100 Prompt Challenge - Astelle

Note: Alternative timeline of Reborn as Papa Silva

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Prompt: During the battle in the Seabed temple Asta's arms were crushed, destroyed, and cursed by Vetto. Even Owen couldn't help him. As the Black Bulls scramble to find a way to save their resident magicless swordsman, Noelle herself goes all out, and pays a visit to one of her many sources of nightmares. Her father. 

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Pain.

Asta had felt pain before. From the grueling training, the relentless battles, the endless struggles of being a magicless boy in a world where power meant everything.

But nothing—nothing—compared to the pain he felt now.

His arms were shattered, useless, limp at his sides. Vetto had crushed them beyond recognition, and the weight of that loss pressed against him harder than any injury ever had.

Then Owen, the kingdom's most skilled healer, had spoken words that shook Asta to his core.

"It's an ancient curse. I cannot heal it."

Asta had fought through everything, had clawed his way forward against the odds, but this—this was something he couldn't fight.

For the first time, doubt creeped into his heart.

Could he still wield his swords? Could he still stand beside his friends? Could he still fight?

He swallowed down his despair and put on his usual grin, but the weight of his broken arms crushed something inside him.

Then—Noelle grabbed his wrist.

Or what was left of it.

Her grip was tight, determined, shaking.

"Come with me," she said.

Asta blinked. "Noelle, I don't think—"

"No. No 'but's, no arguments. We're leaving."

There was something fierce in her eyes, something desperate, something terrified.

And so, despite everything—Asta followed.

—

Noelle barely remembered her father.

She had never met him as a child, never spoken to him growing up. He was a ghost, a specter that loomed in the shadows of her life, appearing only once a year on the anniversary of Acier Silva's death.

The only memory she had of him was the single time he had spoken to her—coldly, cruelly, without an ounce of warmth.

"They called her the Steel War Princess… who would have thought she'd leave behind someone as useless as you."

That was it.

No kind words. No explanations. Just that one sentence.

Noelle didn't know much about her father.

What she did know was that he was the only person in the Silva family hated more than her—by her siblings, her late grandmother, even by her aunt, Lady Mereoleona, next door in Castle Vermillion, and countless others.

A supposed cold-hearted man who had deceived and seduced her mother, all to seize control of House Silva.

A man who, though despised by many, was begrudgingly respected as a skilled and accomplished healer.

And so, Noelle sought him out.

Asta didn't know about any of that.

All he knew was that Noelle had dragged him to a secluded villa on the outskirts of noble territory, knocking on the heavy wooden doors with a force that spoke of desperation.

A long silence stretched out.

Then—the doors creaked open.

And there he was.

Sebastian Silva.

He was tall, imposing, with silver hair like Noelle's, but his expression was one of exhaustion. His eyes—cold and sharp—met Noelle's with a flicker of recognition, but nothing more.

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"…Heal him," she said.

Sebastian stared at her. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted to Asta.

He studied him, then the mangled mess of his arms.

And, to Noelle's shock—he let out a soft sigh and said, "Fine."

Just like that.

But as Noelle's heart leaped with hope, his next words came like a dagger to the chest.

"But you—get out of my sight."

Noelle stiffened.

Asta clenched his jaw. "Oi—"

Noelle cut him off with a shaky smile. "It's fine, Asta."

Asta turned to her, his frustration evident. "No, it's not! Noelle, this guy—"

She shook her head. "Please."

Asta swallowed hard. He didn't like it. He hated it. But the look in her eyes—

"…Fine," he muttered.

And so, Noelle left.

Alone.

Waiting in the garden as the father she had never known healed the boy she had given her heart to.

—

Asta wasn't expecting much.

He was already resigned to the worst, already bracing himself for a life without his swords.

So when Sebastian casually placed a hand over his arm, water magic swirling around him with precise control, Asta almost didn't believe it.

Then—the pain was gone.

The shattered bones realigned, muscle and tendons knitted back together.

Even the curse—the one Owen had called impossible to remove—faded away like it had never existed.

Asta flexed his fingers. His arms—his arms—were as good as new.

His heart pounded.

"How?" Asta asked, staring at Sebastian in awe.

Sebastian's expression was unreadable. "I have a lot of time."

"…Time?"

Sebastian's eyes darkened slightly. "Studying curses."

Asta frowned. There was something—heavy—in the way he said that.

"Why?" Asta pressed.

Sebastian's fingers twitched, but his voice remained flat.

"…I wanted to save someone," he said simply. "But I never got the chance."

Asta felt the sorrow in his words, in his Ki, a raw, old pain buried deep beneath layers of ice.

Asta hesitated, then changed the subject.

"You're scared of Noelle."

Sebastian froze.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "…What?"

Asta crossed his arms. "You won't look at her. You won't even be in the same room as her. It's not anger—it's fear."

Sebastian's fingers curled into fists.

Then, finally, he sighed.

"She looks like her mother," he admitted quietly.

Asta tilted his head. "And that's a bad thing?"

Sebastian closed his eyes. "Acier looked like her grandmother. And she suffered for it. Her grandfather—he projected everything onto her. Treated her like a replacement for the wife he lost. It was toxic. Unforgivable."

Asta frowned.

Sebastian continued, voice tense. "There are few people I hate or ever loathed more than Nicklaus Silva. I swore I'd never be like him. Never make that mistake. So I—"

He let out a slow breath.

"…Pushed her away."

Asta stared at him for a long moment.

Then, without thinking, he said—

"That's lame."

Sebastian's eye twitched.

Asta huffed. "So what if she looks like her mother? She's her own person!"

Sebastian clenched his jaw. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't. But I do know that no kid would ever appreciate being treated like dirt just because their parent was too scared to face them."

Sebastian flinched.

Asta sighed and stood up.

"…Thanks for fixing my arms," he said.

Then, just as he was about to leave—he paused at the door.

"I don't know much about parents," he murmured, "but I do know Noelle. And she deserves better."

Sebastian trembled.

Then—before Asta could say anything else—Sebastian shut the door in his face.

Hard.

Asta sighed.

"…Guess that's that."

And with that, he left.

—

When Asta stepped outside, Noelle turned—

And froze.

Her eyes widened, her lips parted, her hands clenched at her sides.

"…Your arms," she whispered.

Asta grinned and flexed his fingers. "Good as new!"

Before Noelle could even react—Asta pulled her into a tight hug.

Noelle froze.

Her brain shut down.

"Asta—?! W-What are you doing—?! Let go!"

Asta just grinned. "Nah."

Noelle's face burned.

Then—Asta whispered, "Thank you."

She stiffened.

The fight drained out of her.

And slowly—hesitantly—she melted into his embrace.

For the first time in her life, Noelle realized—

It didn't matter if her family hated her.

It didn't matter if her father never saw her.

Because she had Asta.

She had the Black Bulls.

And that was enough.