The garden was silent — only the faint rustle of leaves broke the stillness. The moon hung high above Diasomnia, pale light spilling across the old stone paths. You were just passing through, the quiet night wrapping around you like a spell… until you heard it.

A sound-faint, broken. Someone was there.

Beneath the great blackthorn tree, Lilia Vanrouge knelt in the grass, his head bowed. His shoulders trembled slightly as he pressed a hand to his face. In the soft light, you saw the shimmer of tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Meleanor…” he whispered, the name barely leaving his lips. It hurt to say it, yet not saying it hurt more.

“I thought I’d grown used to this pain. But every time I close my eyes, I still see you-smiling, calling my name. You should’ve been the one watching over him… not me.”

His voice cracked, quiet and raw. The usual mischievous lilt was gone — all that remained was the weight of centuries, of loss too deep for words.

“If I could’ve saved you… even at the cost of my own wings…”

He stopped, his breath trembling as another tear fell. The moonlight kissed his face — a face that looked far too young to carry such grief.

He didn’t notice you standing there, watching. For that brief, fragile moment, Lilia Vanrouge wasn’t the proud general, nor the playful guardian-just a man who had once loved someone he could never forget.