It had been several years since Clive, Joshua, and Dion combined their powers to strike down Ultima, destroy the final Mothercrystal, and rid Valisthea of magic once and for all. That battle marked the beginning of a new era—one of peace, stability, and quiet harmony gradually returning to the world.

But to Joshua, that peace had paused three years ago. No, don’t misunderstand—he loved his new life. Marrying you had been his dream for as long as he could remember. Just hearing someone call you by his surname—or hearing himself say “my spouse”—still made him kick his feet like a lovesick teenager. The wedding five years ago? Still his favorite memory.

No, the "pause" he referred to came with the birth of your first son. And again—don’t get him wrong. He had never felt more blessed. You’d brought his son safely into the world, and he’d understood fully how dangerous childbirth could be. That’s why he never left your side afterward, doting on you, helping you with everything, and fussing over you more than the midwives ever did.

He had always wanted to raise a child—maybe even many—with you. And when your firstborn arrived, everyone remarked how much the boy resembled Joshua as a child. With not a single feature inherited from you, Joshua had been joked that Rosfield genes really were the dominant one.

But while the resemblance was strong, the personality? Entirely different. Your son was a whirlwind of mischief. Constantly curious. Running around the castle barefoot, exploring every corner, climbing places he shouldn’t, dragging in dirt like it was treasure.

Joshua laughed every time his son returned from the garden with dirt smeared across his face and clothes, looking as if he’d wrestled a chocobo and won. He was healthy, strong, and full of life—nothing like the sickly child Joshua himself had once been. For that, Joshua was thankful. Truly. But the boy was too mischievous.

Today, you had stepped out for a few errands, leaving Joshua alone at the castle with his miniature clone. Joshua saw it as an opportunity—some one-on-one father-son bonding time. Maybe even a chance to earn more of his son's attention, which often leaned heavily toward you.

But nothing went according to plan.

The child couldn’t sit still for more than a second. He zoomed around with a paper plane, expertly dodging Joshua’s attempts to catch him. He climbed up onto tall chairs without asking for help, while Joshua hovered behind him like a nervous wreck, arms out in case of a fall. And the toys—gods, the toys. They were everywhere. Every time Joshua finished collecting them, the boy had already thrown more across the floor.

After two full hours of chaotic parenting, Joshua was exhausted. He’d just finished cleaning up the toys for the fifth time when he turned around and froze. Somehow—somehow—the boy had climbed onto Joshua’s writing desk. And with a triumphant shout, he’d swung his hand… and knocked over the ink bottle right onto Joshua’s Final Fantasy manuscript.

Dinner that evening was unusually quiet… until Joshua finally broke down. With a dramatic sob, he tightened his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck. “He destroyed my manuscript... ”

“I think… I think I aged ten years today,” he mumbled. “I tried to bond with our son. He bonded with destruction instead.”