He paused, the morning light catching the faint silver in his hair as his eyes flicked down, then back to me. “Your mother also knew there were consequences to her actions.” The slight shake of his head told me everything—he loved her still, but there were wounds time had not healed.

I nodded quietly, my chest tightening. I agreed with him—her choice was selfish. She left him, hid me, and for what? To protect me? To punish him? None of us knew.

I let the silence sit for a while, broken only by the gentle swish of my brush. I mixed streaks of brown, white, and orange across the fox’s fur, giving it life and warmth beneath my touch. Each stroke felt like a small promise—one to understand, one to forgive.

“Sooner or later,” I said softly, almost singing the words as if trying to lift the weight off the air, “we’ll find out why.”

He looked up then, and for the first time that morning, the corners of his mouth curved into a faint smile, a vow we both shared. 

“ Gabriel don't have the talent you do… but he can give you the basic knowledge of creating tools and items.” He voiced softly his mind must be somewhere else.

That's fine, I already know the basics because of mom. Learning with Gabriel would be my first time with real hands-on experience. Not only that it would be a rough refresh.

“That's fine dad. I think I might want to practice on my own. When it comes to making my own tools or items.” I replied, bringing his attention back to me.

“Well, aren't you gifted? A prodigy after my own heart.” He chuckled. “ Since your a prodigy you don't need Acreon.”

I lifted a brow, is he right, yes. “ I still would like to attend just to see what it's like. For the experience.” I rolled my eyes at his slight frown.

“Would you be mad if I go?” I added.

“Acreon is overrated. And if you ask me, when I attended it was subpar.” He paused scratching his chin. “But if this is truly what you want to try I won't stop you. Especially since you know you can always return.” He smiled warmly.

Should I ask? Should I ask to hear about the stories …. The stories of when he went to Acreon. Mom said it was challenging, fun, and very inspirational. She would often say after attending Acreon it felt like she was always drunk on knowledge. Like attending that school opened a new life for her. She said she found herself.

“Acreon is one of the top four academies in this whole empire. How is it only subpar?” I asked pausing on my paint work.

“The nobles are like flys. Classes are boring. And if you don't have a status or a name, you're nothing.” He started to get bored. 

“It seems like your views are different than moms” i whispered lowering my eyes to the table.  We sat there for a moment in silence watching the sun slowly rise higer as the sky starts to turn to that orange-pink sky.

This sky has so many different hues from orangish pink, rose gold, orangish gold to the blues, lavenders, dark colors of the night. Its one of the clear indicators that this is a whole new world.

“Thank you, Mary,” Father and I said in unison as we watched her set the spread across the table.

A small smile tugged at her lips, though she hid it quickly behind a polite bow. “It’s my pleasure, Duke, Princess.”

The trays gleamed with the morning light — freshly baked rolls still steaming, a bowl of creamy soup flecked with herbs, grilled vegetables brushed with glaze, and a dish of honeyed fruit that glimmered like jewels. The warmth from the heated tiles below mixed with the aroma, turning the cool morning air soft and inviting.

Mary adjusted the placement of the utensils with delicate precision before straightening. “I’ve also brought the rest of your tea, Princess. The herbal blend this time — it’ll help balance your mana and ease the fever.”

I nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Mary.”

She gave a small curtsy before stepping back. “Would you like me to pour for you?”

“No, I’ve got it,” I said, taking the teapot carefully. I glanced at Father as I poured his first, the soft steam curling between us.

He offered a quiet smile. “You’re getting good at that.”

“Perks of being treated like royalty,” I teased.

Mary chuckled softly under her breath but quickly composed herself. “I’ll bring dessert shortly — light custards and berry tarts.”

Before she turned to go, Father gave her a nod of approval. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Mary.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She bowed once more and quietly exited the balcony, leaving us with the sound of birdsong, the clink of silverware, and the warmth of a rare, peaceful morning.

Father picked up his spoon, stirring the soup thoughtfully before taking a slow sip. The soft clink of silver against porcelain filled the silence for a few moments before he spoke, his tone warm but deliberate.

“I know our relationship is a little late,” he began, his gaze shifting from his bowl to me. “And… new.”

