TBR CH78

A

“You are…”

Edwin lowered his eyes, feeling as if his soul was being torn in two. One half sternly and coldly scolded his naivety, preventing potentially dangerous words from slipping off his tongue; the other half was melting under the warm glow of the firelight, urging him to boldly and proactively make an attempt, to capture a fleeting moment of beauty that left him utterly defenseless.

“You’re a demon,” he finally said, softly and quickly, as if afraid of being burned by his own words. Then, cautiously, he lifted his gaze upward. He only wanted to steal a glance at Tal’s expression, but the other’s eyes were too beautiful. The seven-year-old boy found it hard to look away.

Tal froze for a moment, his glassy pupils soon shimmering with a thin, bright smile.

“Even so, I can’t underestimate you, Edwin. Tell me, how did you guess?”

“I’ve read the monastery’s reference books on demonic traits.”

He didn’t seem angry at having his identity exposed. The gray-eyed boy answered cautiously, pointing at Tal’s feet.

“You don’t have a shadow, and your nails are sharper than a normal person’s. I… I just saw you using magic. It’s quite different from what’s described in the books, but that’s because you’re too powerful. If you look closely, there are still similar traits…”

“Very clever.”

Tal clapped his hands, and Edwin fell silent, his fingers tugging at the hem of his clothes, standing stiffly in place. He felt like a prisoner awaiting judgment at the gallows, his mind flashing with countless thoughts in an instant, none leaving a lasting mark against the blank backdrop.

The powerful demon across from him tilted his head.

“Since you’ve guessed, aren’t you afraid? If I wanted, I could easily take your life or torment you in the cruelest ways. Demons don’t care about a human.”

It was exactly as the books described.

Edwin didn’t know if he’d made the right choice. For some reason, the demon’s threat of “killing him” felt far less frightening than the answer he truly feared: “not wanting him.”

He opened his mouth to say something but realized his vocal cords were trembling, and any sound he made would surely be pitiful. So he pressed his lips together and shook his head firmly.

“Not afraid?” Tal said with intrigue. “Then come closer to me.”

Edwin took a step forward.

Tal raised his hand, his slender knuckles and sharp nails looking as if they could easily slice through human skin. The skin on the back of the boy’s neck tightened, the demon’s nails mere centimeters away, the air already pricking his heart like a sharp blade. Edwin’s breathing grew rapid and erratic, but he suppressed his body’s instinctive urge to retreat, standing like a lamb offering its neck to the slaughter.

“Hmm…” At this moment, the demon, with a wicked twist, paused at the closest point and began asking questions again.

“Suppose you’re right about having a buyer. Why would I give up such an easy reward?”

“I’ll give you more.”

The question was clearly too difficult for a child who had nothing. Edwin knew that no matter what he said, it would sound hollow and weak. He had no capital, only a medal from the monastery and his ability to use minor light magic at a young age—but that was nothing in Tal’s eyes.

He could only clumsily promise:

“You don’t need to give me anything. I just need a place to stay. You don’t have to handle anything else; I can survive on my own strength. It’s a small investment, and I’ll do everything in my power, using every means possible, to reach the top. I won’t defy your will, and when the time comes, I’ll give you any reward you expect. Including my soul, if you want it…”

As he spoke, he resembled the future Archbishop Edwin of the Holy Church, his light gray eyes blazing with ambition and a desire to control everything, trying to present himself as an adult capable of standing by his words.

But no matter how hard he tried, he was still too young, unable to fully shed his vulnerability.

His voice was trembling.

It was all a lie, Edwin thought. He didn’t want “nothing.” He’d deliberately hidden the biggest condition: staying by Tal’s side.

Staying meant being gazed at indulgently by those beautiful red eyes. Staying meant Tal might call his name with affection and warmth. Staying felt like it could fill the void in his heart. When he woke in the night, his bones and heart chilled by the cold wind, he longed for a warm thought—and what had just happened surpassed all his imagination.

The demon spoke menacing words to scare him, but for some reason, the young boy instinctively felt that the person before him was worth risking all his trust.

Tal moved his fingers.

But no bloody scene unfolded. Instead, the demon’s face carried a slightly helpless smile. His sharp nails silently retracted, and he ruffled the boy’s hair. Young Edwin had a head of fluffy, soft black curls, dusted with snowflakes that melted in the room’s warmth, leaving the tips slightly damp and pitiful.

“I really don’t know what to do with you.”

Tal said, “But you still guessed wrong, Edwin.”

“Guessed wrong…?”

