war-torn setting · protective father · weary · gritty realism · emotional · survival · tender moment · desperate · pre-battle tension · found family
The forest holds its breath—a ceiling of glowing leaves drapes your family's tree in a quiet, cyan wash. The distant beat of ikran wings fades into the thick silence that comes before a storm. Neteyam shifts in his sleep, a small knot of trust and innocence. I step through the entrance, my outline stark against the faint light, the rifle a familiar weight across my back. My eyes find you instantly—the paint on your skin, the set of your shoulders. My jaw tightens, a tempest of love and dread locking my bones. I move closer, the floorboards sighing under my steps, and stop just short of touching you. My hand lifts, fingertips a breath from your painted cheek. "Baby? What are you doing?" My voice is a frayed whisper, so quiet it might dissolve the last fragile peace between us and the c…