Sometimes, on his quiet, ambling way home after the work day had come to an end, he couldn't help but note the positive changes he had seen in himself these past years. The Lezareno was still a great part of his life; he was still a very active company president, and a less active but still dutiful duke; he was a businessman, politician, and ambassador, and he owned the island paradise that was Altamira...but none of those things, unlike in the time he had spent directly after the Regeneration, any longer consumed him. It was still light outside, and in fact was only barely approaching evening, and he was going home. There was a time when that had been unheard of, when George would all but catapult him from the office at night, when even at home he would sit in the den and work until the evening turned nearly back to morning. But in those days, his office had felt like more of a home than the quiet and empty house. In those days, he had had nothing to go back to.

Blue eyes lifted briefly to scan the clouds while these sweet, idle musings strolled through his mind. Everything was different now. He was not a lonely, self-appointed eternal bachelor whose life only had meaning when poured into projects like rebuilding Palmacosta, or bringing employment and opportunity to Tethe'alla's oppressed sister country. He had, in these past eight years, taken on new roles, been given new responsibilities, and indeed found himself in all of them. It was a weighty burden, but every day he carried it was a privilege, and each new day it settled easily over his shoulders was an undeniable joy. Husband; father. Titles he had never dreamed, never dared hope to earn, were his now. The President now got hung up each night back in the office like a coat on a peg, and there it stayed while the once-buried Man beneath delighted in his little family.

It was actually a little earlier than he normally left. It was the first day of the new school term for his oldest. His little girl, his Chava, had been so excited that morning that they could hardly get her to stop signing long enough to eat her breakfast. She would probably be home soon, and no doubt an even more enthusiastic recounting of the day's events would erupt shortly thereafter. He didn't want to miss a moment of it—and, truthfully, he wanted to be there to help Raine with the baby. Micah was only a few months old, but he was quite a handful. More than his sister had been at his age, certainly. Raising a silent child had presented challenges, without question, but comparatively? Chava had been a breeze. His poor lady love could barely put the boy down some days without inciting screaming fits.

From the infant, of course.

As he approached the house, set off in a quiet, out-of-the-way little corner of town no tourist probably even knew about, let alone traversed, he caught himself listening for the sounds of little hands dancing over the keys of a piano. Not a day went by that their daughter didn't spend some time on the bench, practicing without prompt. She didn't speak, couldn't speak, but she had found a voice in her talent and love for music. He didn't hear any faint notes today, though, and no crying from Micah. A smile pulled at his lips, and when he opened the door, it was with a quiet chuckle. She probably had a captive audience in her mother, if it was her brother's nap time. Poor woman. Perhaps a rescue was in order.

A bit of an odd sight met him when he passed through the door and closed it gently behind him. First, the sitting room was empty. Neither of his girls—and not even Azzy—was there on the couch. Second, the bag that Chava took with her to school was sitting on the floor a few feet away, on its side with a few books and pencils half-spilled out. The smile slowly shifted into a frown, and he looked from the bag back around the room in nervous puzzlement.

"Chaveleh..."

Raine's voice speaking their daughter's pet name from upstairs drew his attention that way, and there was some small measure of relief in knowing they were home, at least. Still, he could hear concern in her tone, and that combined with the other tells (and a strange sort of tension in his neck that he couldn't quite explain but knew well by now to be parental instinct) got his feet moving once more.

"Chava... Open the door, child," that worried voice urged again.

Regal climbed the stairs quietly. At the top, he found his wife standing down the hall in front of their daughter's closed bedroom door with one hand resting against the surface and head bowed down near it. When she noticed his approach, she looked up, and the violet eyes that met his were grim. Her expression only deepened his own frown.

"Raine?" he murmured, flicking his gaze questioningly toward the door. "What happened?"

She shook her head, tucking back a bit of her hair in a gesture he recognized as restless. "That's a good question," she replied in the same low and confidential voice. "She was in tears when she got home, but she just tossed her bag and ran up here without even looking at me when I tried to ask. She locked herself in, and that's the last I saw of her. I can only imagine something happened at school, but I have no idea what, and it appears she has no intention of coming out."