The boy stood rigid, his pale face flushing slightly from the affectionate hair ruffle. He let out a breath, only to tense up again at Tal’s words. He was confident in his observations, but if Tal said he was wrong, then it must be his mistake.

Before hearing the next sentence, he instinctively cast a searching glance at the demon and the room.

Tal was about to say something when a knock suddenly came from the courtyard gate outside.

The room’s owner rose to answer it.

The demon gently closed the inner door. Edwin’s current state was best kept secret, not to be seen by just any visitor. Besides—Tal opened the door, his eyes shifting to a dark red hue imbued with divine power and the scent of rust. As expected, standing before him was a dejected, wilted, and pitiful Adelaide.

“I was wrong.”

The moment it saw Tal, it stood at attention to confess, then cautiously glanced into the courtyard, seemingly searching for another figure it feared most. Adelaide’s gaze was quickly blocked by Tarksius.

The god lowered his eyes to look at it.

“You don’t need to see him.”

Tarksius’s protectiveness was so obvious that even the dim-witted black dragon noticed. It finally stopped trying to sneak a peek at the mess it had caused. Under the god’s impatient gaze, it shivered and hurriedly explained everything, focusing on the solution.

Though “solution” was a stretch.

The temporal disturbance was caused by Adelaide’s imperfectly controlled time-space magic. But even the most powerful time-space magic couldn’t alter the past. At this moment, the archbishop before the god was a fragment of a frozen past moment. When the disturbance subsided, he would return to his original timeline, forgetting everything that happened here and reliving his destined path according to the original flow of time.

Though it was explaining how to clean up the mess, Adelaide grew increasingly guilty as it spoke. The black dragon nervously looked up at the dark red eyes of the dark god.

“The disturbance will end soon, and everything will return to normal.”

“Hm,” Tarksius, unusually, didn’t mock it with sharp words. Instead, he fell silent for a moment.

“How much time is left for him?”

“Probably… until midnight tonight?”

Adelaide didn’t receive a response from Tarksius, only the sound of the door slamming shut, nearly grazing its nose. The black dragon lingered hesitantly at the door for a moment, but it didn’t feel wronged. After all, this mess was entirely its doing.

Adelaide was now a dragon capable of taking responsibility for its actions.

So…

Without time to ponder whether Tarksius and young Edwin were getting along harmoniously, it retreated a few steps, flapped its wings, and the gust they created twisted space, forming a shimmering white portal before it.

That was the other party it needed to deal with: a human who made Adelaide’s tail ache just thinking about them.

It dove into the portal.

*

Before pushing open the door, Tal could already imagine Edwin’s expression.

From start to finish, he knew this was merely a fleeting illusion, but Edwin didn’t. From wariness to lowering his guard, to staking everything on seeking Tal’s answer, the gray-eyed boy had been so anxious yet hopeful, yearning for a turning point in his fate, cautiously pleading for warmth he’d never received. But for him, that was ultimately impossible.

Even if Tal carefully shielded him from the truth, when morning came, all the warmth and promises Edwin so desperately sought would dissolve into the sands of time, as if they’d never happened. He would remain cold and scarred, with no one to rely on, struggling alone on a thorny path.

He wouldn’t remember anything.

Was that a reason to keep the truth silent now? Tal’s fingers touched the wooden door, hesitating—an unusual occurrence.

He could give young Edwin an unprecedented beautiful dream, tell him not to worry, that he’d always be by his side, and before midnight struck, use magic to let him fall asleep in soft, rose-scented bedding, clutching those promises.

It would all be fake, but he’d never know.

Tal pushed open the door, only to see Edwin lowering his hand from his cheek. The young boy gave him a slightly nervous but composed smile, but the demon clearly saw the tear stains he hadn’t had time to wipe away. Those light gray eyes, still brimming with hope and longing just moments ago, now dimmed abruptly.

For a moment, Tal almost thought Edwin had overheard his conversation with Adelaide.

Edwin’s gray eyes dulled, like the damp mist cloaking a cape after the dock’s lights went out. He forced a smile at Tal. For the first time, Tal realized a smile could be so sharp, slicing through his heart, causing a strange, unstoppable pain. This time, it was the god who grew urgent.

“Edwin,” Tal reached out, but his hand wasn’t immediately taken. “What’s wrong?”

“I…”

The boy bit his lip. Before Tal left, he’d said, “You guessed wrong,” without elaborating, so Edwin had only just torn his gaze from him minutes ago to carefully examine the room.

Then, he suddenly realized how foolish he’d been not to notice this:

“I shouldn’t have been delusional, not even realizing that you… you’re not living alone.”

