The bedroom was quiet except for the soft sound of steel against cloth.

Alaric stood before the full-length mirror, his katana held loosely in one hand, his military combat uniform laid out on the bed behind him.

The blade caught the lamplight, reflecting his face back at him with perfect clarity.

His expression was cold.

Not the usual warmth he showed his family, not the gentle patience he displayed with his children, not even the stern authority he used in public.

Just cold, flat emptiness that belonged to a man who’d killed so many Monsters that the count had stopped mattering decades ago.

Ezra’s words echoed in his mind, replaying on an endless loop.

’Someone is manipulating events around your son.’

’How many of Kaiser’s disciples lived past twenty?’

’They’re all betting Damian will die.’

The katana’s reflection showed a man whose eyes had gone distant and calculating, measuring the violence required to solve problems that words could not fix.

But beneath the coldness was something else.

Frustration.

Alaric Valcor, one half of the Twin Terrors, legendary awakener who’d made Monster armies retreat, was not strong enough.

Not for this.

Whoever was manipulating events around Damian operated at a level that made his strength seem insufficient.

’I need to get stronger.’

The thought was simple and direct, carrying the weight of a father’s desperation.

’Whoever is pulling strings in the shadows... they’re beyond what I can currently handle. I need more power.’

The frontlines called to him, promising exactly what he needed.

Combat against the strongest Monsters.

Life-or-death situations that would push his limits.

Opportunities to break through whatever ceiling was holding him back.

Lyandra watched her husband from where she sat on the edge of their bed, her black eyes studying him with the careful attention of someone who’d spent decades learning to read his moods.

This wasn’t the Alaric who deferred to her judgment on household matters, who let her scold him about drinking, who squatted with his hands over his ears when she raised her voice.

This was someone else.

Someone she’d seen on battlefields, standing over the corpses of enemies who’d made the fatal mistake of threatening what he protected.

"We don’t have to go back."

Her voice was soft, testing the waters.

"If you don’t want to, we won’t. We can handle this ourselves."

Alaric said nothing for a long moment, his hand tightening on the katana’s grip until his knuckles went white.

Then he carefully set the blade down on the dresser and turned to face her.

"You should go see him."

His voice came out quiet and measured.

"...Your father. You should visit him."

Lyandra’s spine straightened, her expression hardening.

"And you?"

"...I’ll never step inside that house."

The finality in his tone left no room for negotiation.

Lyandra stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of him, her own pride flaring.

"Do you think I want to enter that house after they insulted my husband? After what they said about you? About us?"

Her voice carried steel beneath the softness.

Alaric reached out, his hand settling gently against her cheek, his thumb brushing away a strand of black hair.

"Having a father who cares about you is a luxury, Lyandra."

His voice softened, some of the coldness melting.

"Especially one with the power to actually protect what matters. I already lost mine years ago. We both know how much your father loves you, even if he’s terrible at showing it."

Tears formed in Lyandra’s eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back.

"But he–"

"Ask him to publicly acknowledge our children as his grandchildren."

Alaric’s hand remained on her cheek, his silver eyes locked on hers.

"A public statement before Luna starts at the Academy, claiming them as family with full military backing."

His jaw tightened.

"Those old monsters won’t dare touch Luna if she carries that kind of protection. And if they do..."

He didn’t finish, but the implication was clear.

Retaliation would be swift and absolute.

Lyandra turned her head away, tears spilling over despite her attempts to maintain composure.

"Why not just take her with us? She’d be safe if she stayed by our side. We could protect her ourselves without needing anyone’s help."

Alaric smiled, but it was helpless and sad, carrying the weight of decisions that had no good answers.

"We already talked about this. Luna’s innate skill makes her feel everything around her. Every death, every piece of suffering, every negative emotion bleeding from the people we’d be surrounded by."

His voice became gentler.

"Our girl would break if she spent her days constantly immersed in that darkness. Empath skill isn’t built for frontline warfare. She needs normalcy, or at least something closer to it than what we can provide on a battlefield."

He pulled Lyandra closer, his arms wrapping around her.

"Besides, let her have time with Damian at the Academy. You know she’s been waiting for this for a long time. She deserves that chance before everything gets complicated."

Lyandra pressed her face against his chest, her voice muffled.

"...I’m worried about Damian."

Alaric said nothing for several heartbeats.

Then something cold passed through his silver eyes, something that made the temperature in the room drop despite the warmth of their embrace.

"I’m not strong enough."

The admission came out quiet, almost too soft to hear.

His arms tightened around his wife.

"I need to get stronger. The frontlines will give me what I need."

He pulled back slightly, looking down at her.

"And with both kids at the Academy, there’s nothing keeping us here anyway. This house, this peaceful life we built... it was for them. To give them safety and normalcy and everything we never had."

His voice became firmer.

"But they don’t need us hovering anymore. They need us out there, getting strong enough to actually protect them from threats we can’t currently handle."

Lyandra looked up at him, her black eyes searching his face.

"Some people don’t listen to words."