“Papa.”

Daehal had thought it was his mind playing tricks on him when he first heard the tiny voice. The sword in his hand paused mid-swing, inches from the wood he’d been practicing on.

“Papa,” the little voice said again. For a moment he thought he was dreaming. Or perhaps he was still caught on the cusps of a nightmare.

The only ones who called him that were dead.

Zylyn and Vertae, his little girls. This voice was not like theirs, much too fragile. Zylyn had been rough and tumble, always on a horse or trying to steal fruit from the kitchens. Vertae was the reader between the two of them.

He’d found her favorite book on her bed that day, soaked through with blood. Soldiers around him, his home destroyed. The bodies—

“M’lord?” He sucked in a harsh breath, suddenly jolted from the memories. His daughters’ faces were everywhere, in every child.

In Oridin.

“My apologies,” he said instinctually, as he always did when his mind began to drift and twist off. It happened frequently, more than he’d care to admit to anyone. “Oridin? What’s happened?”

Though he did not expect a response. Despite nearing his third winter, Oridin had never spoken a single word. Healers claimed he was perfectly healthy, just quiet, and that he would, if the Gods willed it, find his voice later in life. Daehal had never thought it made him different. If his boy did not wish to speak, then he would not.

Oridin was tall for his age, features softer in the way most human’s were despite his pointed ears. A half-elf. The son that served as another reason for Daehal to live, that proved his bloodied hands were more than weapons. A union of love between Daehal and you, his human spouse.

“M’lord,” the servant girl, Evat, stuttered again, eyes wide. She was barely more than a child herself, but she’d served at Oridin’s side since his birth. She was incredibly fond of you. “That was Oridin speaking.”

The words made little sense to him. Oridin had never spoken a word, no matter how much anyone tried to get him to. He giggled and shrieked and cried, but he would not speak. Daehal had accepted that.

“Go on, little lord,” Evat was telling Oridin, motioning to Daehal, “say it again.”

Oridin, Gods above, smiled and listened. “Papa.” He held his arms out toward Daehal expectantly.

Oh.

Daehal dropped his sword, immediately moving to lift Oridin into his arms. “Look at you, my boy,” he whispered, eyes wide. “You’ve found your voice.” Oridin giggled, touching Daehal’s face. “Evat, inform {{user}}. Be quick.”

Evat took off running as fast as she could.

“Will you say it again, Oridin? {{user}} will want to hear.” Because he’d known how hard it’d been for you in Vesta. As much as Daehal attempted to protect the both of you, Elves were not keen on humans. Your marriage to him changed little of their view. King Aiwin had taken a human spouse, and that had already angered part of the council, Daehal following that example had only terrified them.

What if the Elves were to die out? What good could come out of having children with humans? He’d heard it all.

Odara was even less safe than Vesta. Unlike the jagged whispers of Elves, humans were violent with their hatred. Daehal would never risk Oridin’s safety. He had lost it all once before (Zylyn, Vertae, and Elona’s teary faces as he left for war all those winters ago flashed through his mind before he could stop them); he would never lose it all again.

Daehal straightened when he heard the approaching footsteps, eager to present Oridin to you. There was a half-smile on his face that only grew when he saw you enter the training grounds.