The evening fog rolled through Amber City like a living thing, thick and persistent, clinging to every surface with cold dampness that made the streetlamps blur into soft halos of amber light. Veldora walked alone through the city's heart, his new shield strapped across his back, the weight of it a familiar comfort against his shoulders.

  The residential districts passed by in layers---craftsmen's quarters giving way to merchant homes, then to the guild administrative buildings, and finally to the core area where the city's elite made their residence. Here, the cobblestones gleamed like polished obsidian under carefully maintained enchanted lamps. Tall iron gates lined the streets, backed by manicured hedges that looked more like defensive barriers than decoration. Everything spoke of wealth, power, and the particular kind of coldness that came from generations of accumulated authority.

  The Greyson estate stood at the far end of the avenue, exactly where Veldora remembered it---a mansion of pale stone that seemed to glow faintly in the fog, three stories tall with narrow windows that burned with contained light. The architecture was all sharp angles and calculated proportions, designed more to intimidate than welcome. Even the gardens looked disciplined, every branch trimmed to perfect symmetry, every flower bed arranged in precise geometric patterns.

  It looked colder than he remembered. More distant. Like a monument to something long dead rather than a home where people actually lived.

  The guards at the entrance straightened as he approached, their Dawn Guild uniforms crisp despite the late hour. Both were Second Stage Awakeners---standard for estate security in this district---and their eyes tracked his approach with professional wariness that softened into recognition.

  "Young Master Greyson," the taller one said, offering a salute that was somehow both respectful and mechanical. "Welcome home."

  Veldora didn't bother returning the salute, just nodded once and kept walking. The massive doors opened before him as if anticipating his arrival, which they probably were---his father would have been informed the moment he entered the district.

  The entry hall stretched before him like a cathedral, all polished marble and vaulted ceilings. Portraits lined the walls---generations of Greysons, each one looking stern and unyielding, their eyes seeming to follow him as he passed. His mother's portrait hung near the grand staircase, painted when she was younger, before the monster wave. She looked proud in her Knight Commander armor, the family crest gleaming on her chest.

  He didn't look at it long.

  A butler materialized from a side passage---elderly, silver-haired, posture so perfect it looked painful. Marcus, the estate's head servant, who'd been with the family since before Veldora was born. "Welcome home, Young Master Greyson. Lord Greyson requests your presence in the study. Immediately."

  Of course he does, Veldora thought. Out loud, he said only: "Lead the way."

  The corridors felt longer than they had when he was younger, or perhaps he'd just gotten better at noticing things. Every surface gleamed with the kind of maintenance that required constant attention. The air carried the scent of polished oak, old parchment, and the particular mustiness that accumulated in places where windows were rarely opened. His footsteps echoed despite the thick carpeting, the sound somehow making the silence feel heavier rather than breaking it.

  They passed rooms he remembered from childhood---the formal dining hall where family meals had been exercises in correct posture and conversation topics, the library where his sister Florance had spent countless hours proving herself worthy of their mother's legacy, the training room where he'd learned the basics of shield work under instructors who reported every mistake to his father.

  So many memories, and none of them warm.

  Marcus stopped before a heavy oak door carved with the Greyson family crest---a shield crossed with a sword, surrounded by laurel leaves that represented victories in service to Amber City. He knocked twice, the sound sharp and formal.

  "Enter," came his father's voice, muffled by the wood but carrying the same quiet authority it always had.

  The butler opened the door and stepped aside, his expression carefully neutral. "Young Master Greyson, my lord."

  "Thank you, Marcus. You may go."

  The door closed behind Veldora with a soft click that sounded far too final.

  His father's study hadn't changed. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three walls, every volume perfectly aligned, organized by some system that only Lord Roderic Greyson understood. The fourth wall displayed the Dawn Guild's crest---larger than the family symbol, making it clear where true loyalties were expected to lie. A single mana lamp burned on the massive desk, its light falling across stacks of reports, tactical maps, and correspondence that probably shaped the guild's operations across multiple districts.

  Lord Roderic Greyson sat behind that desk like a king on a throne, though his posture suggested nothing so casual as authority earned---this was power that had been tested, proven, maintained through decades of service. Silver threads ran through his black hair now, more than Veldora remembered from his last visit, but his eyes remained exactly the same---clear, steel-gray, sharp enough to dissect a person with a glance.

