Ian Vexwood sat behind his desk, the room dim despite the late hour. Books arranged in rigid order. Papers stacked with mechanical precision.
Except for the longcase clock in the corner.
Its pendulum hung motionless.
The hands remained fixed at 10 PM.
A knock came at the door.
Three steady taps.
"Enter."
The butler stepped inside and approached the desk. "Sir. The young miss asked me to deliver this."
He extended an envelope.
Ian's gaze shifted to it — but he did not take it immediately.
"…From Ilya?"
"Yes, sir."
A brief silence lingered.
Then Ian accepted the letter.
"Thank you. You may leave."
The butler bowed and exited.
The door clicked shut.
Ian remained seated, staring at the envelope in his hand.
Unopened.
He stared at the envelope for longer than he expected.
He frowned at first, but slowly his expression shifted into guilt.
He gently opened the envelope and began to read.
——
Dear Dad,
I am not sure if you'll even read this. But that doesn't matter.
Honestly, you're the worst dad. Worst of the worst. You never talk to me, never look at me and never play with me. I hate you. I hate you the most. Not because you hate me, but because you once loved me, cared for me, played with me. You should've never done that in the first place if you were going to leave me stranded like this. Because those memories still give me hope. Hope that one day my dad will return and hug me tighter than ever. But every time, it shatters. I miss the days when mom, you and I used to take care of the garden and grow China roses. But every time I think about them, I remember that those days will never return. Not because mom isn't here anymore. But because my dad has left me even when he is here. Today is my birthday, dad. But you never came to wish me. My only birthday wish is that I finally get to see the dad who cared about me. The party will be held at 10 PM today. It's up to you whether you want to come or not.
——
Ian's grip on the paper tightened.
He crumpled the paper as if to throw it away, but he stopped.
He couldn't do it.
Setting the letter aside, he put a hand over his face and lowered his gaze.
***
Time: 9:32 PM
Noctis was making his way to the garden.
Why?
Because there was one last person he needed to talk to.
The one person who was here before him.
He was heading toward Silas's cottage.
While walking, he noticed a familiar figure working in the dark.
He slowly approached.
He already knew who it was. But he didn't know why he was working at this time.
"Hey, you're still working?" Noctis asked while slowly approaching.
"Hm? What are you doing here? Aren't you going to attend the little miss's birthday party?" Silas replied, briefly glancing at Noctis before returning to his work.
"I… will. Don't you want to attend it too?"
"I can't. I am not allowed inside."
Noctis furrowed his brows. "And who is it that denied your entry?"
Silas hesitated.
Longer than he ever had.
And for a brief second, his tone shifted.
Not fully human.
Just… warmer.
"Don't make the same mistake," he replied.
Noctis glanced at him briefly before continuing.
"Did you already know all this?"
Silas paused again, but this time he turned and stood up to face Noctis.
"No. I did not. Not all of it."
"I see. Then do you think it will work? Do you think… the choice I made today is it the right choice?" Noctis asked, looking straight into Silas's eyes.
Silas thought for a brief moment before walking toward him.
"No choice in this world is perfect. Every mistake and choice leads you down a different path, filled with its own ups and downs. But that doesn't mean one cannot be better than another. And the choice you made today is the better one. I guarantee it."
"Then—"
"But you should also be prepared for what comes after it."
Silas interrupted before Noctis could finish.
"Wha—What do you mean?" Noctis asked with a worried expression.
"That is for you to figure out. But I think you already have an idea, don't you?" Silas replied with a faint grin forming on his face.
"No, I don—" Noctis stopped mid-sentence.
Suddenly the last diary entry resurfaced in his mind.
They are coming for me; I can't run anywhere.
"What did it mean by 'They are coming'? Who are they? What happened that he needed to run and hide from them?"
Noctis thought for a moment before turning his gaze back to Silas.
"And what do you want to do?" Noctis asked, his eyes locked onto Silas.
Silas's eyes widened. For a moment he seemed surprised, but then his calm demeanour returned.
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean, don't you?" Noctis replied, a smug smile forming on his face.
"I don't understand what you're trying—"
"You're still here because you wanted someone to finish it," Noctis interrupted.
Silas fell silent.
For the first time, he couldn't find the words to respond.
"You don't want me to survive. You want me to finish what you couldn't."
Silas lowered his gaze.
He didn't say anything. Or perhaps he couldn't.
Then Noctis noticed something.
A bead of sweat running down Silas's face.
He had never seen Silas sweat before. Not even when they were working under the afternoon sun.
"And what do you expect me to do? I myself don't even know what I am. But I can tell you one thing—I certainly am not who I used to be," Silas retaliated.
The lamp began to flicker.
"Then if it comes down to it… help me. Help me when there is no one else. When even I myself can't help myself, please help me. That is all I ask from you. Not as Silas, the gardener of Vexwood Manor… but as Silas Weasley."
Silas's head dropped once more.
That name — Silas Weasley — sounded too familiar, yet just out of reach.
He lifted his gaze again, but before he could say anything, Noctis had already left.
Silas stood there without moving an inch.
The lamp continued to flicker.
***
Noctis began making his way back to the main hall.
His pace quickened with each step.
Time was ticking. It was almost 10:00 PM.
He couldn't afford to be late.
Not now.
He reached the main hall.
He checked the time once more.
9:59:54
9:59:55
9:59:56
9:59:57
9:59:58
9:59:59
10:00:00 PM