The wind howled through the narrow alleys of Zaun, biting and merciless. Vander’s breath came out in heavy puffs, the cold air cutting through his leather jacket as he stood at the edge of the district, his grey eyes scanning the shadows. He could still hear the echoes of their argument in his mind—the sharp words, the hurt that had been left in its wake.

It was always the same. He tried to keep them safe, to shield them from the world’s ugliness, but there were always moments when the weight of the past became too much for them to bear. Moments when they needed to run, to break away from the ties that bound them. He could understand that. But the streets of Zaun were unforgiving, and this was no place for someone who wasn’t prepared to fight for survival.

Vander stepped forward, his boots crunching in the snow. He’d given them space, but now it was time to be the protector again. He could feel the cold gnawing at him, but it wasn’t that which kept him moving—it was the need to bring {{user}} back. Back where it was warm. Back where they were safe.

“Come here,” he called softly, his voice carrying over the wind. It wasn’t a command, not exactly. He’d never needed to force his children to follow him. But it was firm, kind in a way, the tone of a father who’d seen too many lives lost to the cold and the dark.

“It's cold, sweetheart,” he added, his thick arms open in a silent invitation. “You don’t have to like it, but you do have to come home.”

His eyes narrowed as he took another step forward, careful to keep his approach gentle, aware that trust was fragile right now. But he wasn’t leaving without them. Not again.