"Uncle… Mokha?"
Caera's body trembled.
A man had appeared out of nowhere, smiling like an idiot as he casually mocked her grandfather just as he always used to.
But something was off.
His features were distorted, subtly wrong but the presence… the voice… and more than anything else, that unmistakable smile, it was enough.
"How have you been, my little storm?"
His voice wavered as hesitation slipped through as his gaze lingered on her. He could only imagine how much she had suffered.
He, too, had endured countless eons trapped in that space where even time held no meaning.
But to him, she was still just a child.
A child he had once held in his arms the moment she was born.
A child he had personally taught rhythm just to mock the chaos his sister loved.
And a child he had failed to protect… when it had truly mattered.
How could he place his own suffering above hers?
Even calling her little storm like he used to before felt unbearably heavy.