  A Sixth Stage Awakener. Bearer of the legendary class Imperial Knight Commander. One of the Dawn Guild's five high marshals. A man who had led armies against dungeon breaks, coordinated city defenses during three separate calamity-class events, and personally commanded the operation that saved the districts during the Great Outbreak fifteen years ago.

  Also, a father who'd been too busy building that legacy to notice when his son stopped trying to earn his approval.

  "Veldora." His tone was measured, neither cold nor warm---just precisely neutral, like he was addressing a subordinate rather than his son. "I heard you've completed your Second Awakening."

  "Yes, sir." The military formality came automatically, drilled into him from childhood. In this room, you addressed Lord Greyson as a superior first, a father second---if at all.

  Roderic's gaze swept over him once, taking in the new equipment, the subtle changes in posture that came with advancement, the way Veldora carried himself with a confidence that hadn't been there months ago. It felt less like being seen and more like being assessed, measured against some internal standard that Veldora had never quite managed to meet.

  "Congratulations. Few reach that stage within the first month of awakening. You've done well."

  The words should have sounded like praise. They didn't. They sounded like a superior officer acknowledging that a subordinate had met minimum expected performance standards---nothing more, nothing less.

  "Thank you," Veldora said quietly, keeping his expression neutral.

  A pause stretched between them, filled with the soft ticking of the mana-powered clock on the wall and the distant sounds of the city beyond the closed windows. So much left unsaid, so many years of distance compressed into this uncomfortable silence.

  "I assume you've reported to the Hall?" Roderic asked, his attention already drifting back to the papers on his desk. "Proper registration protocols, verification of advancement tier?"

  "We have. Records confirmed---six-star completion."

  That made his father pause. Roderic's eyes flicked upward, and for just a moment something crossed his features---surprise? disbelief? interest?---gone almost before it could be identified. "Six stars."

  It wasn't a question, but Veldora answered anyway. "Yes, sir."

  "That's..." His father set down the document he'd been holding, giving Veldora his full attention for the first time since the conversation began. "That's General-tier classification. Most knights don't attempt that difficulty until Third Stage, if ever. The preparation required, the risk involved---did you have proper support? Reliable teammates?"

  "The best," Veldora said, and felt a surge of warmth when he thought of Ciel and Sora. "We worked together. Trained together. Faced the challenge as a team."

  "I see." Roderic's tone remained carefully neutral, but his gaze had sharpened. "And your class specifics? The System grants particular benefits to high-difficulty completions. What did you receive?"

  Veldora hesitated for just a moment, then pulled up his status mentally. "Fifty-five stat points across all categories. New skill---Shield Wall. And..." He paused again. "A talent."

  That definitely got his father's attention. "A talent? At Second Stage?" The carefully maintained neutrality cracked slightly, revealing genuine interest. "What kind?"

  "Knight's Oath. It allows me to bind to someone I designate as my lord, share a portion of their stats, and redirect damage they would take to myself instead."

  Silence fell across the study like a physical weight. Roderic leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he processed that information. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a strange quality---not quite approval, not quite concern, but something suspended between them.

  "That's... unusual. Most talents don't manifest until Third or Fourth Awakening, and loyalty-based abilities are extremely rare." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Have you activated it?"

  "Yes."

  "With whom?"

  "Ciel Nova. My party leader."

  Another pause, longer this time. Roderic's fingers drummed once against the desk---a rare sign of agitation from a man who'd mastered emotional control decades ago. "The boy with the Unique class? Realm Holder?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I see." His father's tone had gone carefully flat again, and Veldora recognized the pattern---disapproval being suppressed by professional assessment. "That's... quite a commitment. Binding yourself to someone at your stage, particularly someone whose class capabilities are still largely unknown---"

  "He's proven himself," Veldora interrupted, his own voice carrying an edge he hadn't intended to show. "Multiple times. He's the reason I was able to attempt the six-star quest in the first place. The reason I survived it."

  "I'm not questioning his capabilities," Roderic said, though his tone suggested otherwise. "I'm questioning the wisdom of making permanent commitments before you fully understand their implications. You're sixteen, Veldora. Barely a month into your awakening. Decisions like this---"

  "Were mine to make," Veldora finished, his jaw tightening. "I chose it. Deliberately. Knowing exactly what it meant."

