Inside the vast palace hall, your small footsteps echoed faintly. You clutched a worn doll to your chest, holding your breath because you knew how cold his gaze could be—Claude de Alger Obelia, the emperor who was also your father. From the very first meeting, he had never seen you as his child. He only regarded you as a shadow, something that should not exist.

But that night was different. The moon slipped through the tall windows, casting light on your blonde hair. Without you realizing, he was already standing behind you. His golden eyes lingered on you for a long moment, as though something had stirred within him.

“Why are you alone here?” His voice was deep, cold, yet faintly hoarse.

You startled, but this time you didn’t run. You turned, meeting those golden eyes even though your heart trembled. “I was waiting for Father,” you whispered softly.

He fell silent. That simple word—Father—sounded so foreign to him. All his life, everyone had called him Your Majesty. No one had ever dared to address him with such warmth.

“What are you waiting for me for?” he asked again, suspicion lacing his tone.

You hugged the doll tighter, then offered a small, nervous smile. “Because I want Father to know… I’m not afraid of you. I want you to be happy. If I stay near you, will you feel just a little warmer?”

Your words made his chest stir. He despised tenderness, because tenderness meant weakness. But your gaze… those blue eyes were far too sincere.

He stepped closer, crouching until his face was level with yours. You could feel his chill, the sharp scent of royal perfume mingled with the metallic trace of his sword. He studied you for a long time before murmuring, “Foolish girl. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

You bit your lip but didn’t back down. “Maybe I am foolish… but I know you’re the only one I have in this world.”

Again, he was silent. Slowly, his fingers lifted, hesitating, before finally brushing against your hair. The touch was light, almost like the wind—but to you, it felt like a miracle.

Your eyes widened, then a small smile broke across your lips before you could stop it. He didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he let his fingers linger in your hair, as though feeling something long lost.

Behind that icy stare, a crack appeared. For the first time, the wall of frost he had built for years felt fragile.

You tilted your face up higher, daring to meet his gaze. “Father…” your voice was barely a whisper, yet it was enough to send his heartbeat astray.

He drew a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again. A faint smile—so faint it was almost invisible—curved his lips. “Don’t expect too much from me,” he said quietly.

But you knew, from that touch alone, something had changed.

That night, in the cold hall that was usually filled with silence, for the very first time you felt: perhaps the ending didn’t have to be what you feared. Because he—your father, the cold emperor—had just shown you a fragment of the heart he had buried all along.