Chapter 95 – Azaria
AZARIA
The door clicked shut behind them, and I was left with that awful silence that always seemed to settle whenever my father entered the room.
I didn’t look at him at first. I stared at the blankets instead, aware of the dull ache in my ribs beneath them.
The room smelled like Kalias and Dain, familiar and grounding, and that was enough to make the room feel safe.
Theran stepped closer.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his voice came, low and even. “You nearly died.”
I finally lifted my head. He stood at the edge of the bed, hands clasped behind his back in that controlled healer’s posture. But I knew the lines of his face. I knew the way his brow tensed, the way his mouth drew taut when something shook him.
“I’m still here,” I said dryly.
“I saw the wounds,” he replied quietly. “I read the reports. I saw the state you were in when they brought you back—” He didn’t finish the sentence. I said nothing.
“You had no magic to shield you.” He wasn’t accusing me, just stating it. The way he always had. The way he’d always seen me.
“I had Kalias,” I murmured. “And Quin. And Dain, and my squad. That was enough.”
He exhaled, barely audible. His gaze drifted toward the chair where Quin had sat. “Your team… they never left.”
“No,” I said softly. “They wouldn’t.”
Silence stretched again before he finally took the chair Kalias had vacated. He sat rigidly, like even that small act cost him something. It was the closest we had been in years.
Father and daughter.
“I came to see you earlier,” he said, almost absently. “Before the others. You were unconscious. I examined the healing progress… but I didn’t stay.”
I glanced at him. “Why not?”
He hesitated. His hands were folded in his lap. “Because I didn’t know what to say to you.”
The truth landed between us.
“I could feel your mother’s worry. Elaria’s grief.” His voice dropped lower, worn. “And I had nothing to offer. I’m a healer. I’ve rebuilt shattered bones, pulled life back from the edge. But when it’s you—I forget how to breathe.”
My throat tightened. I blinked hard. “Why didn’t you ever say that before?” I asked, voice thin.
“Because I never knew how,” he said quietly. “I’ve always wanted to protect you, Azaria. But I didn’t know how to protect a daughter with no magic in a world ruled by it. So I turned that fear inward. Into silence. Into distance.”
I swallowed hard.
“You don’t have to pretend you care like this,” I whispered. “Not because I’m broken and laid out here.”
“I’m not pretending.” His voice tightened with urgency. “I never was.”
I looked at him then, really looked. And there it was.
Fear. Raw, unhidden. Not of what happened, but of what could have happened.
“You’ve always been strong,” he said, voice quieter now. “Even when I didn’t understand it. Even when I resented how hard the world was on you.”
I shifted, wincing, but didn’t break our gaze. “Then why did you let it be so hard?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was barely a whisper. “Because I thought… if you survived it, you wouldn’t need me anymore.”
My chest ached, and it had nothing to do with broken ribs.
“I never stopped needing you,” I said. “Even when you stopped reaching for me.”
The silence stretched, but this time it didn’t choke. Then, for the first time in years, he reached across the distance separating us. He didn’t touch me, but his hand came close enough that I felt it anyway.
“I’m still here,” he echoed.
For a moment, his hand stayed there, suspended. Then, slowly, it lowered, fingers brushing lightly over mine.
I froze.
I couldn’t remember the last time my father touched me like this. Maybe when I was a child, before everything fractured. Before the camps. Before the silence. His hand was warm., calloused from years of delicate magic, yet trembling faintly.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For the distance. For the silence. For making you think you had to earn what should have been yours.” He paused. His hand tightened slightly on mine. “You were never a disappointment, Azaria. Not once.”
My breath caught.
“I know I never said it, but I should have. Every day.” His voice thickened. “I should have fought for you when others didn’t. Should have shown you that love isn’t measured by magic or status, but by being there.”
He looked down at our hands.
“I failed at that. But I want to try if you’ll let me. I want to be your father again.”
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed around the words, and my eyes burned with held-back tears. All I managed was a small, careful nod, as if the slightest wrong move might splinter whatever this was. He saw it anyway. His fingers curled gently around mine.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said quietly.
He looked down at our joined hands, then slowly let go. He stood and crossed to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle as though there were still more words caught inside him. In the end, he said nothing.
The door clicked shut.
I sat there frozen until something inside me cracked.
A broken sound escaped me, and I buried my face in my hands as the tears came fast and hot.
At first, I couldn’t even name what had cracked me open.
Relief that he’d finally said it? Anger that it had taken this long?
Both, perhaps. Whatever it was, it tore through the last of the control I’d been fighting to hold.
I wanted him to care. Even after everything, I wanted him to fight for me. And now that he had—I didn’t know what to do with it. Was I ready to forgive? Could I let him in? I believed he meant it. Maybe he never stopped loving me. Maybe it took nearly losing me to remember how to show it.
My chest heaved, and my hands would not stop shaking. I never heard the door open—only felt the shift in the air before he was suddenly there. The wolf. He must have felt it through the bond, felt me breaking.
Kalias.
His massive silver form padded silently into the room, head low and ears flat. He made no sound as he came to my side and nudged my elbow with the warm press of his nose. A quiet sob slipped out of me. I reached for his fur with one hand while the other scrubbed uselessly at my face.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, voice trembling. “I’m… I’m fine. I just…”
My words dissolved into a fresh wave of tears. The wolf didn’t move. He let me curl into him, let me bury my face in the thick warmth of his fur. My fingers clung to him, holding on.
“You always know, don’t you?” I murmured into his fur, voice soft and wet. “You always find me.”
He let out a low whimper, nuzzling his snout into my neck gently.
“I’m so tired,” I admitted, voice cracking. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this. I didn’t think… gods, I didn’t think I still cared.”
He answered with a low rumble in his chest.
My sobs quieted little by little, soothed by the warmth of him and the feel of his heartbeat under my palms. I pressed my forehead to his, closing my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For coming back.”
The wolf shifted, nudging my jaw gently before settling down beside the bed, his body pressed close.
He didn’t leave.