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A father can be many things.
There are strict fathers—the kind who won’t let you go to a party, or who make you do your homework on Friday afternoon even if it’s only due on Monday.
There are “partner-in-crime” dads who let you do everything your mom wouldn’t, and then take responsibility for it too.
There are fathers who travel a lot, and even if they’re not always there in person, they send beautiful gifts or pull you into a tight hug at the airport when you see them again.
There are fathers you can always count on—no matter what’s wrong, they’re there.
There are fathers like Blitz and Hearth, for Magnus—who may not be his biological parents, but they take care of him in every way that matters, and when needed, they’ll give him a proper fatherly scolding too.
But there are other kinds of fathers.
The ones who leave and never come back.
Or the kind where it would be better if they left.
Like Hearthstone’s father, who was a greedy, selfish man.
Or mine, who wasn’t any better.
I don’t like talking about him. Or thinking about him.
And yet I can’t completely erase him from my memories.
Most of the time, what comes back is the way he used to shout at me. Or the way I’d hear him in the evenings, complaining about me—to his wife, or to his coworkers in the living room.
I have nightmares about him.
About him demanding that I be normal. About him laughing at me and humiliating me, or just completely ignoring me. About him sending me to a girls’ school, even though I’m not always a girl.
I wish these weren’t real memories.
But I have other dreams, too.
They’re rare, that’s for sure. I’m not even sure they’re really my thoughts—more like the thoughts of that kid who spent fourteen years trying to get his father to love him, at least a little.
These dreams are based on memories too—but good ones.
Like when he saw my first pottery piece. He didn’t say it was shit, like he did later, when our relationship got worse.
“You’re incredibly talented, just like your grandfather,” he said. “When you grow up, you’ll make beautiful pieces just like him.”
“And then you’ll be proud of me?” I asked.
“I already am, Alex”
Of course, he probably only said that because he saw an opportunity in it. A way to make even more money.
But I saw it—o-or at least I would’ve sworn I did—a small glint in his eyes that wasn’t about money.
It was because of me.
A part of me really wanted that to be true.
But why?—I ask myself at times like this.-That man is an asshole, a nobody, he hurt you. You have a much better family now. Focus on them.
And I do.
I’m with my friends. My new family. The family of empty cups.
But sometimes, I still think about him.
My father.
Was he really as bad as he is in my memories?
Or was he just a foolish, narrow-minded man, driven mad by my mother?
It’s ridiculous, but I’ve thought about it… about reaching out to him again.
Or just letting him know that I’m alive.
He deserves to know his son is alive, doesn’t he?
Or at least my half-siblings do—they didn’t do anything wrong.
I don’t tell Magnus about any of this.
I don’t know what he’d say. Knowing him, probably something like:
“I’ll always support you, no matter what you decide. But I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to, or something that would hurt you.”
Yeah. He’d probably say something like that.
Or he’d offer to come with me if I decided to visit.
But what if he thought I was completely stupid?
That I’m some kind of masochist who can’t let go of his abusive father?
Or worse—what if he thought they weren’t enough for me?
So I keep these thoughts to myself.
Besides, it’s been almost three years since I last saw my father. Three years since he threw me out and told me never to come back.
Maybe he doesn’t want to see me.
Maybe the Mist made him forget I ever existed.
That thought always fills me with fear.
I don’t even know why.
After all, he’s still my father—the one I spent fourteen years living in the same house with.
The thought that he might have forgotten me… hurts.
“How many times have I told you not to talk to that demon?!”
Even in my dream, my father’s shouting was loud enough to make me clutch at my ears.
There stood my younger self—barely ten years old.
Most ten-year-olds would run away crying if their father spoke to them like that.
But I was already used to it.
I just stood there, silently counting in my head, waiting for it to end.
“But Mom just wanted to talk to me!” my younger self said. “She said she’d help me understand who I am!”
“Your mother wants to harm you! They are a very, very evil being—good God, Alexandra, why can’t you understand that they don’t want to be with you out of love?”
“Mom isn’t evil!” the boy snapped. “And my name is not Alexandra!”
Honestly, this argument was buried so deep in my subconscious that I didn’t even remember it.
I knew I hadn’t always hated Loki. There were times when I felt like he was the only one who understood me.
A cold shiver ran through me.
To him, I must have been like trapped prey—thinking it was free.
“That’s enough! I won’t let that woman-man ruin you! They’ve already caused enough trouble in my marriage!” my father snapped, grabbing my hand and dragging me to my room. “You are not leaving this room for a week, understood? And if I ever find out you’ve had any kind of contact with them again, I’ll send you away from Boston. Somewhere far enough that they won’t find you. Somewhere their power can’t reach.”
“W-what do you mean?” ten-year-old Alex asked.
“You’re going to a boarding school. Somewhere in England.”
I remember how furious I was. I complained that all my friends were here in Boston, that I wasn’t going to leave my siblings or my mother. I told him I hated him.
Then I stormed into my room.
I think it was my stepmother who talked my father out of England. I’ll always be grateful to her for that—even if she was a total bitch.
In the end, he sent me to an elite girls’ school in Boston.
I hated it—but it was better than England.
Where was I?
Right—the dream.
The memory shifted.
“Dad doesn’t want me to talk to you,” my younger self said to the woman sitting beside her.
“Your father wants what’s bad for you,” Loki said, smiling as she pulled her closer. “He wants you to never be free. He wants you to depend only on him, so he can control you. But don’t worry—your mother will always be here and protect you from him.”
My present self shuddered.
If I could have, I would have torn myself out of my mother’s arms.