  They stared at each other across the desk, the distance between them somehow greater than the mere physical space. This was familiar territory---his father finding reasons to question his choices, Veldora defending decisions that had felt right in the moment but somehow wrong when filtered through his father's professional lens.

  Finally, Roderic sighed---a soft sound that carried more weariness than disapproval. "You've grown stronger. That much is evident. Your progression rate is... exceptional. But strength without wisdom---"

  "Becomes tyranny," Veldora finished the old family saying. "I know. You've told me that since I was old enough to hold a training sword."

  "And yet you still need to hear it." His father's voice remained level, but something beneath it suggested this was a familiar argument wearing old grooves. "The Greyson name carries weight, Veldora. Expectations. Every action you take reflects on---"

  "The family legacy," Veldora interrupted again, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "The Dawn Guild's reputation. Mother's sacrifice. I know, Father. I've been hearing about the weight we carry my entire life."

  "Because it's true," Roderic said, his tone hardening slightly. "Your mother died protecting this city. Your sister has dedicated herself to continuing that legacy. The least you can do---"

  "Is what?" Veldora's voice rose before he could stop it. "Become another perfect soldier in the guild's army? Follow every protocol, meet every expectation, never make a choice that isn't pre-approved by committee?"

  "Is to honor what was built," his father replied, his own voice rising to match. "To recognize that you don't stand alone, that every action has consequences beyond yourself---"

  "I know that!" Veldora's hand hit the desk before he realized he'd moved. "That's exactly why I made the choices I did! Because I finally found people who matter more than maintaining appearances. Because for once in my life, I'm doing something because it's right, not because it fits some predetermined expectation of what a Greyson should be!"

  Silence crashed down between them like a dropped shield. Veldora's breathing came heavy, his chest tight with emotions he'd been suppressing for years finally finding voice. His father sat perfectly still, expression locked in that neutral mask he'd perfected over decades of command.

  When Roderic spoke again, his voice was quiet---dangerously so. "You think I don't understand duty? Sacrifice? The weight of protecting something larger than yourself?"

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  "I think you understand it so well that you forgot people matter more than legacies," Veldora replied, his own voice dropping to match his father's intensity. "Mother died protecting the city, yes. But she also died making sure we had a future---me, Florance, everyone she cared about. She didn't fight to preserve the family name. She fought to protect the people she loved."

  "And you think binding yourself to some boy with a Unique class honors that?" His father's eyes had gone cold now. "Throwing away your independence, tying your fate to someone whose capabilities are still unproven---"

  "He's proven enough," Veldora said flatly. "More than enough. In three weeks, he's helped both me and Sora reach Second Stage with General-tier classifications. He's cleared dungeons that should be impossible for First Stage awakeners. He's built something from nothing and shared it freely because he believes in working together rather than climbing over others."

  He straightened, meeting his father's gaze directly. "So yes, I bound myself to him. Because he's earned it. Because standing with him feels more right than anything I've done in this house since Mother died."

  The words hung in the air between them like accusation and confession combined. Roderic's expression remained carefully neutral, but something flickered behind his eyes---old pain, perhaps, or recognition of truths he'd been avoiding.

  "Your mother would have liked that answer," he said finally, his voice carrying a strange quality that might have been approval or regret or both mixed together.

  The statement caught Veldora off-guard, robbing him of the angry momentum he'd been building. "What?"

  "She always said the truest knights were the ones who chose their bonds rather than having them assigned." Roderic's gaze drifted to the portrait on the wall behind him---a smaller version of the one in the entry hall, showing Veldora's mother in casual dress rather than formal armor. "She chose to serve Amber City, to join the Dawn Guild, to stand on those walls---not because tradition demanded it, but because she believed it mattered."

  His attention returned to Veldora, and for just a moment the professional mask slipped completely. "And she chose me, despite knowing exactly what kind of life that meant. Knowing I would always put duty first, that our children would grow up in a house where expectations outweighed affection."

  The admission hung heavy in the air. Veldora had never heard his father speak like this---never heard acknowledgment that their family structure might be flawed, that the coldness might be a choice rather than inevitability.

  "She made her peace with it," Roderic continued quietly. "Found her happiness in the small moments, in raising children who would be strong enough to make their own choices. Even if..." He paused, something vulnerable crossing his features. "Even if those choices led them away from what I'd planned."

