After speaking with my father, I collapsed onto my bed, the tension in my body unraveling like the final notes of a long-forgotten song. I hugged the pillow tightly, pressing its soft fabric against my skin as I exhaled, the weight of the evening settling over me like a heavy blanket.
My father, Mo Zenith.
The name echoed in my mind, a name that had always felt more like a title than a person. My mother had died when I was young—lost to the chaos when the Northern Sea Ice Palace was destroyed by the Shadow Seekers and torn apart by its own internal strife. My memories of her were faint, scattered images blurred by time and trauma. But my memories of my father? They were sharp, clear, and unyielding in their cold distance.