Chava was a sweet child; a gentle and sensitive girl, but by nature she was extraordinarily happy. She was cheerful and bright; a joy to come home to every evening. To hear of tears instead of smiles after a day that had started so exciting for her had his muscles tightening more.

He touched a gentle hand to his wife's shoulder, and she stepped to the side to let him take her place near the jamb. "Chava," he called, rapping softly against the wood and fixing his eyes on the crack between the bottom of the door and the carpet. For an instant, he thought he had gotten a response when he saw a shadow move—but when a striped paw poked out through the crack, swiping and swatting toward his shoe, his lips pursed in disappointment. Well, that explained where Azrael was, at least. He sighed softly. "Chava, it's all right. Please..."

From down the hall, a baby sputtered and coughed, and finally began to cry at the top of his rather robust lungs. It was Raine's turn to sigh, wearily, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She was exhausted, he could see it. "I knew that was entirely too easy. Goddess." He straightened and started to turn toward the nursery, but she shook her head and touched his arm to stop him. "No. I'll get him. You stay here. Maybe you can get somewhere."

Regal watched her back until she had slipped into Micah's room and closed the door behind her. He could hear her cooing to their son, and after a moment, the cries died down. When everything was quiet in the hall again save the faintest hint of a mother's soothing lullaby, he looked back at the door in front of him.

He hadn't exactly been prepared to negotiate today. That happened with trade agreements and business transactions and tricky matters of court, but the stakes of any of that paled next to this. His daughter was hurting, and he didn't even know why. It made his chest ache, and he moved in a little closer to the wood to lower his voice even more, closing his eyes.

"Chava... I am here," he told her. The words just sort of came, and he let them. "No matter what it is, I am here. You are safe. You don't have to come out if you don't want to. I will not make you come out. You can stay in there, and you don't have to do anything...but if you will let me...I would very much like to come in. Will you let me come in with you, my love?" He paused to listen. "...Please?"

Regal waited there with one hand resting on the knob. He almost held his breath, waiting. Just...waiting. There was really nothing he could do if she didn't respond. While he could force the door open, even had a master key that opened every lock in this house (a good precaution, he had realized, when one had children), he had made her a promise that she could do what she wished and what felt safe for her, and he was not about to break that promise by invading the fortress she had made for herself.

Just as he was preparing to admit defeat in the face of a wounded seven-year-old's determination, he heard something from inside the room. Soft padding, getting closer, until... Click. He looked down at the knob he had felt shift as it unlocked, and a wary, little smile showed his relief. Carefully, in case she was standing on the other side, he pushed the door open and eased himself into the room around a very disgruntled grey tabby making her escape.

In the middle of the floor stood his baby girl, long hair that matched his in color sticking to a face wet and flushed with tears. Her violet eyes were red and puffy, and her shoulders shook and lurched with silent sobs while she roughly dragged her palms across that face and sniffled. His heart crumbled in his chest at the sight, and after he had nudged the door shut again and taken one step further, he lowered to one knee and held his arms out toward her. "...Come here."

Almost immediately, though it looked like she was reluctant for that first, fleeting instant, Chava crossed the distance and threw her arms around his neck to burrow her face directly down into his shoulder. He caught and held her in a firm grasp, pressing one hand against the back of her head and using the other arm to lift her off the floor when he stood back up. "Hey," he whispered into her hair. "You're all right... You're all right."

Her slender, little fingers fisted around handfuls of his shirt and his hair, and pressed against his body she bawled. Regal rocked and bounced her gently as he had when she was a baby, as he did when comforting Micah, shushing her softly all the while. Whatever had done this to his daughter, he would make absolutely certain it never happened again.

Several minutes passed before the sobs became less violent and more spread out. She was still shaking in his grasp, though, and he hugged her all the tighter even while he crossed toward her bed. There he sat down slowly with her in his lap so he could pull back a little and draw damp, tangled hair away from her cheeks. "My sweet girl... What in the world happened today to make you so upset?" he asked gently.

Chava swiped across her face again and sniffled, her mouth trembling when she looked up at him with eyes that would melt the hardest of hearts. Her movements were wobbly and shaky and interrupted by the occasional need to wipe her nose or her eyes, but he followed her signs with practiced ease.