  Veldora didn't know what to say. This wasn't the father he'd grown up with---the distant commander who viewed family as another responsibility to be managed efficiently. This was something else, something more human and therefore more complicated.

  "I never learned how to be what she was," his father said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Strong in battle, yes. Capable in command, certainly. But warm? Present? The kind of parent who made home feel like refuge rather than military headquarters?" He shook his head slowly. "That was always beyond me."

  "You could have tried," Veldora said, but the anger had drained from his voice, replaced by something heavier. "After she died, you could have---"

  "Could have what?" Roderic's eyes hardened again, the vulnerability vanishing behind professional composure. "Fallen apart? Let grief consume me while the city still needed defending? Your mother died buying time for others to escape, Veldora. The least I could do was ensure her sacrifice meant something by continuing the work she believed in."

  "But you shut us out," Veldora replied. "Me and Florance both. You turned us into extensions of her legacy instead of letting us be your children."

  "I gave you the best training available. Resources most awakeners never access. Direct connections to guild leadership---"

  "Things," Veldora interrupted. "You gave us things. Opportunities. But not..." He struggled for the right words. "Not you. Not the person she fell in love with. Just the commander who happened to live in the same house."

  Another silence, this one stretching until it felt like the room itself was holding its breath. The mana clock ticked through three full rotations before either of them spoke again.

  "You're right," Roderic said finally, and the admission seemed to cost him something. "I failed you both as a father. I told myself I was preparing you for the world that killed your mother---making you strong enough to survive it. But really..." He looked away, jaw tight. "Really, I was just afraid. Afraid that if I let myself care too much, love too openly, the pain of losing you would destroy what was left of me."

  The honesty hit Veldora like a physical blow. He'd expected many things from this conversation---criticism, disapproval, maybe dismissal---but not this raw acknowledgment of failure.

  "So I built walls," his father continued. "Made everything about duty, legacy, maintaining the standards your mother set. Pushed Florance to be perfect because at least excellence was something I understood. And you..." His gaze returned to Veldora. "You I didn't know what to do with. You had her kindness, her instinct to protect others even at cost to yourself. But you also had my uncertainty, my tendency to question whether you were enough."

  He stood slowly, moving to the window that overlooked the estate grounds. "I watched you struggle with that for years. Saw you trying to be what you thought I wanted, failing because you were aiming at a target I'd never properly defined. And instead of helping, I just... maintained distance. Told myself you needed to figure it out on your own, that coddling you would make you weak."

  Veldora's throat felt tight. This wasn't how he'd expected this conversation to go. He'd come here prepared for confrontation, for the usual cold assessment and veiled disappointment. Not for something resembling an actual reckoning.

  "But you did figure it out," Roderic said, turning back to face him. "Not the way I would have, not following the path I'd have chosen. You found your own people, made your own choices, bound yourself to someone who earned your loyalty through action rather than bloodline." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That's... more than I managed at your age. More than Florance has managed, even now."

  "Florance is serving well," Veldora said automatically, the old defense of his sister rising despite everything.

  "Florance is perfect," his father corrected. "Exactly what I trained her to be---strong, capable, utterly dedicated to duty. But..." He paused. "She has no friends. No bonds outside professional respect. She's built herself into a weapon the guild can deploy, and she believes that's what your mother would have wanted."

  His eyes met Veldora's directly. "But your mother would have wanted both of you to be happy. To find meaning beyond just maintaining her legacy. And somehow, despite my best efforts to mold you into something useful, you actually managed it."

  The words should have felt like victory. Instead, they just felt sad---recognition that came too late, understanding purchased at the cost of years of distance that couldn't be reclaimed.

  "I don't know how to bridge this gap," Roderic admitted, his voice carrying the weight of someone confessing a tactical defeat. "Don't know how to be the father you needed then or the support you might want now. But..." He straightened slightly. "I can acknowledge that you've found your own path. That your choices, however much they diverge from what I'd have planned, have led you to become exactly what a knight should be---strong enough to protect, loyal enough to bind yourself to others, brave enough to stand when standing matters."

