Opening her eyes took effort. Her eyelids felt glued shut, weighted down with something crusty and wet. Her body didn't respond when she tried to move.

  But she felt, someone was holding her. When was the last time someone had held her? Had anyone ever held her like this, like she was something precious that might break?

  Voices filtered through the fog. A woman's voice. "Then take care of your mistake!"

  A man's frustrated but controlled voice, "It's not that I forced you or you were unwilling." There was an edge to his words, something defensive. "It's also your mistake. Why should I take responsibility alone?"

  Her sluggish brain tried to process this. Mistake? What mistake? Where was she? The last thing she remembered was—

  Ohh... I actually died. Truck-kun got me.

  The realization should have been terrifying. Instead, she felt a rush of excitement. The woman's voice cut through her thoughts. "Well, I endured that responsibility during labor!" She said. "If you don't want responsibility, then you go through labor!"

  Labor? Wait—

  Sudden movement. She felt herself being transferred from one set of hands to another. The first hands had been cold. The new hands were warmer, larger, and holding her with all the confidence of someone who'd just been handed a live grenade and had no idea which end was supposed to explode.

  She managed to crack her eyes open. Just enough to see blurred shapes—a woman's back, black hair like night sky, moving away. The woman was tall, wearing something that shimmered with every step.

  "Wait—" The man's voice, closer now, right above her. "What does this thing even eat?! It doesn't even have teeth!"

  Thing? Did he just call me a THING?

  The woman didn't slow down. She raised one hand without looking back, and the air in front of her tore, splitting apart like fabric to reveal swirling light, violet and silver, crackling with energy. A portal.

  Oh my GOD. Magic is real. Portals are real. I'm in a fantasy world. This is happening. This is actually happening.

  The woman stepped through the portal without hesitation, without a single glance backward. The portal snapped shut with a sound of thunder, and then silence.

  The man stood there. She could feel his stillness. His arms stayed locked around her in that same awkward grip. One minute passed. Then two. He didn't move or speak. Just stood there holding her like he was waiting for her to spontaneously combust or maybe for someone to come back and tell him this was all a joke.

  She tried to move her head, to look up at him, but her neck muscles were useless. This body was brand new and had zero muscle control.

  Come on, she thought desperately. Work with me here. I need to see him. I need to know what kind of situation I've landed in.

  She focused every ounce of willpower she had into the simple act of tilting her head back. Slowly her head lolled to the side, then back. And she saw his face.

  Her newborn brain didn't have the capacity for that kind of surprise. Silver hair cascading down like a waterfall of moonlight, falling past his shoulders in waves. A few strands hung over his forehead. And his face.

  Oh no. Oh wow. This is a problem.

  Sharp jawline. High cheekbones that belonged in marble statues. A straight nose. Lips pressed into a thin line. And his eyes. Red. Deep, burning crimson, the color of blood. Those eyes were currently staring down at her.

  Wow... He's gorgeous. I think I would forgive him for calling me a thing.

  Now she tried to be rational. So I got abandoned by my mother, who was also beautiful based on that half-second glimpse. And this man, my father, presumably, is holding me like I'm a bomb. But look at him. Maybe... maybe this won't be so bad? I mean, I've read enough manhwa to know that men who look like this are either dukes, demon lords, or overpowered mages with tragic backstories and severe communication issues. I can absolutely work with this.

  The man's eyes narrowed slightly. He tilted his head, "Hmm." He shifted his grip, holding her up slightly to get a better angle. Her head flopped back. She had no neck control. This was humiliating.

  "So you really don't have teeth, huh."

  I'M A BABY. BABIES DON'T HAVE TEETH. THIS IS BASIC BIOLOGY.

  He leaned closer, peering at her face. "And you're kind of..." He paused, like he was searching for the right word. "Ugly."

  EXCUSE ME?! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!

  "Are you even my child?"

  WHAT.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Every cell in her tiny body went rigid with indignation. If she'd had control over her limbs, she would have flailed. If she'd had teeth, she would have bitten him. If she'd had the lung capacity and vocabulary, she would have delivered a speech about basic human decency and the social contract and how you don't call newborns ugly even if they are objectively kind of weird-looking because that's just rude.

  But she was a newborn. So what came out was: "WAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

  HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME UGLY! I KNOW I'M A NEWBORN! I KNOW NEWBORNS AREN'T WINNING ANY BEAUTY CONTESTS! BUT YOU DON'T JUST SAY IT!

  The man's expression didn't change. He held her at arm's length now, watching her cry with detached interest. "Loud, too," he muttered.

  She cried harder, her little face scrunching up, her tiny fists waving uselessly in the air. Tears leaked from her eyes. You're handsome, okay?! I'll give you that! You're very handsome! But that doesn't give you the right to insult a literal newborn who can't even defend herself! I have feelings! I have pride!

  Even if you're my father, and that's still up for debate apparently, I will not tolerate this disrespect!

  The man sighed. He pulled her back against his chest, adjusting his grip slightly, and started walking. She kept crying. He kept walking.

  She caught glimpses between sobs. High ceilings. Torches flickering in metal brackets mounted on walls. The man stopped suddenly. She hiccupped mid-wail, startled into temporary silence.

