steady but tired. "I’ll explain everything... after dinner."

Ivaim hesitated, wanting to ask more but sensing that now wasn’t the time. Instead, he offered her a small, understanding smile.

"Take your time, Grandma Neli," he replied gently. "I’m here if you need anything."

Her lips curved faintly, though her eyes held a faraway look.

"How kind of you," she murmured, turning back to her work.

Deciding to give her some space, Ivaim stepped closer to the oven. The pastries inside had puffed to perfection, their golden crusts glistening under the warm light.

He grabbed a cloth and carefully slid the tray out, setting it on the counter.

"Let me help with these," he said, his tone light as he tried to ease the lingering tension.

Neli glanced at him and nodded, a hint of gratitude flashing in her tired eyes. "The fillings are on the shelf," she said, her voice steadier now.

Ivaim nodded and retrieved the jars of sweet and savory fillings. Together, they worked in silence, the only sounds in the room the soft rustle of pastry being stuffed and the clinking of utensils.

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As they finished the last batch, Neli paused, her hands stilling over a pastry.

Her gaze lingered on the counter, her expression conflicted.