Chapter Text
Outside the window, the sky was fading, pulling heavy, leaden clouds over itself.
"There will be a downpour soon," flashed through Lilia’s mind. He was sitting in the living room, sinking into the soft cushions of a narrow sofa. The room breathed comfort: the crackling logs in the fireplace scattered orange glimmers into the semi-darkness, filling the space with dry warmth. In the silence, only this soothing sound of the fire and a barely audible rustle coming from the carpet could be heard.
The fairy’s gaze slid downward, where his son was playing, sitting on the patterned rug. The little boy was concentratedly moving two wooden figurines — a knight and his faithful horse — across the fibers. So grown-up already, yet still so tiny. "How quickly you’re growing, Silver..." Lilia thought with a hint of bitterness. Fairies age slowly, only getting to their feet by the age of twenty. But Silver? Silver had started running before his second birthday.
"Papa?" — a thin, pure voice rang out, barely rising above the crackling of the coals.
An irrational fear of thoughts, cold and soundless, squeezed Lilia’s heart: what if his silver boy left him too soon?
"Dad, what are you thinking about?" the little one repeated the question, having already approached the sofa, carefully hugging his toys to his chest. He trustingly placed one of the wooden guardians, the knight, on his father’s lap.
This tender touch pulled Lilia from the whirlpool of heavy thoughts. He lowered his eyes: first to the toy warrior on his lap, then to Silver’s face — bright and open.
"Sorry, son, your father got distracted for a moment. What did you say?" — Lilia's voice sounded soft, as his fingers sank into the boy’s already rather long silver locks.
"I asked: "Dad, what are you thinking about?" — Silver beamed back.
Lilia answered him with a warm smile, removed the knight from his lap, then easily scooped his son up under the arms and sat him on his knee. He gently poked the little one’s nose, eliciting quiet, happy laughter.
"Oh, there’s always something to think about, my boy. About yesterday, about tomorrow, about today. Right now, I’m thinking about how much my silver knight has grown," Lilia said, hugging his son.
Silver clapped his hands joyfully and immediately answered his father with a tight, childishly clumsy hug. They sat like that, in silence, but the peaceful moment was brief. Outside the window, tearing through the darkness, a dazzling lightning bolt flashed, and immediately after, not missing a beat, a powerful, thick downpour crashed down upon the earth.
Silver flinched and pressed closer to his father. Lilia began stroking his back soothingly, whispering:
"Don’t be afraid, my little defender. It’s only rain. An element not to be feared, especially by brave knights. You are brave, aren’t you?"
"Y-yes, Papa," the boy stammered, lifting his head and grabbing hold of the toy knight. "I am brave! I will protect you from the storm!"
With these words, he jumped off his lap and struck a warrior’s pose, as if the wooden trinket in his hands were a real blade.
"Well done, my guardian," the fairy said tenderly, running his palm over his son’s head once more. "What if we had some warm milk and then went to bed?"
"But I’m a knight, Dad!" Silver objected, still full of fighting spirit. "Knights don’t sleep, they guard!"
"All night long?" Lilia whispered with doubt and a smile, knowing full well how quickly his "sleepless" guardian’s eyelids would droop.
Finally, Lilia got up and headed to the kitchen, and Silver, like a devoted puppy, toddled after him.
Walking behind his father, the boy once again examined him closely. He had noticed the differences before, but now they somehow seemed especially important. Dad had sharp, elegant ears — like Malleus and all his friends. Dad had hair the color of a raven’s wing and piercing crimson eyes, a slightly upturned nose and a sharp chin. And he? Round ears, straight silver hair, a calm oval face, and strange, shining eyes that dad called "auroral." But… why didn’t he look like dad?
When Silver returned from his musings, Lilia had already taken a pitcher of milk from the cupboard and was pouring it into mugs.
"Dad?" the boy called out softly.
"Yes, Silv?"
"Dad, why don’t we look alike?" Silver didn’t take his eyes off the familiar, yet so alien features.
"Are we supposed to look alike?" — more with slight surprise than concern, Lilia replied, turning his head toward him.
"Well… yes?" the boy mumbled, confused by the response. "You’re my dad. All children look like their parents."
Lilia simply hummed softly in response, focusing on gently warming the milk with a touch of magic.
"You see, other children are connected to their parents by blood. But you and I — we are not," he said calmly, looking back at the mugs as if discussing a choice of dinner. "Did you really think I was your blood father?" Lilia asked, without considering how those words might sound to a child’s heart.
Behind him came a sharp, muffled gasp — and then the rapid patter of small bare feet. Lilia spun around.
"Silver?"
When Lilia turned, the boy was no longer in the kitchen. Before his mind could piece together the puzzle of his words and his son’s reaction, a sound reached the fairy’s ears that made his blood run cold. The creak of an opening door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone today. That meant only one person could have done it…
"Silver! Silver, what happened?!" Lilia shouted, forgetting about the milk and mugs, and rushed into the hallway.
There, he was met only by a wide-open door. And a vision beyond its threshold: the nighttime forest, blackened by darkness, trees thrashing under the furious onslaught of wind and rain, swirling heaps of falling leaves caught in the storm.
Lilia stood frozen on the threshold, unable to understand what so terrible and hurtful his son had heard in his words. What had driven him to flee from warmth and comfort into the cold, merciless element of the night?