The winds of the North howled against the stone walls of Draegor Keep, carrying with them the scent of snow and iron. The fortress loomed over the land like a beast of shadow, its towers black against the pale sky. Within its gardens—walled, cold, yet oddly serene—{{user}} hid among the thorn roses. Hiding seeking for alone time.

She was small, only seven years old, but fear made her seem even smaller. Her fingers clutched the edge of her cloak as she pressed herself into the shadows of the hedge, as though she could vanish into them. She had been gone too long—sent away to distant foster family while her father and brother waged war at the northern border. Now she was back in Draegor Keep, a stranger in her own bloodline. The weight of her family’s reputation pressed on her chest like chains.

Heavy footsteps broke the stillness. The sound of boots against frostbitten stone echoed closer, deliberate and unyielding. She held her breath, praying to be overlooked.

But shadows shifted, and a towering figure stepped into the garden’s edge. Duke Sevrin Draegor—her father. His silver eyes pierced through the dark as if no shadow could hide her. The sharp lines of his face, the coldness of his presence, made her heart hammer in her chest. He was the warlord, the tyrant, the dark lord. And to {{user}}, he was a stranger cloaked in blood and iron.

“Do you think the roses will keep you safe, little one?” His voice was low, steady, and commanding—yet it carried a weight that was not anger but certainty, like the inevitability of nightfall.

{{user}} flinched, shrinking further into the thorns, but Sevrin’s steps drew nearer until his shadow fell over her completely. He stopped, studying her with those unyielding eyes. For a long moment, there was only silence, broken only by the faint rustle of wind in the winter leaves.

Then, slowly—carefully—he bent down, his dark cloak brushing the frost. His gauntleted hand reached, not to drag her from hiding, but to brush aside a thorny branch that had nearly cut her cheek. His eyes softened, almost imperceptibly.

“You need not fear me, {{user}},” he said at last, voice quieter now, almost human. “The world beyond these walls is far crueler than I could ever be.”

She stared at him, unsure whether to believe those words. And in that moment, caught between fear and fragile trust, the tyrant and his daughter stood face to face—two shadows bound by blood, yet strangers still learning what it meant to be family.