Many things in the room came in pairs: two identical cups by the teapot, a pair of soft pillows on the bed, a wooden office chair by the desk, and next to it, a cozy single sofa—clearly belonging to two distinct owners.

Growing up in the monastery with other orphans, Edwin knew that sometimes kind people wanted to adopt one of them but gave up due to their partner’s objections. Other times, impoverished single parents who’d abandoned their children returned, guilt-ridden, with money. But just as the abandoned child began to hope again, they’d learn that their parent’s new partner would never allow an illegitimate child into their love nest.

Was that why Tal hadn’t agreed to his plea?

He had a lover, and they must be deeply in love. Edwin had no right to stay by Tal’s side, and his lover surely wouldn’t tolerate a third person’s presence in their space.

All he wanted was a place outside the church to call home.

That was normal, Edwin thought, struggling not to show too ugly an expression. But he was actually starting to feel jealous. He gripped his clothes tightly, telling himself that a moment of light was far better than none, that he should be grateful. Only by doing so could he suppress the inexplicable sense of grievance, which was why he didn’t take Tal’s outstretched hand.

The demon with red eyes received no response and eventually withdrew his hand.

In that instant, Edwin began to regret.

His hand grew cold in the warm room, and Tal was clearly disappointed by his unreasonable behavior. The demon silently turned away. In that moment, a thousand apologies nearly burst from Edwin’s tongue, but he bit it, saying nothing.

The demon was disappointed in him, so there was no way the so-called deal could continue. All his dreams shattered before harsh reality. Edwin recalled the prophecy the diocesan bishop had given him:

“You’ll gain nothing and never escape the curse of your bloodline.”

“Edwin,” he heard a gentle sigh. Tal had somehow returned to stand before him. A hand rested on his hair, its owner gazing down intently, seeing his tear-soaked eyelashes.

Tal crouched down, slipping something into his hand.

“Don’t rush,” the hand stroking his hair slid down to his damp eyes. Tal wiped away his tears but didn’t tell him to stop crying. Instead, he said, “I think it’s good for you to cry. It’s okay. You can cry as long as you want here. I won’t think you’re pitiful or weak, but my heart aches for you, Edwin. You’re a very good child.”

A good child shouldn’t lose control of their emotions like he did. Edwin thought this, but his tears flowed even more uncontrollably. Sobbing, he clutched the object in his hand, vaguely realizing it was a book.

Tal must want him to look at something, but he kept crying, as if using up a lifetime’s worth of tears in this moment. By the end, his tears soaked the demon’s seemingly expensive shirt. Edwin reached out, desperately clinging to him as if grasping for something.

Tal let him hold on, patting the boy’s back soothingly until the rigid figure in his arms finally let go of all defenses. His gray eyes, washed clean by tears, were like a clear, bright sky. The emotional outburst came quickly, but once soothed, the reckless struggle and silent cries for destruction calmed abruptly.

“Tal…” His first syllable still carried a sob, but he soon steadied his trembling. “I’m not troublesome. Most of the time, I can stay outside alone. I might just be a greedy child, not wanting to give up like this. If only I could be allowed to meet your partner, at least give me a chance to prove myself.”

Not yet at a dead end, Edwin had shown an unwillingness to give up since childhood. The boy was always ready to step onto a stage and sell himself as a commodity: an obedient child, a gifted apprentice, a loyal devotee. He wanted to cling tightly to that near opportunity, willing to lie or pretend for it.

“Edwin, that’s not it.”

Tal leaned down gently, his fingers brushing Edwin’s hand. The boy instinctively opened his fingers, and the object the demon had given him—a delicate notebook—finally came into clear view.

“I want so badly to agree to you, to give you happiness and promises. But I once promised you something: to be absolutely honest with you, without any concealment. Even if you’ll forget everything, I must be serious with the you of now. Now, Edwin, open this notebook.”

What was he talking about?

The boy with light gray eyes felt confused, even a flicker of anger, because Tal had once again sidestepped his plea to stay, lightly shifting the topic. He briefly mocked himself inwardly—how foolish was he to not see this as a polite rejection? But the notebook’s folded corner pressed hard against his palm.

He opened the notebook, and the first thing he saw was the signature on the title page:

Edwin.

—What?

Suddenly, all his emotions turned to bewilderment. Edwin’s gaze darted back to the words in the notebook. Yes, it was his name, and for some reason, the handwriting felt eerily familiar. He had a habit of drawing a faint, barely noticeable horizontal line after signing his name—a small mark to prevent his signature from being forged and sold one day. But it was hardly an effective defense.