I'm sorry, Daddy, she told him. I'm sorry.

His brow creased. For what? he asked, switching to the tactile language himself. It had been a challenge, raising her to sign while learning to do it themselves, but it came with the territory, and he enjoyed it. It certainly made private conversations a bit easier. He and Raine both, he had noticed, occasionally slipped into it outside of their home. He had signed an entire paragraph's worth of instructions one-handed to George just the other day without even looking up, until the awkward silence that followed had made him realize it.

For not being right.

Regal blinked. Right? Frowning no less, he shook his head gently and prodded, What do you mean?

Scarcely after he had finished, she started in again. Because I'm stupid and broken, like when Azzy pushed that bowl I made off the table and it smashed into a hundred pieces, only I'm more broken, because you can't glue me back together!

Her eyes were welling up with a fresh wave of hot tears, but he caught her almost frantic hands in his and put his face down to lock their eyes. Goddess Martel... "Why," he asked slowly, his face and voice alike probably conveying his startled horror, "do you think you're 'stupid and broken'?"

Chava sniffled again, her lower lip poking out just slightly. He had to release her hands to let her reply, but he did so slowly and without even blinking. I can't talk.

Her explanation, simple and plain as it was, stopped him quite short. Regal just sat there for a long moment, as if he had temporarily ceased to understand any language at all. His mouth opened, then closed. He blinked. All the while, his little girl kept sniffling and rubbing her sticky face raw, all because she thought...that her difference...made her...broken.

Finally, her name slipped from his mouth. He picked her up and set her on the bed so he could slide down and kneel in front of her on the floor. ...No, he finally told her with one sharp, definitive gesture. No. You are not "broken." You are beautiful, and talented, and kind, and special. You. Are. Special.

Chava shook her head violently, sending hair back into her desperate face. I'm different!

He took her chin. Yes. You are different, but that is not a bad thing.

But everyone else in the whole world can. You can, and Mommy can, and Baby Micah will, too, because he's already really loud. He's going to talk, because he's not broken. You'll be able to hear him, and everyone will be able to understand him, and it won't matter.

He almost reached out to cradle her head between his hands, but that would have meant having to resort to using his own voice again, and here, in this room, in this moment, the very idea seemed repulsive. Voice and words were what separated his daughter from the world right now, and he didn't want to be on the other side of that wall. He didn't want her to feel alone. So instead, he settled for tucking her hair back behind one very subtly pointed ear and gently brushing his thumb across her cheek before answering.

Chava, I can hear you. Your mother can hear you. Your brother is not better because he has a voice. Sometimes, he added in a tease, trying to coax out a smile, it would be nice if he had less of one. You may not be talking, your mouth may not form words, but you do speak. You have an extraordinary gift for music, a gift that touches people. You have the ability to make people stop and think. You bring so much joy to everyone you meet.

But it's weird to be this way. I don't want to be weird. I want to be like you and Mommy and Micah.

His expression was painted with pain on her behalf. It isn't "weird," and it isn't "broken." It's you. You are thoughtful and expressive, and you say more with your hands and your face and your songs than most people do in entire speeches. I would not change anything about you, because you are perfect as you are. You can do things that other people can't. You are part of a world that other people aren't, and because of that, they want you to feel like there is something wrong with you, when in fact, it is something wonderful. The people who tell you all of those horrible lies do not understand you, and you know... That actually means you are a great deal like your mother.

This made her pause and tilt her head, an endearing, little frown working across her face. Like Mommy?

Regal nodded. Many people don't understand her, either, because of something she also didn't choose and can't control. Half-elves make people nervous, because they are different. Do you think your mother is broken or wrong because she isn't like everyone else?

No!

He smiled a little. Neither do I. I love her very much, as I love you, and as I love your baby brother. But just like you, she was surrounded for a very long time by people who told her she was, and for a little while, she believed them. But then she met other people who knew better.

Uncle Red and Aunt CoCo? she asked with one hand as the other fist rubbed at her eye.

