The breeze carried the scent of wood shavings and paint, and the half-finished fox stared back at me with its crooked grin—as if amused by my discovery.

I finished the last of my desserts, scraping the bowl clean before stacking the dishes neatly on top of one another. The air had grown cooler, and the last traces of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon. The once golden-rose sky now deepened into a violet-blue black canvas scattered with stars—each one glimmering like tiny shards of magic.

“The sun has set and the air has a cold breeze,” my father’s voice came from behind me, smooth and steady. I turned slightly as he draped a thick, soft blanket around my shoulders. Warmth immediately spread through me, chasing away the chill that had begun to creep in.

“Is this heated?” I asked, pulling the fabric closer, feeling the comforting hum against my skin.

“Yes,” he replied simply, his tone carrying a faint hint of pride.

“Magic?” I added, arching a brow at him with quiet amusement.

“Yes,” he repeated, mirroring my expression, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, knowing smile as he sat in the chair across from me.

For a moment, the two of us just sat there—father and daughter beneath the open night sky, the soft glow of mana-lamps casting golden halos around us. The estate beyond was quiet, distant laughter and the rustle of leaves the only sounds that dared to interrupt.

It was peaceful. Almost perfect

The night air felt softer now, the stars clearer. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, letting its warmth anchor me as I reached for my wooden fox once more. The tool felt familiar in my hand, grounding. Each gentle carve against the grain filled the quiet between us with a steady, comforting rhythm.

“Father,” I said at last, my voice low, almost swallowed by the breeze.

Father sounds too distant…. I should call him dad… do I have that right? But Rena will be okay with it.

He looked up from where he sat, patient and silent, waiting.

“If perhaps…” I hesitated, the words trembling on my tongue, “if perhaps there was a chance I wasn’t yours… would you still claim me as your daughter?”

The question hung heavy between us. My chest tightened, guilt and fear tugging at the corners of my lips as I braced myself for the worst possible answer.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. “You’re my child,” he said—matter-of-fact, bold, and unwavering.

I blinked, startled by how certain he sounded. “But… but—”

“Rena,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm but not unkind, “do not doubt your mother. Do not doubt me. And more importantly, do not doubt yourself.”

He reached forward, fingers tilting my chin upward until my eyes met his. The steady grey in his gaze held no shadow of uncertainty—only conviction.

“You are my child,” he said again, slower this time, as if sealing it into the air itself. “No matter what thoughts circle in your head… you are mine.”

For a moment, all I could do was stare back, feeling the warmth of his certainty melt the fear I didn’t realize I’d been clutching so tightly.

“Mom was crafty,” I whispered, brushing away the last curls of wood shavings. The small fox rested in my palm—three tails fanned out behind it, whiskers curving like waves, a tiny heart-shaped nose, and sharp, catlike eyes that seemed almost alive under the moonlight.

“Yes, she was,” dad said, his voice soft, steeped in memory. “A wonderful talent to have when it came to crafting mana tools and items. I would often sit and watch her work. She was always… at peace. As if nothing in this world could touch her once she began creating.”

His words painted her so vividly that I could almost see her—the steady hands, the calm smile, the quiet magic in her focus. I ran my fingers along the fox’s smooth surface, feeling each polished curve as I thought about how deeply he must have loved her.

“Why did she leave?” I asked suddenly, bluntly. The question escaped before I could stop it.

He froze. His breath hitched for a moment before he answered, his tone low and raw. “I do not know. Every day, I ask myself that.”

Silence stretched between us. The air felt heavier, the night colder.

“Are you upset that she did?” I continued carefully, eyes still on the fox. “Do you… blame her for this—” I gestured weakly between us, “—this situation at hand? Because… I do.”

My voice cracked near the end. I let out a shaky breath, then looked away—up toward the moon, white and vast, glowing with soft hues of blue and lavender. Its light caught on the tears that hadn’t yet fallen, painting them silver.

I can’t believe I just asked that. Is he upset that the women he loves up and went MIA on him with His secret child disappearing for twenty three years. Of course he would be upset, he just wouldn't want his daughter to know that. He missed so much of rena growing, learning. First steps, words, birthdays are all gone. Unfairly taken away because of my mom’s decisions. 

“I just think her decision was unfair. And i am upset with that choice, i still love and respect her” i kept my eyes on the sky as i talked. “I want to know why.”

“ I agree with you.” he too cast his gaze up taking a deep sigh. “and we will find that answer.” 

I nod my head, a silent promise spoken between up was carried away with the wind. Yet the determination was still there.  

“Its time for bed now,” he smiled, getting up from his to come closer to me scooping me up from the chair. 

“But—but.” I stuttered trying to plead my case of not going to bed but he cut me off.

“No buts. Fighting back won’t help you heal faster” he laughed carrying me back to my bed. 

If only I could fight back; toss, turn something rather than be carried like a delicate doll and tucked in like a five year old. This is embarrassing.

Dad soon places the back of his hand on my forehead. “ Your cheeks are red. You're hot again.”

“Its the heated blanket.” I mumbled.

“Maybe it was unwise to have you sit outside that long.” he tilted his head to the side as he touched both sides of my cheeks.

He better not tell me I'm not allowed to be on my own balcony. It may be both the heated blanket , slight embarrassment and the fever…. Mostly fever but i’m not telling him that.

“ You can not kick me out of my own balcony” I stated firmly yet silently pleading that he would give in.

He snorted as if he was flexing that he could, then he raised his brow. “ I guess I should have thought of putting heat floors… and maybe a heat lamp out there,” he laughed.

“Thank you.” I said sheepish but grateful. Not wanting to challenge the snort from a minute ago. Something tells me it won’t end in my favor, besides I am getting heat floors.

This warmth…. This protection… feels so naturally comfortable….