Damian’s POV
“Mommy said he is dead.”
Maya said it quietly, her little fingers twisting the blue string around her crinkled paper bag. The bright, cheerful expression she had worn all afternoon was completely gone, replaced by a sudden, solemn sadness that looked far too heavy for her small face.
I watched her for a moment, unable to understand why those five simple words had struck me so hard.
Children lost parents every single day. The human territories and the border towns were full of broken families, orphans, and people struggling just to survive the harsh winters. I had seen enough suffering and death in my lifetime to know that idle sympathy changed nothing unless it was backed by strict action and resources.
Yet the thought of this little girl growing up without a father stirr