The smile widened as he nodded again. All of the others from the old group had their own unique nicknames and signs, courtesy of his daughter. Several of them took a great measure of pride in the ones they had received. Lloyd's was perhaps the most entertaining. Yes, and a lot of other people along the way. She couldn't see that what made so many people say something was wrong actually made her special. It made her who she was. And after that, she went around with your Uncle Genis, and the two of them worked to teach the world that this thing wasn't bad. It's a process, but every day, just by being herself and being unafraid and unashamed of who she is, she is asking the world to understand her and accept what others have shown her: that she is a beautiful, brilliant woman who can do things not everyone can. Chava, my love...

Regal took her hands, comically small and slender against his, and held them up for her to see. People are afraid of things that are different, and when they are afraid, they can be cruel. What matters is what you think, because you can do anything you want to, just as well as anyone else. Teach the world that you are different, and because of that, you are rare and valuable, not broken, just like your mother. I will always love you, not despite anything, but because of everything. You are my life, and you have taught me so much since the day you were born. Never, never believe you are anything less than perfect, no matter what anyone else says. His smile turned a little wry, indulging in an amusement that she wouldn't understand as he concluded, You are just you.

When he was finished, he again took her hands and let them rest in his palms, drawing his thumbs back and forth across her knuckles. She was looking down at them contemplatively, even studiously, and he watched the gears turning in her head. She didn't have her mother's passion for academia, but her look of thought and concentration was the spitting image of Raine's. He wasn't sure if that was a learned behavior, or if it simply came naturally with the strong physical resemblance between mother and daughter. Either way, it was fun to watch.

A few long moments passed. Occasionally she lifted one hand to rub at her nose or eyes that were undoubtedly itchy with half-dried tears, but she kept placing it back atop his as if that was where it belonged. At last, she looked back up at him, and there was a watery, almost shy smile creeping back over her face. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased away at the mere sight.

So I'm a teacher like Mommy?

He gave her side a playful poke. Just like Mommy.

Only I can cook, like you... So I guess I can do things she can't. But I don't think I can teach her that.

At this, Regal found himself unable to keep from laughing outright, and he pressed his forehead to hers affectionately. "No, perhaps not. Many have tried, and none have succeeded..." He gave her a sly sideways glance and added—in silence, lest he be overheard and get himself into trouble—But don't tell her I said so.

Chava grinned despite another sniffle and shook her head, pressing a finger against her lips. He rose to his feet and held out a hand to draw her up, too. She hugged him tightly and looked up, face still flushed and tear-streaked but smiling so sweetly. He could have enjoyed that smile for hours.

Daddy, can I help with dinner tonight? she asked.

Of course. Go downstairs and wash up. I'll be down in a few minutes.

She released him, and he drew his fingers through her hair on the way by as she slipped around him. After opening the door, she paused briefly to turn around and sign, without apology or hesitation, I love you, too, Daddy. The rest of the tightness evaporated in an instant, replaced with warmth, relief, and humbled gratitude that this was all his as she hopped out the door just as Raine was approaching the room, baby in her arms.

His wife followed the girl's path with her eyes before turning back to him with brow raised. "Well, I see you did manage to get somewhere. That's quite a difference." He came forward contentedly to ease Micah from her. "What in the world did you say?"

"Oh," he replied off-handedly, looking into his son's naturally grumpy-looking face and bouncing him rhythmically, "I just told her the story of another remarkable woman I know. Apparently, having such an inspiring role model makes a world of difference."

Raine continued giving him an even stranger look, but instead of explaining his cryptic remark any further, he wrapped his free arm around her waist and drew her close with an impish, little smile before leaning down to kiss her. Then, chuckling again at her expression, he turned toward the stairs to follow his daughter, tickling little Micah's belly all the way.

How utterly blessed, for all of this to be his. He had helped defeat many formidable enemies; faced countless hardships and challenges. But none of those victories seemed quite so fulfilling as this one. No treasure, no reward would ever compare to the sweetness of every day he could spend as husband and father. The Lezareno was a success; Altamira flourished; Palmacosta was an accomplishment, but this?

This was his life's work. This was his legacy, and he would defend it to his very last breath.