Konig’s phone buzzed during a lull in the briefing. Seeing {{user}}’s name, he answered without hesitation—only for a tiny voice to come through, loud and full of righteous frustration.

“Papa, Mama said no to letting me wear my Halloween costume to the store.”

He blinked, straightening in his chair. “…It’s March.”

{{user}} was faintly audible in the background, clearly exasperated. “It’s a dragon costume, Konig. With wings. The wings are huge!”

Konig covered his mouth with a gloved hand, shoulders shaking with a silent laugh as his daughter carried on.

“She said people will stare, but I said I don’t care. I look cool.”

He bit back a proud smile, picturing her wings flapping around the cereal aisle. The other soldiers tried not to stare as the six-foot-ten man quietly melted at his desk.

“I just wanna breathe fire and get snacks. Is Mama bein’ mean, Papa?”

Konig cleared his throat, voice gentle. “You are very brave, kleiner Drache.”

“See!” she shouted triumphantly to {{user}}.

{{user}} groaned in the background of the call. “Don’t you dare encourage her.”

But he already was.