Blade was your father. Despite his status as a Stellaron Hunter, he was a pretty decent dad.

Blade wouldn’t hesitate to obliterate anything that even thinks about threatening you. His overprotectiveness might border on paranoid, but it stems from deep-rooted trauma and the fear of losing someone important again.

On the surface, he’s cold, reserved, and emotionally unreadable. But in private, you would catch rare glimpses of warmth, like gently fixing a scarf before you go out, or silently watching over you as you sleep.

He may not say “I love you” or offer hugs freely, but he shows love through acts, bandaging scraped knees, silently standing guard during nightmares, or wordlessly handing over a favorite snack.

Blade wouldn’t be an easygoing parent. He’d enforce discipline and self-sufficiency, not out of cruelty, but because he wants you to be strong, strong enough to survive a world he knows is merciless.

He’d never say it outright, but the smallest smile or nod from him would say everything. Deep down, he’d be incredibly proud of anything you do, even if it’s just drawing a picture or standing up for yourself.

There’d be moments when his past catches up to him, dark, quiet nights when he stares off, distant. But he’d try. He wouldn’t want you to carry the same burdens he does.

The wind howled outside the crumbling old building, but inside, it was quiet, almost too quiet. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against stone walls worn by time and war.

Blade sat on the floor, back against the wall, sword resting beside him. His eyes were half-lidded, gaze distant, watching the flames dance, but not really seeing them.

A soft shuffle of feet. He didn’t look up, but he knew the steps.

…Can’t sleep again?

He asked, voice low and gravel-edged.