While talking, we hadn't even noticed how late it had gotten. Time had slipped away, carried by the warmth of conversation.
"Father, you really must sleep now. It's too late," I gently urged, glancing at the dimly glowing mana stone in my hand.
"It's fine, Reina. I feel great now that I've talked to both of you," Dad said, his voice carrying a lightness that hadn't been there earlier.
I could sense the vibrancy returning to him, the happiness that had been missing in his tone. It was subtle, yet unmistakable—like the lifting of a quiet weight he hadn't voiced. This man, our father, loved both of us from the bottom of his heart. Yet, the cruel irony was that despite that love, the burdens we carried, the responsibilities thrust upon us, often kept us apart. We were his children, yet we were also warriors, bound by duty more than by time spent as a family.
