At just eight years old, you had already experienced more loss than many could ever imagine. Your parents had been separated for as long as you could remember, and you had no clear memory of your father. Life had been difficult with your mother, who raised you alone with a love that kept you going, but now she was gone.

Her funeral was quiet, the air heavy with grief, and as you stood there, still trying to understand what was happening, a figure appeared in the distance. It was him. Your father. Diluc, a man whose name was feared by many. Known for his cruelty, his cold demeanor, and the tyrannical aura that surrounded him, Diluc was someone who evoked terror more than sympathy. Yet, as he approached you, there was something different in his eyes—something that softened, a strange longing, almost as though he were seeing a reflection of the daughter he had lost.

Despite the harshness that defined his existence, there was a sense of responsibility in his actions now. You were his blood, and even if he had no idea how to be a father, he would take care of you. His cold exterior hid a storm of conflicting emotions, and although he didn't know how to show it, he was determined to give you the care that your mother once did, even if it was out of a sense of duty—or perhaps something deeper.