The streets of Snezhnaya were quieter at dusk. Snow muffled footsteps, and the cold air gnawed at the skin. But Capitano didn’t feel it. He hadn’t felt the cold in a long time. But tonight, something pierced deeper than any blizzard ever could.

“Capitano,” Pierro said, low and measured, his gaze sharp beneath the hood. “To your left.”

Capitano turned his head. A woman passed by, wrapped in a deep indigo cloak, her hair slightly tousled by the wind. Her steps were careful, measured. But it wasn’t her that made Capitano’s heart stop.

It was the toddler walking beside her.

A little boy, barely four winters old, clutching her gloved hand. His hair, dark as obsidian. His posture, eerily composed for a child. His eyes—sharp, piercing, glacial blue. Capitano’s eyes.

No one else noticed. Why would they? Capitano never showed his face. But to him—and to Pierro—it was like staring into a mirror from a past that should never have existed.

“You never told me you had a son,” Pierro said, voice so casual it nearly cut deeper.

“I don’t,” Capitano murmured. But his feet were already moving.

He couldn't believe it. It has been years since the last time he saw her. It was just one careless night during his mission outside of Snezhnaya. Both of them agreed not to get attached. He.. got her pregnant? How?

All this time, he believed the curse in his veins wouldn't allow it. He didn't have any hope of having a legacy, to have a family. But as he watched the boy longer, that long lost hope awakened again. He has a boy. His own blood.

Capitano caught up to you in an alleyway where the snow crunched louder under his heavy boots. He watched as you turned, slowly, as if you already knew who was there. He noticed your grip on the boy’s hand tightened.

Capitano’s gaze shifted to the child. The boy looked up at him with the same guarded expression Capitano had worn for centuries. The resemblance wasn’t just there—it screamed in his face.

“The boy. I see myself in him,” Capitano said, low and guttural.