Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 56: A Soft Longing

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, the warmth from the oven filling the air. She looked up towards Ivaim as they both entered.

"It is a humble bakery, don’t mind it." she said in a soft low tone. "I’m too old to clean the entire bakery, I hope you don’t mind that it’s dusty in here."

Ivaim chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck.

"I promised to help, didn’t I? I can’t just leave you here all alone."

The old woman gave a light chuckle, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

This chapter is updat𝓮d by freēnovelkiss.com.

"Well, if this were just a few days ago, I’d be thinking you’re here to rob me," she said with a mischievous smile. "But today, I’m feeling generous. Consider yourself lucky."

’I do.’

Ivaim’s lips curled into a subtle smile, his thoughts drifting to himself.

"First things first," the old woman said, her voice tinged with amusement, "you look like you need a proper bath. Don’t think you’re getting near my bread with that smell."

Ivaim smiled in embarrassment, his face flushing slightly. "I know. I... I’ve been meaning to clean up."

He gestured awkwardly to himself.

"Don’t worry," she responded, "I’ve seen worse. You look like you could use a clean-up. I’ll give you some clothes, too. You can’t be wandering around like that."

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped when she gave him a firm look. "Come with me."

Ivaim followed her into a small backroom. It smelled of herbs and old wood, a sharp contrast to the fresh bread smell in the front. She rummaged through a wooden chest, her hands shaking a bit from age as she pulled out a set of clothes.

"These belonged to my son," she said quietly, holding out the clothes. "He’s been gone for years now, and I’ve got no use for them."

Ivaim hesitated, feeling the weight of her words. She had clearly lost someone dear to her, and yet, here she was offering him the clothes that had once belonged to her son.

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Thank you," he muttered, accepting the clothes.

After he’d cleaned up, he changed into the faded clothes of the woman’s late son. They were too big for him, but they fit better than his ragged ones.

When he returned to the front of the bakery, the old woman didn’t say anything immediately. She simply nodded in approval, the faintest smile on her lips.

"You look better now," she said, her voice softer than before. "Come, sit. I’ll make you something to eat."

Ivaim smiled gratefully and sat down at one of the small wooden tables. The warmth of the bakery enveloped him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he might actually be able to rest.

The old woman set a simple meal in front of him—bread, cheese, and some warm soup.

"Eat up," she said gently. "You’ve got a long way to go if you plan to help me out."

Ivaim took the first bite, his body finally starting to relax. The food was simple, but it was the most comforting thing he’d had since arriving in this fractured world.

"Thank you," he said, his voice a bit hoarse. "I’m sorry for showing up like this, but I really didn’t know where else to go."

The old woman gave a small shrug, her eyes softening. "You’ll be all right. You help me with the bakery, and I’ll help you figure out your place here. No one should be alone in a world like this."

Ivaim was quiet, his thoughts drifting back to his original world.

His eyes seemed to lose focus as his thoughts drifted back to his original world, to his home...

To the sound of his mother’s gentle voice. He could almost hear it now, soft and warm, as she spoke at the dinner table while he ate.

’I wonder how mom is doing...’

...

A few days later, Ivaim had settled into a routine of sorts. He was still clumsy, still figuring out the art of baking, but he had made progress. He would rise early each morning, helping the old woman prepare for the day’s work.

He wasn’t yet skilled enough to do much on his own, but the woman’s patience was endless, her instructions kind but firm.

This morning, he stood by the counter, attempting to roll out dough for the loaves, his movements stiff and unsure.

The flour-coated surface was already starting to resemble a battlefield, with dough sticking to his hands and his apron smeared with more flour than it should have been.

A small mound of dough, which was supposed to be a neat, round ball, now looked like a sad, misshapen blob.

The old woman, who was sweeping the floor nearby, glanced over at him and let out a soft chuckle.

"You’re making more of a mess than I do, young man," she said, her voice amused but gentle.

Ivaim froze for a moment, looking at his hands in defeat.

"I didn’t think it would be this hard," he admitted, glancing at the woman with a sheepish grin. "I mean, I’m trying... but this dough doesn’t seem to like me."

She shook her head with a smile, her voice soft with a wisdom borne of years.

"Dough doesn’t like anyone when they rush it. You’ve got to be patient with it, give it time."

He sighed, trying to follow her advice, but his hands were still too clumsy to make it work. He worked the dough again, this time slower, more deliberate. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better.

Ivaim furrowed his eyebrows, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It was clear the old woman wasn’t expecting perfection, but that didn’t make him feel any less self-conscious.

His stomach growled loudly in the stillness of the room, drawing a small laugh from the woman.

"How long’s it been since you had a proper meal, huh?" she asked, her tone teasing but kind.

Ivaim gave her a small grin. "A while, actually. This morning’s breakfast wasn’t exactly filling."

"Well, no wonder you’re making a mess." She handed him a fresh loaf of bread from the oven, the scent rich and warm. "Take a break, eat this. It’ll help."

Ivaim didn’t need to be told twice. He accepted the bread gratefully, tearing off a chunk and savoring the warm, soft texture.

The quiet comfort of the bakery, the smell of fresh bread, and the simple task of kneading dough were starting to ground him, offering a small sense of normalcy in a world that still felt foreign.

The old woman, watching him with a quiet smile, turned back to the shelves, her movements smooth and purposeful, yet carrying a calm ease. The rhythmic sound of her work filled the space, a steady hum that matched the quiet warmth of the bakery.

Suddenly, the soft chime of a bell rang out from the doorway, signaling the arrival of a customer.

"Ah, a customer," the old woman said, glancing up from her work with a light smile. "Ivaim, dear, go see what they need."

Ivaim nodded and made his way toward the counter, his eyes scanning the doorway. A small boy stepped inside, his wavy black hair catching the light as he entered.

His presence was unexpected, and Ivaim’s eyes widened in surprise as he took in the familiar face.

"Reves?"