  He moved back to the desk, picking up a small wooden box that had been sitting among the papers. "Your mother left this for you. Said to give it to you when you became a knight---not when you awakened, not when you reached some arbitrary level, but when you truly understood what it meant to stand for something beyond yourself."

  The box was old, worn smooth by handling, sealed with wax that bore the Greyson crest. Veldora took it with trembling hands, feeling the weight of years compressed into wood and intention.

  "I think," his father said quietly, "today qualifies."

  Veldora broke the seal carefully, lifting the lid to reveal something that made his breath catch. Nestled in velvet was a small medallion---silver, inscribed with his mother's personal crest rather than the family symbol. And beneath it, a letter in her handwriting.

  My dear boy,

  If you're reading this, it means you've found your way. Not the path I might have hoped, not the journey your father planned, but YOUR way---the one that feels right in your bones, the one that makes you want to stand even when standing is hard.

  I'm proud of you. Not for being strong or skilled or meeting anyone's expectations. Just for being you---kind when the world demands hardness, protective when others would look away, willing to bind yourself to something worth fighting for.

  The medallion was mine before I took the Greyson name. Before duty and legacy and all the weight that comes with them. Keep it to remember that beneath all the armor and responsibility, you're still just a person trying to do right. That's enough. That will always be enough.

  With all my love,

  Mom

  Veldora's vision blurred. He closed the box carefully, clutching it against his chest as years of accumulated pressure found release in tears he'd been holding back since the day she died.

  His father looked away, giving him that privacy. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. "She knew. Even then, she knew you'd need to hear that. That my way of showing care---through preparation, through making you strong---wouldn't be what you needed when the moment came."

  "She was right," Veldora managed, his voice cracking.

  "She usually was," Roderic agreed. Then, after a moment of hesitation that spoke of a man crossing unfamiliar territory: "I won't pretend I understand the path you've chosen. Won't pretend I'm comfortable with you binding yourself so completely to someone outside the family, outside the guild structure I know and trust."

  He met Veldora's eyes directly. "But I can see it's made you stronger. More certain. You carry yourself like your mother did---not with arrogance or false confidence, but with the quiet certainty of someone who knows exactly what they're protecting and why."

  The admission seemed to cost him something. "That's worth... acknowledging. Even if I can't fully approve of how you got there."

  It wasn't everything Veldora had wanted. Wasn't the warm reconciliation some part of him still craved. But it was honest---more honest than his father had been in years---and maybe that was enough for now.

  "Thank you," he said quietly, meaning it despite everything. "For giving me the box. For... trying."

  Roderic nodded once, the gesture carrying weight. Then his professional mask settled back into place, the moment of vulnerability closing like a door. "You should rest. Second Awakening puts significant strain on the body, even with proper support. And I expect..." He paused. "I expect you'll want to return to your team soon."

  It wasn't quite dismissal, but it was close. Still, something had shifted between them---not fixed, not healed, but perhaps acknowledged. A crack in the wall that might, someday, widen into actual connection.

  "Yes, sir," Veldora said, falling back into formal address because it was easier than navigating whatever this new dynamic was. "I'll be leaving in the morning."

  "Understood." His father returned to his desk, already reaching for the next report. "Dismissed."

  Veldora turned toward the door, the medallion box still clutched in his hand. He'd taken three steps when his father's voice stopped him.

  "Veldora."

  He looked back.

  Roderic didn't raise his eyes from the papers, but his voice carried something that might have been warmth buried under decades of discipline. "Your mother would have been proud. Of your strength, yes. But more---of your heart. The fact that you still have one, despite everything."

  The words hung in the air between them---inadequate, perhaps, but genuine. Veldora swallowed hard against the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

  "Thank you, Father."

  Then he left, the soft click of the door sealing the conversation behind him---not ended, perhaps, but suspended. Something to return to later, when both of them had time to process what had been said and what remained unspoken.

  Marcus waited in the hallway, his expression as neutral as ever. "Your room has been prepared, Young Master. Should you need anything---"

  "I'm fine," Veldora said, already moving toward the stairs. "Thank you."

  He climbed to his old room on autopilot, muscle memory guiding him through corridors he'd walked a thousand times. The space hadn't changed---still austere, still organized with military precision, still feeling more like a barracks assignment than somewhere a child had grown up.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, still clutching his mother's medallion, and let himself fully process everything that had happened. The dungeon. The awakening. The conversation with his father. All of it compressed into a single day that had somehow reshaped his entire understanding of where he came from.

