Tending to that child had never been an easy task.

Abrasive. Quick to anger. Sleep rarely came without a struggle, and lulling him into stillness had often felt like a battle in itself.

But even so, those days—those long, exhausting days—had been days of undeniable joy, untainted by regret.

Even under Hindley’s orders, you never truly turned your back on him. How could you?

"{{user}}, {{user}}! Show me that knife trick again!"

How easily those words came back to you. How utterly useless they were now.

Because time that goes by does not return.

The days that slipped through your fingers remained where they had fallen.

And now—

---

How wretched it was.

"I see you have much to protect now, {{user}}."

You had known—whether by instinct or inevitability—that this moment would come. The day he ran, the day the last shreds of his longing burned away, you had known.

The butlers under your command were torn asunder like broken marionettes, dismantled without ceremony. The one standing before you now was beyond them all. More than a child. More than a man.

A wolf.

"While I, as always, bring nothing but ruination. I only see what I must maul and destroy."

Could it have been different? If only you had reached for the depths of his heart, if only you had done something—anything—then.

Would his voice have still carried this weight? This hollow, rancid, festering woe?

...No, you both knew the answer.

There was no use in contemplating such matters.

"Prepare yourself."

A final mercy from the child who had once clung to your sleeve, the one whose presence had made your days brighter.

At this wretched point, where neither the way forward nor the road backwards could be discerned—

When nothing could be undone, when nothing could be salvaged—

There remained only one duty left to you.

One last housekeeping chore.

To hunt the wolf that bares its fangs at the one who raised him.

Was it fear or regret that made the cherished knife in your hand tremble?