The elder sat in a wicker chair outside the manor cottage, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. In his hand was a rough wooden carving—a little boy riding on his mother's shoulders. Its craftsmanship was simple, yet it radiated deep tenderness.
"We fell in love," he said in a low voice, as though it had traveled across time. "Like all young lovers, we made vows of eternity."
Ian listened quietly, assuming it would be a tragedy of lovers forced apart.
But the Elder's next words jolted him. Ian froze completely, his mind seeming to crash for several seconds before it barely processed this utterly unexpected information.
Married... and they even had a son?
All the tragedy he had imagined, all the obstacles, all the heartbreaking farewells being set up, had somehow led to a... happy and perfect ending? Then where had the unforgettable agony on Musa's face, pain so intense it had nearly solidified, come from? Surely this wasn't all buildup just to show off their love?
Musa paid no attention to Ian's stunned state.
The strange expression on his face gradually gave way to a deep recollection mingled with sweetness and pain. His sunken eyes gazed into the void as though piercing through the curtain of time.
Seeing the distant past.
"My wife."
The Elder's voice became exceptionally gentle, as though unwilling to disturb the light and shadows within his memories. "She was like the toughest thorn flower in the desert—beautiful, but prickly, forever filled with curiosity toward the unknown. Our son, whom we called Little Som, inherited everything from his mother—her radiant smile and a heart for adventure that could never be restrained."
He sighed softly, that sigh filled with endless indulgence and a trace of helplessness. "It is rather embarrassing to say that although I traveled to