How did I not notice she was manipulating me?
How did I not see that she was doing exactly what she accused my father of?
I felt sick.
Then the god looked up.
Her eyes gleamed like a lion’s, just after it caught the antelope.
I woke up.
I sat up in bed and threw off the blanket.
At the same time, I was freezing in my thin pajamas and burning inside. My chest felt like it was on fire. I was completely soaked in sweat.
Great.
I tried lying back down, tried to calm my breathing and my heartbeat.
It didn’t work.
So I did what I always do when I’m upset.
I grabbed the nearest vase and smashed it against the floor.
Then another.
Then another.
I kept going until my hands were covered in blood from the shards.
Then I collapsed onto the floor and started crying.
It felt good—letting the tension out.
After that, I could finally fall asleep again.
The next morning at breakfast, I noticed something strange.
Magnus was looking at me like I might explode at any second. TJ shot me a similarly worried glance, while Mallory and Halfborn were whispering. (Yes, apparently they can whisper. Why they haven’t used that until now, I have no idea. I was hoping it meant Valhalla would wake up less often to their yelling.)
“Good morning,” I said.
“Hey, Alex,” Halfborn smiled. It looked forced. “So… how did you sleep?”
Mallory kicked him under the table.
“Idiot! He had a complete breakdown last night! You absolute moron! You had one job—keep your mouth shut!”
“Mallory!” TJ cut in immediately, but it was too late.
“You heard? Oh gods…” I buried my face in my hands. “How much did you hear?”
“Well… aside from the crashing and the crying, not much,” TJ said, trying to salvage the situation.
“That was everything,” I muttered.
“Yeah, but we weren’t trying to eavesdrop,” Magnus said, giving me a small, careful smile as he took my hand. “Is something bothering you?”
Out of reflex, I almost pulled my hand away and said something sharp, but I stopped myself.
He’s my boyfriend. Not my enemy.
“It’s nothing, just… personal,” I said.
Magnus nodded and gently squeezed my hand, letting me know he understood.
“Aww, you two are adorable,” Mallory muttered sarcastically. “But I couldn’t sleep last night because I was worried sick about you, Fierro! So either this doesn’t happen again, or I don’t know… find a therapist!”
“And I’m the rude one?” Halfborn grumbled.
“N-no, Mallory’s right,” I cut in.
Everyone turned to look at me.
“R-really?” Mallory blinked. “I’m right?”
“Alex,” Magnus said calmly, “are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes. Well—not the therapist part. That’s a bit much. But I think… there’s someone I need to talk to.”
“You sounded really upset on the phone, brother,” Sam said as we walked through the park.
“Y-yeah. There’s something I want to talk about, but… I don’t know how to start.”
“Is it about Loki?”
“K-kind of. But he’s not the main point. It’s more about… my father.”
Samirah’s eyes narrowed at that. Not surprising—I don’t talk about my father much.
“I’m listening” she said, sitting down on a bench and patting the space beside her.
So I told her everything.
That I’ve been dreaming about my father. Good dreams—the kind that make me wake up crying, wondering why it couldn’t have stayed like that.
And nightmares—about him arguing with me. Because I’m genderfluid. Because I was born outside his marriage—which, by the way, is 100% his fault. Because I’m “disrespectful,” or because I don’t want to take over his business.
“A-and lately… I’ve been having dreams where we argue because of Loki,” I finished.
“Let me guess,” Sam said. “He didn’t want you spending time with him, but back then you didn’t understand why.”
“I knew he thought he was evil. But he seemed just as bad. I think… I couldn’t tell the difference between selfish and evil. Especially when the real evil one was such a good manipulator.”
Samirah placed a hand on my arm.
“I understand. Loki once tried to separate me from my mother too. But considering that my mom was a truly…” Her eyes grew wet. “…a truly kind-hearted woman, I always saw through the lies. I was very close with her.”
“She must have been amazing,” I said, trying to comfort her when I saw she was on the verge of tears. I should’ve known. Samirah’s mother is a sensitive topic—we don’t usually bring her up.
“I-I’m fine. Really,” she said, pulling herself together. “This is about you. What do you want to do?”
“Well, I… I was thinking about visiting my father.”
Samirah’s eyes widened.
“Alex—”
“I know!”
“But he—”
“I know!”
“And if he—”
“Samirah!” I cut her off. “I know what he was like. But… he really was trying to protect me from Loki. I was angry at him for it, but he just didn’t want Loki to hurt me. If he was right about that… what if he was right about other things too?”
“Alex,” my sister began, “there’s no excuse for the way he treated you.”
“Everyone can make terrible mistakes, Sam. And it’s not like I’m planning to move back in with him or fall into his arms. But we both have unfinished business. I need to talk to him about what happened. I need to get closure, or I feel like it’s going to eat me alive. I can’t keep this inside anymore.”
“Are you sure you’re capable of seeing him again?” Sam asked.
“I am,” I whispered.
My sister nodded.
“Alright. But don’t go there alone.”
“I’m not planning to,” I said with a small smile.
“Wow. Your father really does have a big house,” Magnus noted.
He was probably just trying to ease the tension.
We were standing in front of my old home.
My childhood.
And I was terrified.
My hands were shaking. I remembered what it felt like when he threw me out.
“Hey… do you want to turn back?” he asked.
“No. I… I’m ready. I’m sure.” I smiled at him.
He leaned in and kissed me. If anything, that was a pretty good confidence booster.
“Then knock.” He whispered.
I let out a breath and slowly raised my hand, tapping my knuckles against the door.
After a few tense seconds, the door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out.
“Alex?”