The notebook felt heavy in his hands, filled with pages of writing.

Every few pages bore a date, though not all were complete. So when Edwin saw a timestamp from twenty years in the future, his hand froze in place, and he looked up at Tal with a pleading expression.

Tal gave him a reassuring smile, gesturing for him to continue. It did calm him.

Edwin flipped further, certain he’d never written such a notebook. The owner mostly used it to record daily business matters. He read, half-understanding, as words like “church,” “finances,” and “partnerships” danced before him, fragrant and alluring, tinged with the sulfurous scent of burning power. But what caught his attention most were the occasional lines about things outside work:

“Tal said he wants a really soft sofa. Need to keep an eye out.”

“I heard the church’s roses are blooming beautifully. Maybe I can go see them with Tal sometime.”

“…I know you’ll read my diary, Tal, but it’s okay.”

The young boy hurriedly averted his eyes from the slightly intimate words, as if they’d burned him. But he could no longer comprehend what he was seeing. The notebook’s owner had the same name as him, the same writing habits, even a similar narrative tone. Most importantly, no one would date their diary decades in the future…

Edwin looked up again, his clever light gray eyes now hesitant and wavering. He gripped the notebook tightly, as if wanting to ask something but struck mute for the moment.

The demon’s gaze remained open and gentle. Tal extended a hand, and the boy hesitantly reached out, the warmth of their skin spreading finely through the contact.

“Welcome to the future.”

*

In the future, you will rise to great heights.

Tal said that every wish Edwin made brought him closer to his goals. His climb was deemed too rapid by some, but it was inevitable—every effort he made would be rewarded.

“The highest position…” Edwin said softly. “You mean I did it?”

He’d thought about it, even now at seven years old, when no one yet saw him as a threat. The first time he realized his talent and yearned to seize and possess something, when he felt the strange burn in his heart at the thought of power and fame, he’d made a nearly impossible wish.

Tal nodded, and a pale, disbelieving smile spread across the boy’s face, pride gleaming within it.

In the future, you will rebuild order.

The Holy Church? Tal gave a sly smile. No, not quite.

The church recorded in this diary wasn’t the corrupt institution worshipping the God of Light that Edwin imagined. The cathedral he once knew was consumed by the flames of his vengeance—Tal assured him it must have been beautiful. The current Holy Church was a pawn in his hands, stripped of value, discarded by him.

From the ruins, he built a new rose garden. The world’s order was shattered with the arrival of a new god, and hypocritical lies were no longer entertained. Though the world still turned with its joys and sorrows, he could bring people freedom.

In the future, you will find a home.

Edwin asked, “A god?”

“I don’t think I count as a demon anymore.”

Tal blinked, his garnet-red eyes rippling with a deep, dried-blood hue. An unimaginable power surged through the room as his eyes changed, his aura shifting. If Edwin had thought him merely a powerful demon before, he now knew he was utterly mistaken.

“I,” Tarksius said, lips curling as he looked down at him, his divine eyes like the most resplendent rubies, reflecting in the boy’s pupils, tinting even the most guarded gray with a faint heat, “am your god.”

“God…” Edwin bit his lip, his mind racing to process everything.

“So I, I’m actually—”

“You’re my follower, my most loyal bishop, the kind who offers everything.”

The god tilted his head, his smile deepening. He looked so good when he smiled. The thought flickered through Edwin’s mind, followed by flustered embarrassment. He’d been presumptuous toward a god, and Tal’s shirt still bore the damp stains of his tears. A follower shouldn’t offend their god, who, with unimaginable power, typically viewed humans as ants. So he shouldn’t…

“Offer a bouquet of roses to the god.”

He suddenly recalled a line from the notebook. Edwin stood frozen, too shy to reopen the diary, but those fragmented words burrowed into his ears. Tal was a god, no question, and the man with red eyes before him wielded an inexplicable magic that made even the present Edwin want to stay by his side at all costs. That must be the devotion a follower should have for their god. But as a follower, wasn’t he too improper, too undisciplined?

And why did a god live in this warm, bright little house, staying with him?

His thoughts were interrupted by Tal’s hand ruffling his hair again.

The god clearly had a fondness for this gesture. Edwin’s soft hair sank between his fingers, and the boy hesitated before cautiously nuzzling against it, hoping the action might please the god.

Tal let out a soft “hiss.”

Too unfair, he thought. How could young Edwin be this adorable, like a cat gently rubbing its owner’s hand to curry favor? He tilted his head, trying not to let his smile show too obviously, and asked:

“Do you believe everything I say, Edwin?”

“I… of course I believe my god.”

