My Daughter Called Me Uncle

Chapter 003

The roar of the Toyota’s engine faded into the distance, leaving only the rhythmic drumming of a lighter rain against the asphalt. The three cars vanished into the grey mist of Riverbend, and for a long moment, Derek Faulkner simply stood there.

His body felt heavy, his mind a chaotic storm of words he wanted to say but couldn't find the breath to utter. The silence that followed the confrontation was more painful than the shouting. It was the silence of eight years of missed birthdays, missed scraped knees, and a life he had never witnessed.

Summer storms in the Empire were always like this—furious and brief. As the clouds began to fracture, a sudden, brilliant light pierced through the gloom.

Lemon Faulkner was still shivering, her clothes clinging to her frail frame, but her attention had shifted. She was a child of the storm, and she knew how to find the beauty in the aftermath. She reached out a small, pale hand, pointing toward the eastern horizon.

"Uncle... look! It’s a rainbow!"

Her voice was small, filled with a sudden, pure wonder that seemed to wash away the memory of Peter Yates and his cruelty. To her, the rainbow was a bridge across the sky, a promise that the darkness wouldn't last forever.

Derek looked up. A vibrant arc of seven colors spanned the skyline, shimmering against the receding grey clouds.

"Yes," Derek whispered, his voice thick with a suppressed sob. "It’s a rainbow. They say that when the rain stops and the rainbow appears, it means everything is going to be alright from now on."

He looked at her, his heart swelling with a resolve that surpassed any military oath he had ever taken. He wasn't leaving again. The war on the Northern Front was over for him. He had fulfilled his duty to the Empire as the Supreme Warlord. Now, he had a more important mission: he was going to be the father this little girl deserved.

"Will it really?" Lemon asked, her eyes searching his face with a mixture of hope and doubt. She bit her lip, then seemed to gather a sudden, desperate courage. "Uncle... can I ask you for a very, very big favor?"

Derek felt like he had been struck by lightning. He froze, his gaze locking onto hers. "Anything. What do you want me to do?"

He would have given her the moon if she asked for it. He would have torn down the stars to light her room. He would have offered his own life force to heal her blood.

His intensity seemed to startle her. Lemon took a half-step back, her fingers tightening around the soggy, pulpy remains of her Good Student certificate. But her need was greater than her fear. She looked up at him, her voice a timid whisper.

"I... I want you to pretend to be my Dad."

Derek’s world stopped.

"I got another award today," she continued, her words rushing out now. "And tomorrow is the parent-teacher meeting. Everyone... everyone always laughs at me. They call me a 'bastard' and a 'wild child.' I just want them to stop. Just for one day."

She looked down at the mud, then held out her other hand. In her palm was the lollipop—the one she had been accused of stealing.

"I... I'll pay you," she said solemnly. "This was my prize from my homeroom teacher. It’s the best thing I have. If you come to the meeting and pretend to be my Dad, you can have it."

Derek felt his spirit shatter into a thousand jagged pieces. This was his daughter’s most precious possession, and she was offering it to him—a stranger—just for a few hours of dignity. The Imperial Sage, the man whose word could move mountains, was rendered speechless by a seven-year-old’s bribe.

He was about to pull her into his arms and tell her the truth when a sharp, hysterical voice cut through the air.

"Let go of Lemon! Get away from her!"

Derek spun around. Charging through the thinning crowd was a woman in her fifties, wearing the neon-orange vest of a municipal street sweeper. Her face was etched with deep lines of exhaustion and worry, her hands calloused and stained.

It was Patricia Hartwell. His mother-in-law.

Ten years ago, Derek had been a broken man, a soldier left for dead in the rain after his Master had sacrificed everything to save him. It was Serena Ashford who had found him, and it was Patricia who had agreed to let him into their home as a live-in son-in-law. Back then, they weren't rich, but they were happy.

"Ma..." Derek started, his voice trembling with a decade of unspoken apologies.

