The morning air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of dew and distant fires from the village forges. Don Aragon strode through the narrow streets leading to Madam Neller's group home, his expression unusually soft, though his steps were purposeful. Today was not a day for casual visits. Today, he intended to do something he had been considering for weeks.
Madam Neller was in the kitchen, bustling with preparations for breakfast. She looked up as Don arrived, her eyes widening.
"Don… what brings you here so early?" she asked, voice tinged with surprise.
Don gave a small smile. "Madam Neller, I've come about Keyla."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Keyla… what about her?"
"I want to adopt her," Don said simply. His eyes softened as he looked toward the staircase that led to the children's rooms. "I've come to ask your permission."
Madam Neller paused, wiping her hands on her apron. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier. "Don… adopting Keyla? Are you certain? She's still so young…"
Don's expression did not waver. "I'm certain. She is my daughter now, whether by blood or not. I've watched her grow, and I have come to see her as family. Nothing more, nothing less. But she deserves someone to guide her, protect her, and give her the chance to choose her own path."
Madam Neller's eyes glistened. She had raised many children in her care, seen them come and go, loved and let go. Yet here was a man, strong, disciplined, and fierce, offering to take responsibility for this little girl who had captured so many hearts.
"Don… I cannot stop you," she said softly, "but you must understand—she is not a child to be tamed or molded lightly. You must listen to her as well as guide her."
"I understand," he said. "And I intend to ask her if she wishes this. I will not force anything upon her."
Together, they walked to the small sitting area where Keyla had been sketching with bits of charcoal and scraps of paper. She looked up, squinting against the morning light streaming in from the windows.
"Keyla," Don said gently, "I have something to ask you."
The child's blue eyes met his, curious and unafraid. "Yes, sir?"
"Sir?" Don chuckled softly. "No, you may call me Father if you wish. I am here because I want you to join my family officially. Will you allow me to adopt you?"
Keyla tilted her head. She had known Don as a mentor, a friend, and a protector, but adoption… it felt weighty. She considered the question carefully. Finally, she spoke, "I will, Father… if you promise me something in return."
"Name it," Don said without hesitation.
"I want to be a soldier," she said firmly. "I want to train, to fight, to protect. If I am your daughter, you must let me do that."
Don's chest tightened with an unspoken pride. "Your wish is granted," he said. "I will train you myself. You will be safe, but you will also become strong. That is my promise."
Her lips curved into a shy smile. "Then… I accept."
Madam Neller's eyes filled with tears as she rose and embraced Don. "Thank you, Don… thank you for giving her this chance. She deserves it."
A small ceremony was held in the modest living room. Keyla knelt before Don, and he placed his hand lightly on her head, the gesture solemn and binding. "From this day, you are my daughter, Keyla Aragon," he said.
The child's small hands folded over each other. "Thank you, Father," she whispered.
---
Later that day, Don rode through the morning streets toward the palace, the decision weighing on his mind. He had made his choice to adopt Keyla, but there was one more matter to settle—convincing the Emperor to allow her to train in the techniques that had been forbidden by his father.
The palace doors opened before him, and he entered the study where Emperor Albeit Aragon sat, surrounded by maps, scrolls, and official reports. Albeit looked up, his piercing gaze meeting Don's immediately.
"Brother," Don said simply.
"Don," Albeit replied, his voice low but not unkind. "I hear you've adopted Keyla."
"Yes," Don said, his tone firm. "She is my daughter. And I've come to discuss her training."
Albeit leaned back in his chair, studying Don carefully. "I see. You mean the regimen we were forbidden to teach… the one our father warned against?"
Don nodded. "Yes, that one. But Brother… I assure you, I will guide her carefully. I will not push her beyond her limits. She will learn slowly, safely, under my supervision. This is about discipline and preparation, not reckless power."
Albeit's brow furrowed. "Don… you know why I forbade it. That training was dangerous even for us as children. How can you expect it to be safe for a child?"
Don met his gaze evenly. "Because I will be there every step of the way. Nothing she does will be without guidance. I know her, Brother. I know myself. I will not allow harm to come to her. She will grow strong, yes—but she will also be safe."
Albeit's eyes softened slightly. "And you are certain? Certain that your desire to train her will not push her too far?"
"I swear it," Don said firmly. "She is my daughter. My duty is to protect her, not break her. This training is meant to nurture, not endanger. And I will temper every lesson with caution."
Albeit's gaze lingered on him. The weight of their shared history, the trust and bond formed over decades, filled the room. "Don… I trust you. Always have. But be mindful. A child is delicate. Mistakes that an adult might survive can shatter a child's spirit."
"That is why I will do it myself," Don replied softly. "No one else will guide her. She will learn control, focus, and discipline under my eyes—and yours, if you wish to observe. I will take it slow. She will be ready, but she will be safe."
Albeit's lips pressed together, considering his brother's words. "When we were young, you trained me in ways others considered too dangerous. You pushed me, yes—but I survived. You say this is different. And yet… I feel uneasy."
Don smiled faintly. "Because you care, Brother. She will be under my protection, just as I protected you. I am not asking for blind trust. I am asking for understanding that I will not rush her. She will grow, slowly and safely."
Albeit's expression softened, though a flicker of worry remained. "Very well, Don. I will hold you accountable, but I trust you. Step by step, slowly. And if anything goes wrong…"
"Nothing will go wrong," Don said with quiet confidence. "She is my daughter. Her safety and growth are my responsibility. That is my oath, Brother."
Albeit leaned back, letting out a long breath. "Then we begin tomorrow. Slowly, carefully. I expect daily reports, and I expect you to honor every promise you've made."
"I will," Don said, inclining his head. "She will learn safely. And one day, she will be strong enough to protect herself—and others—but only when she is ready."
A silence fell over the study, heavy with understanding, trust, and the unspoken weight of responsibility. Outside, the sun rose higher, spilling light across the palace, over the kingdom, and into the lives of all who called it home. And in that quiet, deliberate moment, the course of Keyla Aragon's life—and perhaps the future of the entire kingdom—was set.