After our discussion about the Second Calamity and Bahamut's heart, I had expected to return to my guest quarters to process the overwhelming revelations in private. The weight of what lay ahead—reaching demigod status in four years to prevent an apocalypse—seemed like something that required solitary contemplation.
However, that plan didn't survive contact with an eight-year-old's priorities.
Instead, I found myself sitting in an ornate chair in one of the palace's most luxurious meeting rooms, my daughter Luna clinging to my side with the desperate grip of a child who had woken up to find her father missing. Her dark hair was still mussed from sleep, and her butterfly pendant caught the room's soft lighting as she pressed against me like a particularly determined koala.
