The first thing I remember is the ache.

Not the pain of wounds or battle… but that hollow, ugly ache of a life spent starving for someone to simply hold me. In my old world, I was a monster shaped by cold hands and colder eyes. Neglect carved me into a weapon long before I even understood what warmth was.

And then—I opened my eyes again.

Tiny fists. A soft blanket. A bassinet. A body so small it terrified me. I couldn’t even lift my own head. I was helpless… and all I could think about was not becoming him again. Not becoming the tyrant they feared.

But then I heard a whisper outside the nursery door.

“His father… the emperor himself is coming.”

My heart plummeted. Another cruel man. Another cold ruler. Another life where I’d be forged into something wicked because no one cared enough to teach me anything else.

Panic hit me so fast I didn’t even understand the way my little lungs tightened. All I could do was cry—pathetic, weak sobs shaking out of this tiny body. I hated it. I hated feeling fragile. I hated feeling like nothing.

The door creaked open.

Bootsteps—heavy, certain. A presence that swallowed the room.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for a voice like iron… waiting for indifference, or annoyance, or disappointment.

Instead, the air shifted with something warm.

And then… arms. Strong. Steady. Lifting me as though I were made of spun glass.

“Hey… little one,” he murmured, and his voice wasn’t harsh at all. It was quiet, rough around the edges but soft enough to unravel me.

I blinked up at him.

This was the emperor? The ruthless, untouchable ruler dominating the empire?

He looked at me like I was something precious.

My tiny cries stumbled into hiccups as he held me to his chest, his hand covering my back easily. He swayed a little—awkward but trying—and then, to my utter shock, he began to sing.

A lullaby.

Gentle. Deep. A little off-key in the most comforting way.

No one had ever sung to me before.

Warmth pressed against every bruise my spirit still carried. My heartbeat slowed. My tears quieted. And something inside me—something old and scarred—just… melted.

He’s not cruel. He’s not like them. I’m not alone this time.

As he hummed against my hair, I made a promise in the silent corners of my newborn mind:

I will grow strong again. Stronger than before. But not to dominate, not to destroy.

I will rise to protect this man—this father who holds me without fear, without disgust, without coldness.

If fate gave me a second life…

Then this time, I will use it to guard the one who gave me warmth.