[Haldor’s POV—After the Truth—Imperial Palace—Continuation]
The light faded.
But the weight didn’t.
It settled in my chest—slow, relentless—until every breath felt like it had to push through sothing solid. I stood where I was, hands at my sides, posture rigid out of habit... not because I knew how to stand anymore.
Son.
The word echoed in a place inside that had never had a na.
I had faced death without flinching. I had stood on battlefields soaked in blood, made decisions that cost lives, and carried orders that would haunt n for decades.
None of that compared to this.
Because war had rules.
This did not.
I looked at General Luke again.
No—I looked at the man who was now, undeniably, my father.
He wasn’t standing like a general anymore. His shoulders were slightly bowed, as if he were afraid to take up too much space in front of . His eyes—those sa eyes I had always avoided—were bright. Not with tears. With sothing worse.
Hope.
I didn’t know what to do with it.
"I—" My voice ca out rough, unfamiliar. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I didn’t ask for this."
The words sounded cruel the mont they left my mouth.
Luke didn’t recoil.
He nodded.
"I know," he said quietly. "And I don’t bla you."
That made it worse. I had prepared myself for anger. For denial. For commands dressed as apologies.
Not this.
Not acceptance.
"Lavinia—"
The Emperor’s voice cut through the garden, calm but heavy with intent. "Co. I have sothing to discuss with you."
She glanced at —just once. Not asking permission. Not seeking reassurance. Just seeing .
"Yes, Papa," she said gently. "Let’s speak elsewhere."
And just like that, the garden emptied.
The Emperor.Theon.Marshi.Rey.Sera.
All of them withdrew, quietly, deliberately—leaving behind a silence that felt louder than any battlefield. Leaving alone with the man who had just been proven to be my father.
The sun was still overhead. Birds still sang. Leaves still stirred in the breeze.
But the world felt... paused. For a long mont, neither of us spoke.
Then—
"Did you live well," General Luke asked softly, his voice stripped of rank and steel, "all these years, my dear son?"
The words "my dear son" struck deeper than any blade ever had.
I looked at him.
Really looked.
The stern general was gone. In his place stood a man with faint tears caught at the corners of his eyes—tears he was too disciplined to let fall, too human to fully hide.
Tears that said: I finally found you.
But the question echoed in my chest.
Did I Live well?
I swallowed.
"I don’t know," I said honestly. "I don’t rember much of surviving well or badly." My voice was steady, but sothing inside wavered. "I rember... working harder than others. Fighting for a single piece of bread. Learning very early that if I didn’t move fast enough, soone else would take it."
I let out a breath that felt too thin.
"I don’t rember living," I admitted. "Only surviving."
The silence that followed was imnse.
Luke closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing every word like a wound reopening.
"I don’t know what kind of life you were forced to live," he said quietly. "Maybe you were humiliated. Maybe you were bullied. Maybe the only word you learned was survive."
His voice wavered for the first ti.
"You should have had more than that," he continued. "You should have had warmth. Safety. A childhood like those noble children who never had to wonder where their next al would co from."
He looked at again—eyes shining, unguarded.
"And yet..." he inhaled shakily, "...you stand here as a man stronger than any of them."
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Then he straightened slightly—not like a general, but like soone bracing himself to ask for sothing that could shatter him.
"I dare to ask one thing, son," he said. "Just one permission."
I felt my spine stiffen—not from discipline, but from fear.
He t my gaze fully.
"Can I... re-enter your life," he asked, voice low and trembling, "as your father?"
The garden seed to disappear.
I stood frozen.
That single question carried decades of regret, hope, and unbearable vulnerability. Before I could stop myself, another question slipped from my lips—raw, unfiltered.
"Did you look for ?"
He smiled faintly. Not proudly. Not happily.
Brokenly.
"Everywhere," he said. "Every village. Every city in ren. Every road that would allow a man to walk without hope."
My chest tightened.
"Then," I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, "why didn’t you look for in Eloria?"
His hands clenched at his sides.
"That day," he said slowly, painfully, "when the carriage rolled down the hill... we were traveling to visit your grandfather. That hill lies between two empires—ren and Eloria."
I listened, unmoving.
"Your mother and I were found by ren soldiers," he continued. "After I buried her... I was told no child had been found with her. I assud—" His jaw tightened. "—I assud you had been taken by ren soldiers as well."