"Don't you 'Ma' me!" Patricia screamed, her eyes blazing with a visceral, white-hot hatred. She lunged forward, snatching Lemon from Derek’s side and pulling the girl behind her. "You coward! You animal! You left us when the Ashford family threw us out! You left Serena while she was pregnant and alone!"

She didn't know about the secret orders, the Northern Front, or the Dragon Standard. All she saw was the man who had abandoned her daughter in her darkest hour.

"I didn't... I didn't know," Derek whispered, but the words felt hollow.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Patricia’s voice cracked. "Lemon, we're going home. This man is a monster. You stay away from him!"

"But Grandma, the Uncle is a good man! He saved me!" Lemon cried out, her small voice full of confusion.

"A good man? If he’s a good man, then there are no devils left in the Inferno!" Patricia hissed. She looked at Derek, her face contorted with grief. "If you ever come near this child again, I will kill you myself. I swear it on my life!"

Derek stood there, his head bowed. If it were anyone else—a decorated veteran or a spoiled heir—he would have leveled them with a glance. But this was the woman who had once treated him like a son. He deserved her wrath.

Slap!

Patricia’s hand caught him across the cheek. It wasn't a hard blow, not compared to the wounds he had taken in the Deadlands, but it burned with the weight of eight years of suffering. Derek didn't move. He didn't flinch. He simply stood there, accepting the penance.

"Let's go!" Patricia growled, dragging Lemon away by the hand.

Lemon looked back over her shoulder as she was pulled into the distance. Her eyes met Derek’s. She didn't see the Supreme Warlord; she saw the man who had promised her a rainbow. She raised her left hand, still holding the lollipop, and gave him a tiny, hopeful nod.

The message was clear: Please. Don't forget tomorrow.

Derek watched them until they were nothing more than specks in the distance. The cold rain began to fall again, but his heart was a furnace. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over a contact that few in the world even knew existed.

"I want the location of Peter Yates," Derek said, his voice a low, terrifying vibration. "I want it in five minutes."

He didn't ask for a background check. He didn't ask for a legal brief. He was the Imperial Sage; he was the law.

The call ended, and a thousand miles away, the most powerful men in the Empire began to tremble. In Riverbend, the phone of Lionel Graves, the wealthiest man in Riverbend, began to ring.

Lionel Graves answered on the first ring, his voice shaking. "I... yes! Yes, your Excellency! I will handle it immediately! I'm going to the Blue Horizon Club right now!"

When the billionaire hung up, he was drenched in a cold sweat. He didn't know who Peter Yates was, but he knew that if the man had offended the Imperial Sage, Riverbend was about to witness a reckoning.

At that same moment, the Blue Horizon Club was a den of hedonism. Bass-heavy music throbbed through the walls, and the scent of expensive gin and expensive perfume filled the air.

Peter Yates slammed the door to his private V.I.P. suite, his face a bruised purple from the kick he’d received earlier. He was fuming, his pride stung more than his ribs.

"Get Serena Ashford in here!" he roared at a cowering secretary. "That b***h thinks she’s still a highborn lady? She thinks she can keep rejecting me while her brat is dying of leukemia? I pay her wages! I pay for those hospital visits!"

He grabbed a bottle of scotch and took a long, jagged swallow. "She wants money for the kid? Fine. But tonight, she pays the price. I’m going to make her watch the video of that little brat crying in the mud, and then I’m going to break her."

A few minutes later, the heavy oak doors opened.

Serena Ashford walked in. Even in the cheap, tight-fitting skirt of a club hostess, she carried herself with a grace that the other women of the Abyssal Lounge could only dream of. Her face was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights at Riverbend General Hospital, but her beauty was still a legendary thing—a sharp, tragic radiance.

She saw the rage in Peter’s eyes and felt a cold knot of dread tighten in her stomach. She knew why she was here. The medical bills were due tomorrow. If she didn't get an advance on her salary, Lemon would be kicked out of the specialist ward.

She took a deep breath, clutching her hands together to hide their shaking. She was ready to endure anything for her daughter. She was ready for the insults, the groping, and the humiliation.

What she wasn't ready for was the storm that was currently racing toward the club—a storm named Derek Faulkner.