I looked up, meeting his eyes. They held that steady, gray calm — the kind that made every word feel deliberate, every promise heavy with sincerity.

“But I intend to be the best parent I can,” he continued, voice soft yet firm. “I’ll provide for you, protect you… and give you all the affection, love, and stability a child should have.”

My throat tightened. The words hit deeper than I expected — heavy and gentle all at once, like the weight of something I didn’t realize I’d been longing for. I blinked, trying to keep my vision clear, but the tears still welled up, soft and quiet.

My hand trembled slightly as I brushed my fingers along the wooden fox. A faint crack whispered through the air — one of its three tails split down the center. I froze.

Father looked at me, brows knitting slightly. “Did you—?”

I quickly placed the fox down, forcing a weak smile through the tears clouding my vision. “It’s fine… just a little pressure crack.” My voice wavered despite my effort to steady it.

He reached across the table, his large hand covering mine. “Rena,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to hide your feelings from me. You never do.”

That was all it took. The tears fell freely now, unbidden and hot against my cheeks. I tried to laugh them off, but it came out broken, soft.

“I guess,” I whispered, staring down at the fox through blurry eyes, “I just didn’t think I’d get to hear words like that again.”

He didn’t reply — he just squeezed my hand gently, thumb brushing the back of it with quiet understanding.

The fox sat between us on the table, its cracked tail glinting faintly under the morning light — fragile but whole, a tiny symbol of something mending, slowly but surely.

He’s probably thinking im crying over mom…. Rena’s mom. But no I miss my dad; my father. The one who raised me, the one I lost.

Father stood, walking around the table to my side. Without saying a word, he knelt down beside my chair and pulled me into a steady embrace. His hand rested on the back of my head, the other rubbing slow circles along my back.

“Shh,” he murmured softly. “You don’t have to hold back. You’ve been through more than anyone should at your age.”

I pressed my face into his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his coat and the steadiness of his heartbeat beneath it. His presence felt grounding — the kind of comfort that made the ache in my chest loosen little by little.

“You’re not alone anymore, Rena,” he whispered against my hair. “Not in this house, not in this life. You have a family now — me, and everyone under this roof.”

I nodded weakly, trying to pull myself together, my fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. “I know,” I whispered. “It’s just… it’s a lot.”

It's more than you know. Rebirths, body take overs. A strange comfort in a magical fairytale world. It's more than I even know, but I do need to stay strong.

“I know,” he said, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

A long moment passed — quiet, save for the faint rustle of wind outside and the soft bubbling of the tea kettle cooling on the tray. Then he helped me straighten up, wiping the last of my tears with the edge of his sleeve.

“Better?” he asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I sniffled, nodding. “A little.”

Just then, the door creaked open.

Sabatian walked in, his usual composed expression immediately faltering when he saw me still teary-eyed and my father kneeling beside me. He froze, turned sharply on his heel, and faced the opposite wall.

“What’s he doing?” I asked, my voice still slightly hoarse.

dad chuckled quietly, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab beneath my eyes. “He’s being respectful,” he replied, tone amused but tender.

I blinked, watching Sabatian’s shoulders stiffen as he pretended to be fascinated by the pattern of the wallpaper.

“Respectful?” I repeated, half-laughing through the remnants of my tears.

“Yes,” dad said, standing and patting my shoulder gently. “He’s seen you cry once before — that’s enough for a lifetime in his book.”

Sabatian cleared his throat. “If the princess and the duke are… composed,” he said stiffly, still facing the wall, “I see that an early lunch is served, and the balcony is  warmed to your liking.”

I smiled faintly, wiping my face with the handkerchief. “You can turn around, Sabatian. I promise I’m not crying anymore.”

He turned slowly, one eyebrow raised in cautious disbelief. “If you say so, princess.”

Dad chuckled again, finally taking his seat. “Come,” he said warmly. “Let’s finish our meal before the soup grows cold.”

I nodded, glancing once more at the cracked little fox on the table. Then, with a deep breath, I picked up my spoon — the heaviness in my chest eased by the quiet, steady comfort only a father’s love could bring.