  He was looking down at her again, his red eyes focused on her forehead. "Well," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "you didn't take after your mother in the looks department."

  STOP TALKING RIGHT NOW.

  "She's the continent's beauty. The epitome of it, actually."

  I DON'T CARE.

  "But that silver hair..." His gaze moved to the wisps of hair on her head. She couldn't see them, obviously, but apparently they were silver like him.

  "And that birthmark on your forehead."

  She felt his finger touch her forehead—just a light brush against her skin.

  He paused, his eyes moving from her forehead to meet her gaze. "And purple eyes like your mother's."

  So I have her coloring. At least I didn't end up looking like a potato. Well, more than newborns normally look like potatoes.

  His jaw tightened slightly. "Undeniable that you are indeed our child."

  Thank You. Finally. You Acknowledg Me.

  "Unfortunately."

  I TAKE IT BACK. I TAKE EVERYTHING BACK. YOU'RE THE WORST. I DON'T CARE HOW HANDSOME YOU ARE, YOU'RE GOING ON MY LIST.

  She started crying again, full volume this time, no holding back. "Stop." He said. But she didn't stop.

  "I said stop."

  She cried harder, putting every ounce of her frustration and disappointment into this wail. You think you can just insult me and I'll be quiet?! You think I'm going to make this easy for you?! Think again, buddy! I've got lungs! I've got time! I've got nothing to lose!

  Suddenly a sound cut through her crying. The man's head snapped toward it. She kept crying, too upset to care about mysterious noises. His eyes scanned the darkness beyond the torchlight, then dropped back to her.

  "Can't you see I'm kind of busy?" he said, his tone conversational, almost polite, but not directed at her.

  Three figures shambled into the flickering light. Green-gray skin. They wore scraps of leather and filthy cloth, carried weapons that were more rust than metal. Goblins.

  Her crying cut off abruptly. One of the goblins pointed at the man with its axe and screeched. The man glanced at them. "Do you know how to stop a child from crying?"

  The goblins stared at him. One of them tilted its head, genuinely confused.

  "No?" The man's tone was perfectly pleasant. "Then don't waste my time."

  The goblins charged. She felt the man's posture shift. One arm stayed wrapped securely around her. The other rose, palm up, fingers slightly spread. He said a single word.

  "Igneocarous."

  The air above his palm ignited. Massive spheres of fire bloomed into existence—one, two, three, four, five of them. They cast flickering orange light across the stone walls. The temperature rose. She felt the heat wash over her. The fireballs hovered for half a heartbeat. Then they launched.

  The goblins didn't have time to scream. The fireballs hit them center-mass and exploded, engulfing them in flames so bright she had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, the goblins were gone. Ash drifted through the air like snow. Scorch marks blackened the stone floor where they'd been standing. The man lowered his hand.

  She stared at the ash, her tiny brain struggling desperately to process what she'd just witnessed.

  That was... He just... He said one word and they died. Complete incineration in under three seconds.

  She slowly tilted her head back to look up at him. He was already looking down at her, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Hmm," he said. "Was that interesting enough to make you forget crying?"

  You... you just... What kind of person... What level of power...

  He nodded, seeming satisfied. "Good. Maybe you're smarter than you look."

  I... I don't... Should I be terrified Impressed? Both? Definitely both.

  He adjusted his grip on her, shifting her so she was cradled more securely against his chest, and started walking again.

  This time she didn't cry. She thought faintly. Assessment time.

  My father, assuming that's what he is, just casually murdered three goblins without breaking a sweat or pausing his conversation. He's also emotionally stunted, has the parenting instincts of a rock, and called me ugly three times.

  But he's powerful. And... and he kept me safe. He didn't drop me during the fight. Didn't even shift me to his other arm. Just... kept holding me while he incinerated them.

  So maybe...

  Maybe I just need to teach him how to be a proper father?

  Yeah. I can do that.

  I've read enough manhwa to know this trope. Cold, distant father figure slowly warms up to adorable daughter through her persistent affection. Classic. Totally workable.

  I just need to—

  The man stopped walking. She felt him raise his free hand and snap his fingers. Snap.

  The world lurched. Reality twisted and... Thud.

  She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. They were in a completely different place. A massive space so large she couldn't see the far walls even when she tried to crane her neck. Bookshelves towered above them, stretching up and up and up until they disappeared into shadow that might have been ceiling or might have been infinity.

  Some of the shelves were floating. Suspended in midair with no visible support, rotating slowly like planets in orbit around some invisible sun. Books drifted through the air like lazy birds, their pages fluttering even though there was no wind. Some were open, displaying text in languages she didn't recognize. One passed close enough that she could see the words on its pages were moving, rearranging themselves into new sentences. Staircases spiraled upward in impossible directions—some upside-down, some sideways, some leading to nowhere at all, just ending in mid-air. Glowing orbs of soft white light floated in air.

  What... what is this place? This is like every fantasy library I've ever read about except more.

  A voice cut through her awe—high-pitched, panicked, on the verge of tears. "MASTER! MASTER, YOU'RE BACK! OH THANK THE GOD!"