"Yes," I answer.
She looks at me for a moment, then lowers her gaze back to the book.
"This book says… if you touch the crystal, the sensation is overwhelming — impossible to let go. Did you feel that?"
I nod.
"…Yes."
"And then…" Her finger trails down the page.
"You will merge… with the crysta— impossible."
The room falls tense. Her aunt and I exchange confused looks.
"What is it, my lady?" her aunt asks.
"Do you remember the old tale, aunt? The war of Sun and Moon that once scorched the earth?"
Her aunt nods slowly. "Aye… but why bring it now, my lady?"
What are they talking about? What war?
Both of them turn to me at once. Her aunt's face shifts — a realization striking her.
"Paragon… he will return. But…" she murmurs.
"But?" I ask quietly.
"…he returns with his vessel. Your body."
Her aunt steps closer. "Did you encounter someone searching for that necklace before you came here, young master?"
I lift my shoulders slightly.
"…Someone did approach me. Wrapped in bandages. I don't know why but—"
A flash crosses my mind. His stare. His presence.
"My lady," her aunt calls softly, snapping me out of it.
The girl lowers her gaze to the book again.
"My wish to meet the one fated to find this legendary crystal… it has been my wish since long ago."
She slowly raises her head toward her aunt.
"He… he is the one who can lead me to my father, aunt…"
Her voice breaks. Tears fall.
Her aunt immediately embraces her, kissing the top of her head.
"Aunt understands, my lady… aunt understands."
I lower my head, lifting the necklace, staring at the crystal.
This thing… what is it really?
So I can't sell it…? Then what about my life tomorrow?
"Young master?" her aunt calls.
I look up.
"Please stay the night with us. Aunt begs you."
I glance at the girl, but she keeps her eyes lowered.
I look at the crystal again.
Right… I really can't sell it now.
I'm troubled again. Figures.
---
Night passes on.
I sleep in the upstairs room, bed placed by the window.
At some hour past midnight, I wake. I sit up and stare at the moon, then take out the photo of my family.
My head keeps asking the same question—
Why did he let me live…?
I have no purpose.
My father was a slave; my life was trampled and mocked.
My mother was once a noble, yet she chose to marry a slave in secret.
Mother… she died when I was eight.
The day she left me was the most painful moment of my life.
Even her las—
I remember something.
Her message.
Her message on the back of the photo.
Yes… her handwriting. Beautiful, gentle.
One tear falls onto the ink as I read:"
"My dear son,
I'm sorry that my frail body must leave you so soon.
Forgive me for the love I couldn't give enough while I was still here.
I want you to grow into someone cheerful, strong, and steadfast.
Your father protected the weak — be strong like him.
I sought peace and freedom — find your own purpose, your own peace, as I once did.
Carry both our wishes in your heart, my dear son.
I'm sorry… and I love you, always."
My breath catches.
My chest trembles.
My voice breaks.
"I… miss you… mom…"