Claude was deeply proud of his children. More than anything, he wished for them to have a proper childhood—one untouched by rivalry or politics. At least not yet.
But already, in less than a year, their bodies resembled toddlers nearing three, and their speech—fluent and articulate—was more like children of ten. Some of them even behaved like adults at times.
It frightened him, honestly. Their rapid growth made him feel as if time was slipping through his fingers, and with it, their precious innocence.
After all, childhood was meant to be the most cherished phase of life. To rush through it would be a tragedy.
"Father, what are you staring at?" Carina asked, tilting her head. "Is the tea not to your liking?"
She was younger than Lyra, yet already carried herself with a calm, elegant maturity that made Claude chuckle.
"You don't need to speak so formally with me, little flower," he said as he finally sipped the tea. "You're still a child. Act like one."
