The memory hung like smoke, stubborn and unshaken.

  My sister’s small voice, steady in its stubbornness, still pressed against my chest.

  Even as I drifted beside Daeryon, watching the storm of his chi fade, the memory refused to release me.

  Sometimes belief itself was stronger than any technique.

  Soryn’s grip tightened on her blade. She looked up at Daeryon, hesitant, then steadier.

  “Father,” her voice carried, soft yet unsure.

  “That strike earlier… I felt like I moved too wide at the end. My footwork lost balance. Would you...”

  Daeryon’s eyes shifted to her, sharper now but not cold. “Show me.”

  She moved into position, steel glinting in the firelight. The strike was smoother this time, yet the flaw still tugged at the finish.

  Daeryon lifted a hand. “Not wide. Late. The step must come before the shoulder turns. Again.”

  She obeyed, repeating the motion. Once. Twice. Her brow knit, but her form tightened each time.

  Daeryon gave a small, approving nod. “That's better.”

  Soryn’s lips curved upward, faint but unmistakable. She sheathed the blade, bowing her head. “Thank you, Father. I… will try the new steps.”

  Then her smile widened, light breaking through the steel of her composure. “And I’ll test them with the sequence Raion showed me.”

  She dipped again, then turned swiftly down the hall, eager to practice.

  Daeryon stood silent, watching her go. His storm eased a little further, though not gone.

  I felt the path clear. One child recognised. One child seen. One child freed. And now...

  Raion awaited.

  Daeryon did not move right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the hall Soryn had vanished down, his breath slow, roughened at the edges.

  “It is… strange,” he murmured. “Every battle I have fought, I have met with steel. With certainty. Yet here, with my own blood, every step feels like walking blindfolded.” His jaw set.

  “Tell me, Daniel… how does a father become better, while remaining the warrior he must be?”

  The question caught me. For a long breath, I didn’t answer. My own father’s face came back, stern, unyielding, his voice still echoing in the corners of my memory.

  “My father… he never spoke soft,” I said slowly. “But he was there. Every morning before the sun rose. Every night before sleep. His presence was the lesson. The silence between words was where I learned.”

  Daeryon’s eyes narrowed slightly, but I pressed on.

  “He wasn’t a fighter. He didn’t conquer fields or raise banners. But he was strong in his own way. Strong because he never faltered in who he was. He carried the weight of his world during the day, and still… when I grew quieter, he sat with me.”

  My chest tightened, the memory burning sharp and warm all at once.

  “He never put down his responsibility, but he never put me aside either. That was his strength as a father.”

  I met Daeryon’s gaze, steady. “What I remember most wasn’t the respect people gave him, or the work he carried. It was the way he looked at me, like I was worth his time. Worth loving. Even in silence.”

  The memory settled between us, quiet but undeniable, like a weight neither of us tried to push away.

  Daeryon’s eyes lowered, his hand flexing once at his side. When he spoke, his voice was rough, but quieter than I’d ever heard it.

  “And Raion… he wouldn’t ask for strength or teaching, would he? What he wants from me… is simply my time isn't it?”

  I swallowed, the ache of recognition pressing in. “You’re right,” I said softly. “That’s all he wants. He already loves you. What he needs is for you to be there, to let him feel it.”

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  Daeryon’s jaw unclenched, the tension that had held him easing at last. His gaze settled on me, heavy but no longer guarded.

  For a long breath, he said nothing. Then, slowly, his head tilted, eyes holding mine longer than before.

  “You’ve given me more than guidance,” he said, his voice low, rough at the edges.

  “You’ve given me something I can hold onto… something I can believe in. For that, Daniel… I respect you.”

  Then a faint shimmer of light rippled between us, unmistakable.

  [Relationship Increased with Daeryon : 60%]

  It was not gratitude this time. Not debt. Respect. The bridge that was built between us had grown stronger.

  Then another familiar blue screen appeared, pulsing softly in the air.

  [You have reached a substantial relationship with Daeryon. You will receive a reward.]

  The words hovered, steady, familiar, the quiet confirmation of progress.

  I let out a soft breath, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah… I expected that would happen.”

  [Ability Acquired: Obsidian Dragon Flow] [A-Rank]

  [A martial art of fluid steps and sudden pivots, turning the battlefield into a dance of unpredictability. Each motion carried the promise of strikes from impossible angles, balance never lost, momentum never broken]

  A laugh escaped me. “Obsidian Dragon Flow, fluid, untouchable, a dance of shadows across the battlefield. Paired with the Seven Dragon Palms, it wasn’t just strong… it was perfect. Like the moves I’d written for someone else, now gifted back to me.”

