Chapter 5: Chapter 5 — What Kind of Child Uses a Skeleton for a Pillow

The book was monstrously thick—and impossibly abstruse.

Even an adult might struggle to read it, let alone a five-year-old fledgling.

Yet there sat Chloé on the velvet sofa, her expression grave, lips pressed into a thin line, a tome as heavy as a brick cradled solemnly in her tiny hands.

Xavier lounged across from her, reclining with practiced ease, one leg crossed over the other, idly twirling a pen between his long fingers.

After what felt like an eternity, his voice broke the silence.

“Can you recite it now?”

Chloé lifted her head from behind the book, face utterly blank. “No.”

“Truly can’t, or pretending not to?”

She offered no reply.

With a sigh, Xavier rose, leaned forward, and leisurely pulled the book from her grasp.

Flipping it open, his tone cooled. “Recite.”

Chloé clamped her lips shut and refused to utter a single word.

When the silence stretched on too long, Xavier set the book aside, his gaze inscrutable.

“Why won’t you do it here? What are you resisting?”

Ignoring the question entirely, Chloé said evenly, “I’ll go find Corvin to recite with.”

A sharp chill crept into Xavier’s voice. “If you refuse, you might as well say goodbye to your other fang.”

He referred, of course, to the two small fangs every vampire fledgling possessed. Due to an earlier “incident,” Chloé now had only one remaining.

As expected, that jab hit its mark.

Chloé’s glare was fierce enough to cut glass, but Xavier remained unmoved.

After a moment of silent calculation, she conceded defeat. With her current strength, she couldn’t so much as scratch him. She would have to grow stronger.

So, grudgingly, she began.

In front of Xavier, she recited the first five pages of the ancient tome—flawlessly, without a single error, her pronunciation clear and precise.

For a five-year-old who had seen the book for less than three hours, it was nothing short of otherworldly.

Xavier’s eyes darkened slightly. He closed the tome, dismissed her for the day, and instructed her not to slack off. He would be checking her progress often.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Chloé accepted the book with a perfunctory nod and all but fled his study.

Only after her small figure vanished from sight did Xavier return his attention to the papers on his desk.

After a long, pensive pause, he summoned Corvin.

Vampires moved swiftly; the higher their rank, the more control they had over the minds of those below them. It took Corvin mere moments to arrive.

“My lord,” he said, bowing. “What are your orders?”

Xavier tapped the metal cap of his pen rhythmically against the desk, each click sharp as a heartbeat.

“My fledgling seems... rather fond of you.”

The tone revealed nothing—neither warmth nor warning.

Cold sweat beaded at the back of Corvin’s neck. “Perhaps... because I was the first to rescue her, sire.”

Xavier’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Is that all?”

Corvin hesitated. “...Most likely.”

No response followed.

Xavier’s mind wandered back to the day she had been taken. He had been attending to state matters then, of course.

Among vampires, blood ties meant little. Even direct lineage seldom warranted special treatment—least of all from the Progenitor himself.

And yet... something in him stirred uneasily. He could not deny the truth: no good father would abandon a five-year-old to a breeding center, nor remain absent when she was stolen away.

For one as proud as Xavier, the realization was almost foreign—he had done something wrong.

Still, he reasoned, a child as gifted as Chloé—whether for sentiment or for the future of their kind—deserved proper care.

“Tell me,” he said at last, his tone quiet, almost uncertain, “what do five-year-olds generally like?”

Or rather—what might win her favor?

Corvin’s lips twitched despite himself. It seemed this father-daughter bond needed no intervention after all.

Chloé, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware of the conversation.

All she knew was that the next morning, she received... a skeleton pillow.

Yes—literally, a skeleton.

A complete, hardened human skeleton, carefully preserved through some arcane vampire process so that it would not decay. Its bones gleamed a pristine ivory, smooth and unblemished.

Chloé stared up at the towering structure—taller than she was—and asked flatly,

“Are you sure this is meant to be a pillow?”

“Yes, little miss,” replied the servant, tone calm and faintly proud. “It is the most popular toy among young vampire fledglings in recent years. Most use them as cuddle pillows.”

He added, reassuringly, “And rest assured, miss—the skeleton’s source is entirely legal. We’ve long had contracts with the human world.”

Chloé blinked. “...Do you think that’s what I’m worried about? Who in their right mind would sleep with this thing?”

Wouldn’t it be hard and cold?

Her question earned only a blank stare from the servant.

Realizing the conversation was going nowhere, Chloé sighed. “Never mind. You can go. I’ll... keep it.”

The servant nodded, turning to leave—only for Chloé to call after him, “Wait. Who sent this?”

His smile brightened instantly. “It was a gift from the Progenitor himself, miss. His lordship cares for you deeply.”

Chloé: “...”

Of course. Him again.

Her desire to overthrow her father intensified tenfold.

Once alone, she shut the door and eyed the skeleton with open disgust.

What kind of normal child would like this?

Then again, this was the vampire race. Perhaps this was their idea of adorable.

She could understand it... in theory. But agree with it? Never.

With great effort, she dragged the skeleton to the farthest corner of her room, threw a white sheet over it, and patted the fabric down firmly.

Out of sight, out of mind.

That done, she climbed back onto her bed, spread open the massive tome, and resumed her recitation.

Xavier had given her three days. She despised him—but she would meet his challenge.

In her previous life, in that apocalyptic world teeming with death, her greatest skill had been observation and memorization of terrain—an instinct that had kept her alive in countless battles.

Now that she finally had peace, she wished to test the limits of her memory again.

Memorization was, after all, the simplest and purest form of discipline.

And so, for the next three days—whether in the manor or at school—Chloé carried that colossal book in her tiny bat-shaped backpack, reading and reciting whenever she could.

Three days passed swiftly.

The time had come for Xavier to test her progress.