Rebirth: Love me Again

[COLE]

Cole didn't check his messages often—too many reports, business proposals, and useless fluff from people pretending to know him.

But when Estelle's name popped up with the caption: "You might want to see this."—he paused.

It was a simple photo at first glance. A selfie of Iraya, smiling beside her new boyfriend, snowflakes caught in her hair like glittering stars.

The backdrop was unmistakable—Frizkiel. That frozen corner of the world where people disappeared into silence and snow.

But Cole's eyes didn't rest on her or the man beside her.

They were drawn to the blurred crowd behind them. Just a cluster of locals caught in the shot by accident.

A mother hurrying across the street, wrapped in a thick wool scarf, a bundled baby cradled to her chest. He almost scrolled past—until something clawed at his chest.

His eyes narrowed.

He zoomed in. The pixels warped.

"Enhance this," he ordered, already walking toward the tech station across his study. "Clean the frame. Focus on her."

His staff knew better than to ask why.

Seconds passed. The image stabilized. The scarf was familiar. The hair—purple, pulled into a loose braid. His breath caught.

"Again. Zoom in on the child. Clean the noise."

This time, he stepped closer.

The image sharpened.

Round cheeks. Sharp chin. Eyelashes too long for a baby boy. And those eyes—mirrors of his own when he was that age. Cold steel-gray, impossibly rare in the Fay bloodline, and unmistakably his.

The silence in the room pulsed. Something inside him cracked—then caught fire.

"Is this real?" His voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous.

"We checked metadata," one of the analysts said. "Timestamp matches last week. It's unedited. No traces of AI rendering or comp. That's a live photo, sir. Location tracks to the Frostlight Market in Frizkiel."

Cole stared at the screen, heart pounding, throat tight.

His child.

HIS.

A heat rushed through him, short-circuiting everything. The bitterness that had settled like frost in his chest melted all at once. In its place surged rage—not the blind kind—but the clear, icy fury of betrayal.

Eve.

She had taken his son. Hid him. Chose to turn away without a word. He'd spent months pretending he didn't care, burying the hurt beneath layers of indifference, distraction, and duty. He'd believed it was over.

But it wasn't.

She'd had his child. And she had no right to keep him hidden.

He stood, his voice calm but resonant. "Mobilize a transport. Fastest route to Frizkiel. No delays."

"Should we notify the Fay Board—?"

"No." His eyes glinted like winter steel. "This isn't politics. This is personal. Assemble my team. Quietly. I want eyes on the ground within the hour."

The staff scattered.

Only silence remained in the room, save for the crackling fire.

Cole stared at the screen one last time. His gaze fixed on the baby's face.

There was no mistake. That boy had his blood. His name. His future.

And now—he would have his father.

He clenched his jaw.

"I'm coming for you, Eve," he whispered, not in threat, but in promise. "And I'm taking back my son with me."

His hand lingered for a second on the corner of the photo, as if trying to touch what he couldn't yet hold. Then he turned, his coat swirling behind him like a shadow of war.

Frizkiel would soon feel the heat of a storm they'd never seen before.

====

Within hours, Cole was already seated inside the Frizkiel mansion, sprawled across the ornate throne-like chair as if it belonged to him.

He didn't flinch from the cold; he didn't cower from the frost that crept along the walls. He sat like a king in enemy territory—composed, confident, and ready to get what his back.

Before him stood the bloodline of Frizkiel: Evangeline, the regal matron of ice; Eric, stone-faced and quiet; Damien, sharp-eyed and cruel as ever; Dante, calm and defiant; and Dean, visibly tense.

But conspicuously missing from the gathering were Eve and his child.

Even now, at the peak of confrontation, they still denied him the one thing he had come for—his son.

"You should leave, Fay," Damien said first, his voice dry with disdain. "You have no business here."

Once, Cole might have bowed. Once, he might have reasoned, waited, even pleaded.

But not this time.

He remained seated, fingers interlaced as he leaned forward with a deliberate calm that masked the storm inside him. His voice, when it came, was steady—too steady.

"I do have business here," he said. "My wife and my son. Where are they?"

Dean's composure cracked. "Eve is not your wife."

Cole's eyelid twitched.

"She will be," he said, "because she carries my blood. She has my son. And I'll say this only once—don't take them away from me. If I have to burn this frozen kingdom to the ground just to get them back, I will."

"You think we're afraid of you?" Dante scoffed, stepping forward.

"We've fought bigger monsters than the Fays," Damien added, unmoved. "If it's war you want, then war it is."

A cold silence fell across the room. Tension drew taut like a bowstring.

Cole didn't move. He didn't need to.

The heat radiating off him made the air stifle, even in the frostbitten hall. The walls of Frizkiel had never held back a storm like this—silent, controlled, but seconds from eruption.

And then—

A voice broke through the ice.

"There will be no fighting."

The air shifted. Everyone turned.

At the top of the grand staircase stood Eve, and in her arms—swaddled in soft gray wool—was the baby.

She had grown plumper, softer around the edges—but the glow she carried was unmistakable. More than just beautiful, Eve was radiant.

Maturity had kissed her features with gentleness, and motherhood had draped her in an invisible crown. There was a grace to her now, an aura—not just of beauty, but of strength, of confidence, of someone who had walked through fire and came out luminous.

Cole rose to his feet, almost without realizing it.