The quiet between us grew comfortable again, broken only by the faint clinking of silverware and the gentle sound of wind gliding across the balcony. The air was cool but the heat from the tiles below kept it pleasant — a soft, steady warmth that matched the mood between us.

dad took a sip of his tea before resting the cup back onto its saucer. “You know,” he began, “if you’re going to continue crafting, I’ll have to make sure you have the best materials this side of the kingdom.”

I lifted my gaze from my bowl, a faint smile curving my lips. “Oh? Planning to spoil me already?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, just ensuring talent isn’t wasted. There’s much this world offers to someone with hands like yours.”

I set my spoon down, intrigued. “Like what?”

He leaned back slightly, his tone turning thoughtful — almost proud. “There’s a workshop near the lower courtyard. I can have them deliver fine mahogany and obsidian wood, perfect for your smaller sculptures. And there’s a miner in the west who trades in lunar quartz — it reacts beautifully with mana, gives off a subtle glow when enchanted properly.”

My eyes widened. “Glowing stone?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “And if you prefer metalwork, I can have blacksteel or whisper-silver brought in. They’re malleable enough for charm crafting, but sturdy enough to hold enchantments.”

And I can even sell my works, I know that's what Mom wanted to do. Become a professional craftsman for magic tools but more so for magic items.

The excitement bubbling in my chest was hard to contain. “That sounds incredible,” I whispered, already imagining what I could make — pendants, tiny mechanical creatures, maybe even little mana lamps for my room.

He smiled at my reaction, clearly pleased. “And for the more delicate touches — we have gems in storage that belonged to your mother’s line. Amethysts, moon pearls, frost jade. She believed me when i always said gemstones had a voice if you listened long enough.”

I blinked, my chest tightening again but in a gentler, nostalgic way. “She did say that…” I murmured. “When I was little, she’d make me close my eyes and hold a gem until I could ‘hear its story.’ I thought she was just being poetic.”

“She was,” Dad said softly, “but she wasn’t wrong either. Mana carries memory, and materials remember the hands that shape them.”

His words hung between us — heavy and beautiful all at once. I looked down at my wooden fox resting beside my plate, a faint crack still running along its tail. My thumb traced it gently.

“Maybe that’s why I love building things,” I said quietly. “It feels like every creation remembers me, even when I forget myself.”

dad smiled in that knowing, proud way again. “Then we’ll make sure you never run out of things to create. The estate will see to it.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, smiling at him across the table. “Really.”

“Of course,” he replied warmly, lifting his cup in a small toast. “To creation, to memory, and to new beginnings.”

I lifted my own cup of tea to match his. “To new beginnings.”

New unforeseen beginnings. As well as untold secrets.

Sabatian’s voice came with his usual composed tone, though I caught the small curve of amusement at the edge of it. “I’ll make sure the list of materials is ordered, Your Grace. I’ll have some delivered to the princess’s room and the rest arranged neatly in her atelier.”

I smiled faintly, still nibbling on a piece of bread. “Thank you, Sabatian.”

He bowed slightly before returning to stand by the balcony door — silent, poised, always listening even when he pretended not to.

Leaning back in my chair, I glanced at the table in front of me. Every plate was empty — even the soup bowl gleamed clean under the light. My stomach was pleasantly full, but the sight of the cleared dishes made heat creep up my neck.

“Am I a glutton?” I asked, half serious, half teasing, gazing at the aftermath of what looked like a royal feast.

Is it because Rena lives off of the few fruits, veggies that's was grown at the cabin, but Rena appetite seems rather large. I don't remember her growing up complaining about the scarce food selection. About wanting more food, heck for being malnutritious she was quite active.

Sabatian didn’t miss a beat. “I think you have a healthy appetite, princess,” he said smoothly, that small smirk tugging at his lips.

Dad lowered his cup of tea, his eyes bright with restrained laughter. “Healthy appetite indeed. You do consume more than any woman I’ve ever been around — including your mother.”

I gasped dramatically, clutching my chest. “That’s rude!”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, it’s honest. She was a dainty eater — though she always stole bites from my plate when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

Mom ate like a bird. A few bites and she's done.