You have to make her fall in love with you

Kier left Maga's cave with a heavy mind. The goddess had given him no real answers, only a demand—Nana had to willingly give up her fingers for the ritual.

It was ridiculous. How was he supposed to convince a child to do that?

Frustration burned in his chest as he made his way back to the village. He didn't return to his throne or his chambers. Instead, he went to the old museum, a place most people in the village ignored. It was filled with ancient scrolls, forgotten books, and relics from a time before his rule. If there was any knowledge left that could help him, it would be here.

The room smelled of dust and old paper. Shelves stretched high, filled with worn-out books and crumbling scrolls. Some were in languages he barely remembered. Others were written by men long dead, their words now useless.

He ran a hand over one of the shelves, scanning the titles, searching for anything about breaking bonds, stopping fate, undoing the gods' will. But nothing stood out.

A soft rustling made him pause.

The black raven swooped in through the open window, landing smoothly on the wooden table nearby. It flapped its wings once before settling, tilting its head at him.

"You look like a man drowning," the bird said, amusement in its tone. "What's wrong, Kier? Has fate finally caught up with you?"

Kier didn't answer right away. He pulled out a book and flipped through the brittle pages, barely paying attention.

"I need answers," he muttered.

The raven hopped closer. "About the girl?"

Kier shot the bird a sharp look. The raven only cackled.

"Thought so," it said. "You went to Maga, didn't you? Let me guess, she told you something impossible again?"

Kier exhaled slowly, shutting the book with more force than necessary. "She wants the girl's fingers."

The raven let out a low whistle. "Ouch. And she has to give them up willingly?"

Kier didn't reply.

The bird laughed. "Oh, this is bad. Even for you."

Kier pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "There has to be another way."

The raven clicked its beak. "And you think you'll find it here? In these old pages?"

"I have to try," Kier said simply.

The bird watched him for a moment before ruffling its feathers. "You know, for someone who claims to feel nothing, you sure are going through a lot of trouble for this girl."

Kier ignored that. Instead, he grabbed another book and started flipping through it, determined to find something—anything—that could change his fate.

The raven flapped its wings and let out a sharp cackle. "I've never seen you this hardworking before, Kier. Flipping through books like some desperate scholar. Is this what the mighty Devourer has been reduced to?"

Kier shot the bird a warning look, but the raven wasn't fazed. It hopped onto the stack of books, pecking at the pages as if mocking his efforts.

"You know," the raven continued, "there's an easier way to do this."

Kier didn't respond, still scanning the text in front of him.

"Win the girl's trust," the raven said smoothly. "Be kind. Smile a little—well, maybe not too much, you might scare her more. But you get the idea. If she starts to like you, you can get whatever you want from her."

Kier's fingers tightened around the book.

"Make her fall for you," the raven went on, tilting its head. "And then, when the time comes… take what you need and get rid of her."

Silence stretched between them.

Kier closed the book, his jaw clenched. "I don't play games."

"This isn't a game," the raven said. "This is survival. The gods have tied you to her, but that doesn't mean you have to keep her around forever."

Kier exhaled slowly. He hated how logical the raven sounded. If he wanted Nana to willingly cut herself, he needed her trust. And the only way to get it was to act like he cared.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

Still, there was no other way.

Finally, he stood up, pushing the book aside. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll do what needs to be done."

The raven let out a pleased croak. "That's the spirit."

The raven fluffed its feathers and smirked—at least, as much as a bird could smirk. "Now, let's talk about love, Kier."

Kier froze mid-step, his expression darkening.

The raven continued, undeterred. "See, love is all about patience, soft words, and maybe even a little—"

"Enough." Kier's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

The raven blinked, then chuckled. "Oh? So you already know how to be charming?"

Kier turned away, his shoulders tense. "I don't need your advice. I can handle this myself."

The raven let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. But don't come crying to me when she looks at you like you're some terrifying beast."

Kier shot the bird a glare before walking out of the museum. He had no intention of dragging this out. He would do what was necessary, get what he needed, and end this once and for all.