PEACEFUL NIGHT • LONGAN DRAGON

O3.

Longan awoke with a start, their eyes blinking open to reveal the glow of dawn creeping through stained-glass windows above. The weight of yesterday's thoughts and actions seemed less burdensome in daylight - as if it was an apparition from another realm that had momentarily invaded their consciousness.

Every muscle in their body screamed for rest but duty called; they needed to find their daughter who now occupied every waking thought like sun rays piercing through opaque cloud coverings.

With a deep breath, they stood up from their golden throne adorned by Ivory eyes starring back at them, reflecting millennia old stories etched within its very core - stories filled with power struggle yet tender love nurtured over time for something dearer than life itself - the little child waiting patiently beyond these grand walls perhaps unaware how exponentially important role she played within heart that once ruled all realms under iron will and resolute purpose.

After a while, the Ivory Dragon now stood outside the doors of their daughter's chamber, listening intently to every rustling noise and soft hum that hinted at movement within. Their eyes traced along the wooden panels adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes from their long-forgotten reign. Longan waited patiently, thoughts whirling like leaves caught in a hurricane of conflicting emotions: protectiveness for their cub versus primal instincts pushing toward destruction.

Each breath felt heavy as if carrying burdensome weight upon shoulders that had ceased to bear such burdens centuries ago. Finally, they gathered enough courage and slowly opened the door without making any noise whatsoever.

Longan's heart fluttered with a blend of emotions as the door creaked open, unveiling their daughter, deeply immersed in her artwork. The sight of their daughter happily absorbed in her work eased some edge from Longan's initial irritation. They strode towards the tiny table, observing her delicate fingers traced on parchment peppered with colors - a skill not taught by them but seemingly learned from the pieces of arts decorating the palace.

"What are you drawing?" Longan asked softly, trying to mask their surprise and relief.

Startled by her father's sudden voice, the little one's eyes widened briefly in recognition. Swiftly, she gathered her drawing, shielding it with her arms while nervously avoiding their gaze, her tail giving a subtle twitch. Longan's expression soured momentarily at her reaction, but they sighed, understanding that their mere presence still unsettled her.

"I... uh.. I apologize for startling you," Longan spoke, making an effort to soften their authoritative tone, approaching gently to take a seat beside her. "You don't have to hide it," they murmured softly, encouraging her to feel at ease.

The young dragonet nervously pouted before timidly revealing her drawing to Longan.

It was a drawing of both of them, in a messy yet endearing way—a clear creation of a five-year-old. Above the sketch, the words 'I want happy family' were scrawled.

Oh. Oh.

Longan stared at the drawing for what seemed like ages, words failing them. They had failed her as a father in many ways yet here was this innocent expression of wishful thinking etched on paper forevermore - a painful reminder of their failure and responsibility they vowed to rectify.

The only sound filling the silence was the soft rustle of parchment being gently stroked by delicate fingers that trembled slightly with uncertainty. Their eyes drifted back to the bedside table where she kept her tiny brush and jar full of paints, each color palette representing memories long forgotten but still vivid in Longan's mind.

"Why... did you draw this?" Longan's voice carried a husky undertone, laden with emotion, carefully worded to avoid any misunderstanding.

"I... uhm..." The child's gaze dropped nervously, her arms instinctively embracing her tail. "I-I'm sorry..." Her apology stumbled out, revealing her struggle to find words in her father's presence.

Longan reached out a clawed hand, brushing aside the hair falling into their daughter's eyes—a rare moment of gentleness from them.

"It's alright, dear one," they whispered hoarsely, fighting back tears that threatened to spill forth. "I- I simply..." Longan struggled to find words fitting enough to explain their actions or lack thereof their mind reeling with guilt and shame.

They had failed as a parent, failing their precious cub in ways they thought were beyond salvation.

Longan grappled with the internal turmoil, realizing they couldn't persist in this pattern—pushing their child away and blaming others for the world's state. Tears teetered on the edge, yet they held them back, keeping a composed exterior despite their crumbling inner self.

Needing solitude to gather their thoughts, Longan's grip on the drawing tightened, a silent plea for forgiveness evident in their conflicted expression.

Standing up slowly, their imposing figure loomed over the little child. "I... need some time alone," they gruffly stated, attempting to conceal the emotional turmoil raging within.

Without another word, Longan departed, leaving behind a bewildered and wounded child, seeking solace in their chamber, desperate for isolation to grapple with the storm brewing inside.