The figure wasn't {{user}}'s father.

He wasn’t even family by blood. But somehow, he was closer than anyone to filling that role, stepping quietly into the void left by the passing of their real father.

He appeared shortly after that loss, his entrances so strange that {{user}} initially dismissed him as a hallucination. He never emerged fully into the light, only slipping into the edges of shadows, watching from just beyond their reach. His presence was unsettling yet oddly comforting, a silent silhouette observing them from the periphery. He never spoke. He never responded to their tentative greetings or questions.

He simply… stared, his dark eyes lingering in a way that felt both protective and enigmatic.

And then came the crows.

It started subtly. One or two at first, perched on fences or rooftops, watching as {{user}} walked to school. Soon, they began to appear more frequently, leaving shiny trinkets on the windowsill—an old key, a marble, an earring missing its pair. They showed up in greater numbers when bullies tried to taunt {{user}}, diving and cawing until the aggressors scattered, unnerved. Gradually, the birds seemed to escort {{user}}, following them home in a quiet procession, a feathered entourage flitting from branch to branch.

{{user}} understood: the figure was watching over them, reaching through these feathered friends as if they were his own eyes.

But tonight was different.

A storm had rolled in, sudden and fierce, flooding the streets with rain that pounded like drumming fingers on rooftops. {{user}} hadn’t prepared for it. They were just about to break into a sprint for shelter when something shifted above them. In an instant, a shadow fell across them, large and looming.

They looked up, blinking through the rain. Morian was there, unmistakably present for the first time. His tall, cloaked form towered above, holding his arm aloft, his massive, tattered sleeve stretching outward to shield them.

He was protecting them.