(Narrator POV)

Time: 3:00 a.m. — Yuuta's Bedroom

The world was asleep.

The faint hum of the night filled the small room, broken only by the slow rhythm of breathing — Erza's steady and calm, Elena's soft and uneven, the way children breathe when they dream.

But Yuuta couldn't sleep.

He sat by the desk near the window, a warm halo of moonlight spilling across his notebook. Outside, the stars shimmered like fragments of a forgotten wish. The city beyond was silent, bathed in silver, as if time itself had stopped to rest.

Yuuta tapped his pen lightly against the paper. He should've been content — he had everything now: a home, peace, a small family that filled his world with laughter. Yet his chest felt oddly heavy tonight. Maybe it was just habit. Or maybe… he was afraid that happiness this gentle couldn't last.

He sighed, opening his diary. Writing had become his quiet ritual — a way to hold on to the moments that always slipped too fast.

If I don't write them down, he thought, they'll fade like dreams.

The pen scratched softly, filling the silence with small, familiar sound. Line after line, he wrote — about Erza's rare smile earlier that evening, about Elena's silly dance, about the way laughter had made the house feel alive again.

He almost didn't notice the small movement behind him until—

"Papa… why aren't you sleeping?"

The soft voice was like a whisper from a dream.

Yuuta turned, his heart already warming at the sight.

Elena stood beside the bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes, her hair a messy cloud framing her tiny face. Her cat-shaped plushie dangled in one hand, the little fairy-stone locket at its neck catching the moonlight.

Yuuta's expression softened instantly. He smiled.

"You always wake up whenever I'm not beside you," he said gently.

She nodded, half-asleep, her voice muffled. "Mhm… Elena can't sleep when Papa's gone."

It wasn't the first time — even when Yuuta was broken hurted sleep on Erza lap, Elena always sleep beside him, she'd always stir the moment he slipped away.

Yuuta chuckled under his breath and walked over to her, the floor creaking quietly under his steps. "Alright, little guardian," he murmured, lifting her into his arms.

Elena let out a tiny giggle, her head resting on his shoulder. "Papa, you're warm."

He smiled at that — a small, tired, genuine smile. Then he sat back down at the desk with her nestled in his lap. She leaned against his chest, eyes already fluttering shut, one hand still clutching the stuffed cat tightly.

For a while, neither spoke. Only the quiet rustle of paper and the soft sigh of the night filled the air.

Elena giggled softly, her tiny fingers fumbling with Yuuta's pen. The pen wobbled in her grip before she pressed it down, leaving uneven loops and crooked lines across the diary page.

Yuuta smiled, his voice low and warm.

"No, no, little princess," he murmured, gently pulling the book away. "You'll ruin Papa's precious memories."

She pouted, blinking up at him through half-sleepy eyes. "Why can't I write, Papa?"

He chuckled under his breath, tapping her nose playfully. "Because this diary isn't just a book. It's our story. Every page has a piece of us… If you write too much, the memories might fade."

She tilted her head, her small brows furrowed in thought. "Then why are you writing, Papa?"

The question caught him off guard. His hand stilled. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the night—the whisper of wind, the tick of the clock, and the faint breathing of his sleeping wife.

He looked down at his daughter, at her tiny hands clutching the edge of his shirt.

His lips curved, but his eyes shimmered with something gentle… and aching.

"Because," he said quietly, "Papa is writing these pages for your mama. So that when Papa isn't here anymore, she'll still remember me."

Elena blinked, confusion softening her sleepy gaze. "Not here? Where are you going, Papa?"

Yuuta smiled faintly, brushing away a strand of hair from her forehead. "Someday, Papa will go to Heaven."

Her small mouth formed an 'O'. "Heaven? Why?"

"Because Papa needs to build a new home there," he whispered. "A home where Mama can rest, and where you can play forever."

Her eyes lit up. "A new home? Will it be big?"

"Big enough to hold every laugh we've shared," Yuuta said, his tone warm, almost melodic.

"Will it have candy? And toys?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

He laughed softly. "So many that even angels will get jealous."

Elena giggled, her tiny shoulders shaking. But then, she noticed the glimmer in her father's eyes. "Papa… why are you crying?"

Yuuta quickly wiped his eyes and smiled again. "I'm not crying, sweetheart. Sometimes, even happiness makes people cry."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Listen, Elena. When Papa goes first, you mustn't be sad. Papa is strong—strong enough to fight even the stars if I have to. I'll make that new home perfect before you and Mama arrive."

Elena's small hands clung to him tighter, as if afraid he might vanish if she let go.

"Then Elena will come too!" she whispered, her voice trembling with sleepy determination. "We'll go together! Papa, me, Mama too."

Yuuta's heart ached at those words. He could feel it — that fragile, innocent love that only a child could give. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting atop her soft hair.

"No, my princess," he murmured, his voice tender and tired. "You must stay here for a while. You have to take care of Mama for me."

He brushed a thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear she didn't even know had fallen. "When she feels lonely, you give her this diary, alright? Tell her… Papa wrote it with love, not ink."

Elena looked up at him, her eyes wide and glistening under the pale light. "I will," she said softly.

"Promise me."

Without hesitation, she lifted her pinky finger, her face bathed in moonlight. "Promise."

Yuuta hooked his finger around hers and smiled — the kind of smile that hides a thousand unspoken things. "That's my girl."

The room fell quiet again. The candle on his desk flickered faintly, its flame fighting against the still air. The pen lay between them, ink drying on the page — a silent witness to their promise, a fragile bridge connecting a father's fading courage to a daughter's pure heart.

