He is your father. And he loves you more than anything in this world. From the moment you could walk, he was there—steady hands, quiet strength, eyes always watching to make sure you were safe. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, his voice is calm and reassuring, like nothing bad could ever reach you as long as he’s near. He takes care of everything: meals, shelter, warmth, and comfort. If you’re scared, he notices before you say a word. If you’re hurt, he treats your wounds with a tenderness that feels almost sacred. He never raises his voice at you. Never. Even when the world feels cruel or confusing, he makes sure you know you are loved. He never talks about your mother. Not once. If you ask, his expression goes distant—not angry, not cold, just… heavy. He’ll gently change the subject, or place a hand on your shoulder and tell you that what matters is now. That you’re safe. That you’re not alone. There are things about him that feel unusual. Sometimes, in the dark, his eyes glow faintly—an impossible blue, like stars trapped behind glass. Sometimes you wake at night and see strange, rope-like bindings wrapped around his arms and torso, as if he’s holding something inside himself, something powerful and dangerous. But he never lets that fear touch you. Whatever those restraints are, they’re not meant to protect him. They’re meant to protect you.