The next morning smelled like fresh bread and too much quiet.
Kael stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Liora sway slightly as she stirred eggs over the burner.
Her hair was tied up.
One leg bent behind her casually.
She hummed under her breath — not a song Kael recognized, but familiar enough in tone to mean nothing's wrong yet.
He leaned his shoulder against the wall.
"I didn't think you were a morning person," he said softly.
Liora smirked without turning.
"I'm not. I'm a survival person. Our daughter has no volume control."
As if on cue, Senna's voice rang from her bedroom:
"I do too!"
Liora laughed.
Kael smiled.
It was real — the kind that touched his cheekbones.
But it didn't reach past the weight in his chest.
He crossed the kitchen, kissed Liora's temple, and poured himself water.
She glanced at him as he drank.
Eyes searching.
"You're a little stiff this morning."
"First raid aches," Kael said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Mid-tier ache? You getting old?"
"Probably."
He smiled again, smaller.
Then stepped away and opened the gear locker by the door.
Liora paused.
"…You're going back out?"
Kael nodded. "Got assigned to a support slot on a low-risk pull. Only a few hours. Should be smooth."
She hesitated — not because she doubted him, but because she heard what he didn't say.
Still, she turned back to the pan and didn't argue.
"Be home before sunset."
"Always."
He turned.
And for one fragile second — in the silence between their breath and the clatter of the pan — Kael wanted to walk back to her. Wanted to sit. Hold her hand. Say everything.
The rollback.
The patch.
The glyph.
Senna's drawing.
The sync trace.
But he didn't.
Because she'd look at him with fear.
Not for herself.
For their daughter.
Instead, he stepped into the hallway.
And pulled the door gently shut behind him.
He didn't go to the gate.
Not yet.
Kael stood on a rooftop overlooking District 4's outer edge — far from where the instance towers flickered.
The wind was cold.
He crouched, pulling his HUD fully open this time.
[OPEN MENU: SYSTEM ACCESS]
[PERMISSIONS: USER K.AEL-1922]
[REQUEST: PRIVATE DEVLOG]
[SECURITY: LEVEL FOUR ENCRYPTION]
A soft chime echoed in his head.
Access granted.
He hadn't opened this file space since before the rollback.
Not even during the raids that followed.
But now?
Now he needed a place to remember things the system would try to erase.
He titled the log manually:
DEVTAG: For Her
FILE VERSION: 0.00a (Cold Start)
USER: Kael Aelric
CONTEXT: Rollback Error / Patch Residue / Non-Instance Sync
NOTES:
- Unauthorized hotfix (S9-AF: Respawn Cooldown Bypass)
- Visual trace: live mirror glyph crack [self]
- Observed by Senna (age 6) [drawn representation]
- Liora unaware. For now.
- System not rejecting edits. It's learning.
He stared at the cursor.
Then typed slowly:
"First fix worked. Mob cooldown overwritten. Raid saved."
"But the patch left something behind."
"It's in me now. Beneath the skin. The mirror shows what the system doesn't."
"Senna saw it too. Through instinct, not code."
"This file isn't for the guild. It isn't for me. It's for her."
He hovered over the save icon.
Paused.
Then added:
"They won't die again."
And clicked.
The file closed with a gentle click — like a whisper locking itself inside his memory.
Kael stood.
The wind caught his coat, flared it slightly.
He didn't feel cold.
Just clear.
Just awake.
Kael returned just in time to see Senna laughing.
From the stairwell shadow, he caught the tail end of the moment: Liora spinning her around gently by the arms, both of them barefoot on the living room rug, music playing softly through the apartment speakers.
Senna's hair was tangled.
Liora's robe half-untied.
The moment looked messy.
And beautiful.
And fragile.
He watched.
Said nothing.
Didn't step inside.
Just burned the image into memory.
Then he turned.
Stepped back down.
Out the building.
Onto the edge of the waking city.
Above him, the raid towers blinked on and off like silent warnings.
Portals groaned.
A gate fractured open two blocks north — low-tier flicker. Blue spark. Probably stable.
Kael didn't check.
He stared past the skyline.
To where the sun hadn't quite broken the cloudline yet.
And whispered:
"I won't lose them again."
The system didn't reply.
No chime.
No prompt.
No dramatic wind shift.
Just silence.
Acceptance.
As if the world itself recorded the words…
and added them to the log.
Kael turned his wrist.
The glyph crack shimmered beneath the glove.
Waiting.
Not dangerous yet.
But not idle either.
He knew what it meant.
He'd been given a second life.
Not a gift.
A test.
And this time?
He'd patch the whole world, if he had to.