Outside, the wind rustled the curtains, carrying the faint scent of night jasmine through the window. The stars shimmered, distant and eternal, as if the universe itself paused to listen.

Yuuta held her a little tighter, his eyes burning.

He wanted to stop time right here — to live forever in this small, perfect moment where his daughter was safe in his arms, and the world was quiet enough to believe in peace.

If I could, I'd stay like this forever, he thought. But life doesn't let you hold onto what you love. It just lets you remember.

A tear slipped down his cheek, landing softly on her hair.

"Sleep well, my little princess," he whispered. "Papa will finish the story soon."

And as Elena drifted off in his arms, the night outside seemed to breathe with them — gentle, infinite, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

But little did Yuuta know… he wasn't the only one awake that night.

Someone else had heard everything — every whisper, every promise, every fragile word that carried love through the dark.

Erza lay on the bed beside them, eyes half open, pretending to sleep. Her breathing stayed calm, her body still, but her heart… it was anything but calm. Each word Yuuta spoke sank deep into her chest, stirring something heavy — something she could never say out loud.

A single tear slid down the corner of her eye, vanishing into the pillow.

She had heard it all — Yuuta's laughter, Elena's sleepy giggles, his trembling voice when he talked about Heaven and the "home" he'd build for them there.

To him, it was just a story for their daughter.

To her… it was a quiet confession.

A sign that even he knew his time was limited.

Erza turned her head slightly. In the silver glow of the moon, Yuuta sat at the desk with their daughter in his arms. His face looked peaceful — as if the whole world had paused just for them.

And for the first time in years, Erza felt powerless.

For all her strength — for all the magic that made her feared across nation — she could not protect the one person who made her feel human.

It was a cruel irony.

In another world, they could have been just an ordinary couple — the kind who would grow old together, sharing tea and laughter as the days passed. But that was not their story.

Erza's lifespan stretched across five thousands of years. Yuuta's, barely a hundred.

It was like a young woman marrying a man who only had six weeks left to live — she could smile beside him, hold him close, but she would live decades longer with the ache of losing him burned into her heart.

That was their fate.

She would remain — unaging, unchanging — while time slowly carried him away.

Her lips trembled. What use was immortality if it meant outliving love?

She watched as Yuuta held their daughter close, smiling gently while she talked about candy castles and Heaven. He didn't know that every smile he gave was carving deeper into her soul.

Erza turned back toward the ceiling, forcing her eyes shut. She didn't want him to see her tears. If Yuuta noticed, he would only smile — that same selfless smile — and tell her not to worry, that everything would be fine.

But it wouldn't be fine. She knew it.

Even if he survived a hundred more years, it would still feel like a blink to her.

"Why must I live so long," she thought, "when all I want is to live just long enough… to grow old with him?"

Outside, the moonlight brushed her face — soft and cold, like the touch of a memory that already knew how this story would end.

Yuuta didn't know that two hearts were breaking quietly in that same room.

Erza closed her eyes again. Not to sleep — but to capture this fragile warmth, to trap it in her memory like light in glass.

Because nights like this were rare.

And love — the kind that dared to exist between eternity and time — was rarer still.

Meanwhile, at the Agency

(Sara's POV)

The air was heavy with incense and blood. Faint light spilled through the cracks of the sealed chamber, painting golden bars across the floor.

"I can't believe I have to let you live," I said, my voice shaking with fury. "All because of the Atlantis Queen's request."

Allen — the Nefarion of Pride — sat cross-legged behind the shimmering holy barrier. Even now, stripped of his wings, his aura was unbearable. Calm, unbroken, untouchable.

He smiled faintly, eyes gleaming like molten gold. "How ironic," he murmured. "You serve a fate that's nothing but a beautiful scam."

My jaw tightened. "A scam? What are you talking about?"

He leaned forward, shadows falling across his face. "You hunted me for centuries, Sara. You wanted my end more than your own breath. And yet… here I am — bound, helpless before you. You can't kill me. You won't kill me. That's your beautiful scam — the cruelest joke of fate."

I slammed my palm against the barrier. Holy light flared, but he didn't even flinch.

"You've already lost everything — your power, your pride, your purpose. You're tied to a human now. Yuuta will die of old age before your curse even fades. And when he does, you'll return to what you fear most — your chains."

His smile froze. Just for a heartbeat, the arrogance cracked. His gaze dropped to his wrists where the divine bindings shimmered faintly, whispering like fire against skin.

Good. He remembered.

That was always my tactic — demons don't fear death. They fear their own reflection in the chains that once held them.

Silence lingered between us, tense and sharp. Then, Allen lifted his head again — calm restored, a cruel serenity returning to his face.

"You young pests," he said, almost tenderly. "You'll never understand the bond between humans and demons. It's not about dominance… it's about eternity. I was chosen to lead the forgotten prophecy — the one that will make heaven itself crumble under its own law."

A chill raced down my spine. "What prophecy?"

He only smirked. "You'll understand soon enough. For now… obey your Queen. Do what my eternal mistress asked of you."

Something in his tone made my throat tighten. He wasn't bluffing — and that terrified me more than his threats ever could.

Even in chains.

Even powerless.

Allen never lied.

The prophecy had already begun — and I didn't even know which one. Which prophecy spoke of the bond between human and demon? I couldn't remember — and that terrified me.

I took a slow breath, forcing my hands steady. There were orders to follow — a staged execution, a Fake death written by the Erza herself.

But as I turned to leave, I saw him smile — not like a prisoner, but like a man who already knew how the story would end.

Let's just hope you're lying again, Allen, I thought bitterly.

Just like you always do.

To be continue.....

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