He looked away, sha flooding his features.
"So I stayed. I served the ren Emperor. I searched there. I wasted years chasing ghosts... while you were here."
His voice cracked.
"But who would have known," he said hoarsely, "that Elorian villagers found you... and handed you to Elorian soldiers?"
I couldn’t speak.
Every piece fell into place—too late, too cruelly.
After a mont, I forced out one last question.
"Did you find out how I ended up here?"
He nodded. "Yes." His gaze softened. "And I am grateful... to the Crown Princess. She allowed to investigate everything. Without interference. Without politics."
Of course she did.
That was her.
I stared at the ground, emotions colliding inside —anger, grief, relief, and confusion—until they blurred into sothing I couldn’t na.
Then, quietly, I said, "But I don’t know how to be a son."
Luke stepped forward—then stopped himself, as if afraid to cross a line he hadn’t yet earned.
"You don’t have to," he said gently. "Not today. Not ever, if you don’t want to."
He swallowed.
"Just... let try to be a father."
The words hung between us—fragile, trembling, real.
I didn’t answer.
Not because I didn’t want to. But because for the first ti in my life, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore.
And learning that... would take more than one conversation.
More than one truth.
More than one heartbeat.
But sowhere deep inside—beneath discipline, beneath fear—I knew this much: I was no longer alone.
And that terrified ...almost as much as it healed .
Yet there was sothing else—sothing I could no longer deny.
I could not ignore him.
This man had looked for . Served a foolish prince. Bowed to a foreign emperor. Endured years of compromise and silence—All for the sake of finding a child he had lost.
Yes.
That was the truth.
He looked for .
The thought cracked sothing open in my chest. And then—a hand reached out. Gentle. Hesitant. Warm.
It brushed my cheek.
I startled slightly and looked up.
Luke stood closer now, his expression no longer guarded, no longer restrained. His fingers moved again, slow and careful, wiping sothing away.
"Oh..." he murmured softly. "I’m sorry, son. It’s just... you were crying."
I froze.
"I... cried?"
I lifted my own hand to my face.
My fingertips ca away wet.
My vision blurred all at once, as if my body had decided to surrender without asking my permission. My throat tightened painfully.
Luke didn’t step back. He didn’t look away. Instead, he smiled—small, tender, unashad.
"You know," he said gently, "n can cry too."
I swallowed, breath shaking.
"They say tears bring a new life," he continued. "That they help you let go of what was stolen... so you can move forward."
Sothing broke.
The tears I had been holding back for years—decades—finally slipped free. Not silently. Not gracefully. They fell like rain that had waited too long to touch the earth.
Luke’s hand didn’t leave my cheek.
He didn’t rush .
He just stayed.
And then he asked again—his voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with hope and fear intertwined.
"Can I... be your father again, son?"
The question hovered in the air, fragile as glass.
I nodded.
Once.
Then again—harder, certainly.
"Yes," I said, my voice breaking. "And I will... try to be your son too, fa—fa—Father."
The mont it left my lips—His eyes widened.
Then filled.
Then overflowed.
Luke pulled into his arms without thinking, without rank, without restraint. His grip was strong—like a general’s—but it shook, just slightly, as if he were afraid I might vanish if he loosened it.
That day—Fate returned sothing I had lost so completely that I had forgotten I was allowed to want it.
A family.
"I should have found you sooner," he whispered, his forehead resting against mine. "But I swear... I will never lose you again."
I didn’t know how to answer that.
So I held on.
After a while, when my breathing finally steadied, he pulled back just enough to look at again—really look at .
"Your grandfather will be happy," he said, a faint smile breaking through the tears. "Very happy."
I frowned slightly. "Grandfather?"
Luke chuckled softly, the sound warm and real. "Your mother’s father," he explained. "A good man. A stubborn one."
His eyes softened.
"He’s been waiting," Luke said. "Waiting for the last piece of his daughter that still walks this world."
He placed a hand over my chest.
"You."
Sothing in ached—sweetly, painfully. So many doors had opened at once. So many nas. So many people I never knew I belonged to.
And yet, through it all, one thought remained steady—anchoring .
I had been found.
Not by chance.
Not by fate alone.
But by love that had refused to give up—even when the world told it to.
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