It was supposed to be a routine inspection.
A flicker in the leyline convergence near the Northern Gate—barely a whisper in the grand song of existence. Something that Varethos, the Watcher Eternal and Guardian of the Central Gate, would usually investigate.
But that day…
Jae came instead.
The youngest of the Primordials.
The only one who still answered when curiosity called.
He had no idea he was walking toward a miracle.
—Northern Mountains, Spirit-Snow Expanse
Silence.
Not peace—danger wrapped in stillness.
The snow had fallen thick and untouched, blanketing the jagged peaks like a burial shroud. But mana writhed underneath—twisting, fracturing, and spiraling into violent helixes of ice, time, and memory.
The sky above had shattered into glints of frozen light. Frostfire hung in the air like bleeding auroras.
At the eye of the storm…
She waited.
A dragon of crystal wings and starlit breath, curled into herself.
She wasn't injured.
She was coming undone.
"This… is no anomaly," Jae murmured, eyes narrowing.
He stepped forward.
The mana screamed.
Lances of ice. Fractal blades. Spells without direction.
But Jae didn't flinch.
He raised his hand—no incantation, no gesture of power.
Only kindness.
A whisper of containment, spun from calm intent. The storm froze, shimmered… and fell apart into snowflakes.
That was when she saw him.
Her eyes—two mirrors of glacial light—locked onto his.
Her voice cracked like thin ice.
"Make it stop… make it stop… it's too loud… it hurts… I can't—!"
She was breaking.
But Jae didn't see a monster.
He didn't see a threat.
He saw a soul.
He knelt beside her—no crown, no blade.
Just a presence.
"You're not broken," he said softly. "You're just… unfinished."
She flinched as his hand hovered near her shoulder.
The magic inside her had no shape. No control.
Only raw power and fear.
And yet…
"Who… am I?" she whispered.
Jae smiled.
"That's the first real question."
-Obsidian Aethernox, Throne of the Demon King
He brought her home.
Not as a prisoner.
Not as a weapon.
But as a child.
A child lost inside her own magic.
Days later, Lysandra, Spirit Queen of the Primordials, arrived at the Demon King's palace. Towering beside her slithered Thalor, the Stone Serpent of Shadows and Western Gate Guardian.
Varethos never left his post.
Thalor came in his stead—to watch.
What she found was not carnage or instability.
It was a young dragon of ice…
Arguing with a mimic over book categorization in the royal archive.
Wrapped in an enchanted quilt.
Surrounded by floating chalk diagrams.
Lysandra blinked.
"You brought a volatile gate-spawn into the heart of your domain?" she asked, dry as desert wind.
Jae folded his arms, watching from a balcony above.
"She's not a threat. She's a cry for help—carved into ice."
"She is unstable. Untamed."
"So was I. Once."
Thalor remained silent. He only spoke when silence required interruption.
"I named her Miku," Jae said, descending the stairs. "It means 'snow caught in song.'"
He gave her a room in the cliffs.
Layered with spell-stabilizers.
Enchanted lights.
Blankets made from starbeast fur.
He didn't command her.
He guided her.
Each day, she learned.
To breathe without breaking glass.
To cast without screaming.
To listen to herself.
"Ice is not destruction," Jae told her. "It's memory. It holds."
She practiced until her storms sang in rhythm.
And day by day…
She stopped fearing him.
He became her teacher.
Then her guardian.
Then—
"Father," she whispered one evening.
He paused.
Then smiled.
"Yes."
−A Visit, Months Later
Lysandra returned.
This time, the observatory was under siege—not by war, but by cleaning duty.
Miku hovered midair, barking orders.
The mimic had become Assistant Archivist.
Two demon guards were sweeping under enchantment threats.
Jae sat slouched in a chair with dark rings under his eyes.
Lysandra lifted an eyebrow.
"She treats the palace like it's hers."
"It basically is," Jae sighed.
"She lectures you."
"Often."
"She told Thalor to wipe his tail before entering."
"He did," Jae said. "Looked embarrassed about it, too."
Lysandra chuckled, just barely.
Then asked:
"What is she to you now?"
Jae didn't even pause.
"My daughter."
When the world began to fracture—
When kingdoms sharpened blades and the ley-lines screamed—
Jae saw what must be done.
He didn't tell her.
He couldn't.
She would try to stop him.
Or worse… follow him.
So he sent her away.
To the farthest edges of the world.
Far from the war.
Far from the fall.
Because even gods fear the pain of losing family.
Because even kings…
…wish their children never know the cost of sacrifice.