  The medallion gleamed in the lamplight, its simple design carrying more weight than any formal decoration. His mother had worn this before she became Lady Greyson, before duty and legacy had claimed her. It was proof that beneath all the armor and responsibility, she'd just been a person trying to do right.

  That's enough, she'd written. That will always be enough.

  Veldora closed his eyes, feeling the truth of those words settle into his chest beside the warmth of Knight's Heart. His father might never fully understand his choices. His sister might never approve of paths that diverged from perfect service. But his mother---the person whose opinion had always mattered most---she would have understood.

  She would have been proud.

  And for now, in this moment, that was enough.

  Only after his son's footsteps had faded completely did Roderic Greyson allow himself to move again. The report he'd been reaching for remained untouched as he leaned back in his chair, one hand coming up to cover his face.

  For the first time in years---perhaps since the day they'd lowered his wife's casket into the family crypt---the iron composure cracked. His shoulders trembled, not with anger or frustration, but with grief held too long, acknowledgment come too late.

  "He's your son, isn't he?" he whispered to the empty study, voice breaking on words that had been locked inside for eight years. "He's truly your son..."

  The portrait on the wall seemed to look down at him with gentle reproach, his wife's painted eyes carrying the warmth that had once made even his coldest days bearable. She'd always been better at this---better at being human, at balancing strength with compassion, at raising children who felt loved rather than trained.

  "You always said they'd find their way," he continued, the words spilling out now that the dam had broken. "That pushing too hard would drive them away, that they needed space to become themselves. I thought I knew better. Thought discipline and preparation would keep them safe after you were gone."

  He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "But you were right. You were always right. Florance became exactly what I made her---perfect, capable, empty. And Veldora..." His voice caught. "Veldora became what you hoped for. Strong enough to protect others, brave enough to bind himself to something worth fighting for. Everything a knight should be, despite my best efforts to mold him into something else."

  The medallion had been her last gift to their son, held in trust until the moment he proved himself worthy. Roderic had almost kept it---told himself the boy wasn't ready, that he needed more time, more training, more proof that he could handle the responsibility.

  But seeing Veldora stand there, defending his choices with the same fierce conviction his mother had shown, speaking of loyalty and purpose with voices that echoed hers...

  "I failed them," he admitted to the empty room, to the portrait, to the ghost of promises broken by grief and fear. "Failed to be what they needed after you left. I chose duty over family because duty was something I understood, something I could control. And now..."

  Now his daughter was a perfect weapon with no life beyond service. And his son had found family elsewhere, with people who saw his worth without demanding he earn it through achievement.

  "But he's strong," Roderic said, forcing his voice to steady. "Strong in ways that matter. He chose his path, bound himself to something he believes in. That's..." The word stuck in his throat. "That's more than I managed. More than I taught him."

  He lowered his hand, staring at the scattered papers on his desk without really seeing them. Work remained---always work, endless reports and tactical assessments and the weight of keeping Amber City safe. Duty that had sustained him through eight years of carefully managed grief.

  But for just a moment, he let himself feel the loss. Not just of his wife---that wound had scarred over long ago---but of the children who'd needed a father and gotten only a commander. Of the years spent pushing them toward strength while neglecting to teach them how to be happy.

  "I'll try to do better," he promised the portrait, knowing even as he spoke that change would come hard, if it came at all. "Can't undo what's been done, can't reclaim the time we've lost. But maybe..." He paused. "Maybe I can at least stop making it worse."

  The portrait offered no answer, but the lanternlight seemed to catch her painted smile just right, making it almost seem like approval.

  Roderic straightened slowly, composing himself with the practiced discipline of decades. The papers still needed reviewing. The guild still needed leadership. Duty remained, constant and demanding as always.

  But somewhere beneath the armor and authority, a father allowed himself one last whisper to the darkness:

  "Take care of him, Clara. Watch over our boy as he finds his way. Help him be everything you hoped for---everything I couldn't teach him to become."

  The study settled into silence again, the moment of vulnerability sealing itself away behind professional composure. But the portrait remained, a constant reminder that once, before duty claimed everything, there had been love enough to build a family.

  And perhaps, if he was very lucky, there might still be time to remember how that felt.