  [Ability Acquired: Dragon’s Fury] [B-Rank Passive Ability]

  [A dragon rush that awakens as the body nears death, doubling strength, speed, and chi. It hands the user overwhelming power, and a furious, blunt intent. To control it the user must have an iron will, or it will not care whose face you batter]

  I froze, the description sinking in. “So this… this was how Daeryon had stood even when his chi was destroyed. A power that demanded everything, even clarity, even mercy. My chest tightened. This wasn’t just strength, it was survival bought with blood.”

  I took a deep breath, letting the thrill of the new abilities settle before I turned back to Daeryon.

  “I think… it’s time,” I said, voice steady. “Time to go see Raion.”

  Daeryon’s eyes flickered, brief hesitation crossing his features, as if measuring the next step in unfamiliar territory.

  Then, slowly, he inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment. “Very well,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “I will lead the way.”

  We moved through the estate corridors, the faint echo of Daeryon's footsteps filling the quiet halls.

  Each step felt easier, the silence between us no longer so heavy.

  The halls gave way to the courtyard, where sunlight scattered across the stone, bright and unguarded.

  And there he was, Raion, leaning against the railing, looking up as his father approached.

  His lips curved into a small, shy smile, the kind that carried quiet excitement without words.

  “Father,” he said softly. “You… came.”

  Daeryon froze at the word, simple yet weighted like steel. His reply came slow, measured. “I did.”

  His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, as if unsure what they were meant for.

  Raion’s eyes brightened, though he didn’t rush forward. “I’m glad.”

  The words were small, almost a whisper, but they carried everything, joy, warmth, the quiet relief of being seen.

  Daeryon swallowed, jaw tightening. At last, he stepped closer, each motion deliberate. “I… thought I should... Spend some time with you.”

  Raion’s smile widened, just a little. “I want that too. I want to spend time with you,” he said simply, his words hanging in the air with quiet certainty.

  I smiled nearby, heart lifting. It wasn’t a grand display or bold declaration, just warmth, quiet and unshaken, affection that needed no flourish.

  Daeryon exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders. A man who had stood unbroken before blades and storms now found himself undone by a child’s gentle truth.

  He still didn’t have all the right words, still didn’t know exactly what to do, but for once, that felt enough.

  I hovered nearby, smiling at the sight. Joy, simple and unshaken, radiated from the boy.

  Daeryon’s gaze met mine, and for the first time in a long while, there was no armor, no storm, only something raw. A father, meeting his child.

  Raion shifted on the grass, nudging a stone with his foot before glancing up, eyes bright.

  “Today, I ran all the way to the east garden,” he said, his voice bubbling with pride.

  “And I tried to see how many leaves I could catch when the wind blew them at me. Then I wanted to play with Soryn, but she told me she had to train.”

  He laughed, the sound light and unguarded, like sunlight breaking through cloud.

  Daeryon crouched slightly, hands resting on his knees as he watched. “And… how many leaves did you catch?”

  His voice was careful, hesitant, as though each word might shatter the moment.

  “Five!” Raion grinned wide. “I catched five.”

  I drifted closer, nudging Daeryon gently. “See? Look how happy he is just talking about his day. He doesn’t want drills or lessons. He just wants you.”

  Daeryon’s jaw flexed. “Time…” He repeated the word under his breath, tasting it, strange on his tongue, unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant.

  I leaned in, voice soft but insistent. “Daeryon, you don’t have to be perfect. Just… give him something that’s yours. Something only you can share. Like ask him if he wants to learn from you.”

  Daeryon blinked, uncertain. “Didn’t you say he doesn’t care about martial arts?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted, a small grin tugging at me. “But maybe, if it comes from you, he’ll care about trying.”

  Daeryon cleared his throat, the sound awkward in the quiet. “Raion… would you like to… try learning a technique from me?”

  His tone was stiff, formal, but a thread of hope wove through it.

  Raion’s eyes sparkled. He shook his head slightly, though the smile never left his face.

  “I don’t really care about martial arts,” he said, tilting his head. “But… if you’re the one teaching me… then I’d be happy.”

  Daeryon’s chest shifted, a slow exhale escaping. He had asked. He had offered himself, clumsy and uncertain, but sincere.

  And that small, simple acceptance from his son was enough to thaw the edges of a heart long kept in winter.

  I floated back, satisfaction curling in my chest. “See that? That’s the start. You don’t need perfection. You just need presence. That’s all he wants.”

  And for the first time, Daeryon seemed to believe it.