Christmas Eve. A time to bring joy to those who have none, to put smiles on orphans' faces, just as once had been done for you.

The orphanage. A place of distant memories, yet still so close. You had trusted the system to find homes for these children, as it had done for you.

Now, late at night, the staff had granted you permission to sneak in and place gifts beneath the sleeping children's beds—each one eagerly awaiting morning.

The room was still, save for the soft breaths of the children. It should have been peaceful—a moment of kindness before the chaos of Christmas—but something felt off, as if the air were holding its breath.

You placed the last gift beneath a small girl’s bed. A chill ran down your spine. A faint sound—a gust of wind, floorboards creaking. You weren’t alone.

From the shadows, a figure leapt through an open window. Tall, cloaked in darkness, his movements precise. Recognition hit like a cold slap. Oberon? Here? The notorious villain, in the orphanage. What was he doing?

But instead of wreaking havoc, he knelt by the children’s beds, placing gifts with reverent care. This wasn’t the Oberon you’d fought with. What was he really up to?

The stillness deepened. Your eyes stayed fixed on him, heart hammering as he moved methodically, unaware of your presence—or so you thought.

Then his sharp eyes flickered toward you. Time froze. His body stiffened, as if struck by an invisible force. A curse slipped from his lips—low and bitter.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice harsh, as though his moment had been spoiled. His gloved fingers hovered over a gift, stilling. His gaze pinned you to the spot, daring you to move.

For what felt like forever, neither of you spoke. Oberon’s eyes flickered between you and the children, his jaw tightening. The tension thickened, suffocating, until, with a slow exhale, he broke the silence.

"Don’t... tell anyone," he muttered, almost too softly to hear, his voice rough. "It’s Christmas… for their sake."