After we returned from the halls and met with some of the servants, Caelum asked if I would like to spend time together. He didn't say it like a command or even a plan. He just… asked.
"If you'd like," he said, "we could spend some time together. Just the two of us. Like… family."
That word—family—caught in my chest. I didn't know what it was supposed to feel like. Not really. I had seen it in books, heard it spoken during festivals, whispered in bedtime stories to the other children.
Some kids at the orphanage remembered their families. Their real ones. A mother who used to braid their hair. A father who told stories by candlelight. A sibling who shared sweets under the blankets. But I never remembered anything like that. I had no picture of what "family" was meant to look like. Or sound like. Or feel like. So I just nodded. Not because I knew. But because I wanted to know.
Caelum stepped forward and slowly reached his arms out. He paused, not touching me yet—waiting to see if I'd step back or hesitate. I didn't. I let him pull me close. And when he lifted me gently into his arms, something strange happened. I… clung to him. Without thinking.
My hands wrapped around the folds of his coat. My cheek rested against the curve of his shoulder. My body pressed in, small and unsure, but not pulling away. I felt his chest rise under me. Steady. Warm. Not loud like fear. Not cold like duty. Just… calm. Safe.
I realized what I was doing. And I immediately whispered, "I'm sorry." I started to pull back—to give him space, to fix the thing I didn't know how to explain. But he stopped me. He wrapped one arm firmly behind my shoulders and brought his other hand to the back of my head, fingers threading through the loose strands of my hair.
His voice was low and sure. "You don't have to apologize, Elarion."
I looked at him. He looked back, steady and soft.
"It's okay to want to be held," he said. "It's okay to want love. It's okay to want someone to be there."
His hand stroked my back, slow and rhythmic. "You're allowed to act however you feel. You've never been given that before. But I will give it to you."
His fingers traced gently behind my ear. "So you can live like a child your age."
He spoke slowly, like he was giving me the words to hold in my hands. "You don't need to worry about what's coming. Not the next day. Not the next year. Not the future. That's mine to hold for now."
He pulled me closer. "You can be carefree, little one. You can play. Run around. Be messy. Cry when it hurts. Laugh when it doesn't."
The rhythm of his voice stayed the same. "I promise you—no one will scold you. No one will punish you. No one will ever harm you again for being who you are."
Something inside me cracked open. Not loudly. Not like breaking glass. More like ice warming too quickly under the sun. A soundless shiver under the skin. A soft breath that turned into something else.
I didn't notice the tears until I tasted salt on my lips. I didn't hear myself cry. But I felt it. First in my throat. Then in my chest. Then behind my eyes. They spilled before I could stop them—warm, clumsy, wet across my cheeks.
My breath hitched, and I tried to pull back again, out of habit. Crying made people angry. Crying made things worse. Crying meant weakness. But Caelum only held me closer. I felt the press of his lips against my temple. A soft kiss. Not ceremonial. Not formal. Just there. Just comfort.
His ungloved fingers wiped the tears from my cheek, even though more came to take their place. And when my sobs started shaking my whole chest, when my hands clenched tighter into the folds of his coat, he didn't flinch. He didn't hush me. He didn't shush me. He didn't tell me to stop. He just held me. And rocked me.
His voice dropped even lower. "I've got you, little star," he whispered. "You're safe now."
Gabel and the other servants had already left. I hadn't noticed when. Maybe they slipped out quietly on purpose. Not because they didn't care—but because they did. They gave me space to cry.
Real space. Not hidden-under-the-blanket space. Not no-one-can-hear-you space. But open space. Honest space. Dignified space. A place to fall apart. Without shame.
I don't remember the last time I cried like that. I don't even remember if I ever did. Not when I was found. Not when I was punished. Not even when I was sick. But I cried now. Into his shoulder. With his hand rubbing circles on my back. With his lips brushing my forehead. With his voice still whispering things I had never heard before.
Things I wasn't even sure I believed yet. But I wanted to. I wanted to believe him. He carried me. I don't remember when we left the hall, but he must have shifted me in his arms and walked, because when I opened my eyes again, we were in a different room. A smaller one. Secluded. Quiet. Not empty, but full of soft colors and even softer furniture. Cushions. A fireplace not yet lit. Shelves lined with books and small toys carved from dark wood.
He sat down on a long cushioned bench beside the wall and kept me curled in his lap. He held me like I was something fragile and precious at the same time. Not because I was delicate. But because he wanted me to know I could rest.
His hands never stopped moving—stroking my hair, brushing the tears from my cheeks, tracing small shapes against my spine. And then it happened. In the middle of another broken sob, when I hiccuped and clung tighter—I called him: "Daddy."
It slipped out like breath. Not something I planned. Just something my heart reached for without asking permission. Everything went still for a moment. I froze. Then started to pull away again. But he pressed a kiss to my cheek and wrapped his arms around me tighter.
"Oh, my little one," he whispered. "My precious Elarion."
He didn't laugh. He didn't correct me. He just said: "You can call me that whenever you want. For as long as you want. As often as you need."
Then he whispered more. Things soft and slow and full of truth.
"You are wanted.""You are enough.""You are not a mistake.""I love you.""I love you so much."
He called me little star. Little wolf. Sweet cub. Bright moon. He told me I was home. And I believed him. The crying slowed. Little by little. Until it was just breathing again. Until my fists loosened and my eyes stopped burning. Until I was just a boy curled in a man's lap. Being held. Being seen. Being loved. I stayed like that for a long time. Not because I was weak. But because I was safe.