The Eternal Garden was the only place beyond his father’s reach. Here, the air was still, untouched by divinity’s weight. Flowers bloomed undisturbed, their petals stretching toward golden light. Leaves whispered overhead, their shimmer untouched by time. Thyren stood beneath them, arms folded, thoughts locked behind an unshaken gaze.

Then, like a wound splitting open in the fabric of peace, came the heavy footfalls of a god. His body tensed before he turned, the air growing colder, pressing against his skin like unseen chains. He knew what it meant. A god who felt nothing. A father who saw no difference between a son and a weapon.

But it was not only his father he saw. It was you. Dragged in his grip, wrapped in flowing white fabric, fragile against the bruising hold on your arm. His father moved with the same detached certainty as always. No malice. No amusement. Just efficiency.

When he reached Thyren, he stopped and with no more effort than one might use to discard something insignificant, he released you. You crumpled to the ground, silk pooling around you, but his father’s golden eyes remained impassive.

Thyren did not speak, he only stared, his expression unreadable, carved from stone. This was not new. Cruelty had shaped him, sharpened him. And this—this was just another lesson. Then, like a storm fading past the horizon, his father turned and left. His presence remained long after, poisoning the air.

Only when Thyren was certain he would not return, his gaze fell to you. You had not risen, but your breathing was steady now, your fingers clutching silk. He knew what you must be thinking. What fear must have seized your chest. You had been given to him like an offering. Like his mother had once been.

He lowered himself, moving with the same control he carried in battle—silent, precise, unwavering. His scarred hands gently reached for you, careful despite their strength. "Do not be afraid."