The boy instinctively swore, his cheeks flushing as if trying to prove something to Tal. Tal let out a satisfied, husky chuckle that made Edwin feel too shy to meet his eyes.

“Though I think what I said earlier wasn’t wrong, it’s more than that.”

The god gazed at him with such focus. “To the future you, I’m not just a god, and to me, you’re far more important than anything else. So there’s no need to plead—this is your home, Edwin.”

In the future, you will find a home.

Tal didn’t use words of love. The boy before him was too young to understand romance, but Edwin chewed over “most important,” feeling increasingly overwhelmed. He pressed a hand to his chest, as if to keep his heart from floating out of his ribcage. Little Edwin’s eyes, reddened from earlier emotions, couldn’t suppress the upward curve of his lips.

For the first time, he didn’t restrain himself, savoring the pure joy of the “future” Tal presented.

It was all completely real.

Everything before him would belong to him in the future.

He could become that person, find a home, and be earnestly loved by someone as wonderful as Tal—a life so different from his current one, like a mountain peak compared to a valley floor. Edwin had thought he’d be alone forever, enduring countless nights of searing pain, kneeling on his bed with open eyes, seriously contemplating death.

He didn’t know if his desperate efforts would ever pay off. In the modest monastery, still young enough to wear a cleric’s robe for the first time, his hands would grow bloodier, his resolve hardening, yet his heart growing ever more fragile, like a hard metal that would shatter at the first crack.

But everything before him showed that his efforts would bear fruit. Tal told him he’d achieve all his wishes in the future, giving the cruel, iron-gray reality countless reasons to endure.

Your choices will all have meaning.

Tal quietly watched the boy with light gray eyes, his body trembling slightly with joy. Young Edwin carefully took in everything around him, as if intending to etch it all into his eyes—every bright, warm, sweet detail, and Tal himself—turning them into fuel to keep moving forward. Even the most painful nights would be bearable, and even the most hopeless nights would hold beautiful dreams.

“Edwin.”

Tal couldn’t bear to say what came next, but he glanced at the large clock on the bookshelf. The clock ticked forward with irreversible momentum, drawing ever closer to midnight. He opened his mouth, but Edwin interrupted him first, the boy’s smile genuine and heartfelt.

“It’s okay. I know I have to go back. This timeline doesn’t belong to me. Besides, I need to become as remarkable as you said to earn everything before me. Tal, Tal, I’ll always remember you, so say goodbye to me properly.”

“No,” the god lowered his eyes, his hand instinctively resting on the boy’s hair again. He had to voice the harsh truth. “Edwin, you’ll forget everything that happened here.”

*

The smile on the boy’s face froze.

Like the tide receding after the moonlight fades, Edwin didn’t initially grasp the meaning of those words, or perhaps his mind sluggishly erected a protective barrier to shield him from the full weight of Tal’s statement. Then he realized the cruel reality Tal had revealed. The god’s hand gently stroked his head, but it was unacceptable.

Forget.

No. Edwin thought in panic, he couldn’t forget. The future him might have everything and not care about a brief memory of their time together, but for the present him, this was his only light and warmth. He needed to remember it all to avoid being crushed by countless pains. He wasn’t asking to take anything else—just this small piece of memory.

He wasn’t greedy at all.

Please, please don’t take away the only thing he had now.

“The temporal disturbance is irreversible,” Tal explained as gently as he could, though the explanation was futile. “Even if the instigator tried again, the result wouldn’t be the same. I’m so sorry. I know how much you want to remember me and everything about the future.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Edwin stepped back, his light gray eyes filled with the terror of loss, unable to discern if his words were appropriate. He blurted out accusations, “I don’t want to forget. I refuse to forget. If this had to happen, Tal, why didn’t you lie to me? Why did you have to tell me—I can’t accept this…”

Tal fell silent for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

The god’s beautiful pupils were outlined with golden traces by the bright light. Edwin looked into his indulgent, guilt-ridden eyes, slowly halting his backward steps. His lips parted slightly, and he suddenly regretted his earlier accusations.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m not blaming you, it’s just, just…”

“I know.” Tal wasn’t angry with him at all. “I was just thinking, if only I’d met you at this moment, if I could’ve shielded you from all the bad things sooner. Edwin, I’m truly sorry you’ll forget everything that’s happening now and return to the past, but I couldn’t hide it from you.”

“…”

He gazed so earnestly into his eyes. Edwin felt his gray eyes, along with all his dark and filthy thoughts, were clearly reflected in the shimmering red glass of Tal’s gaze.

He wanted to be deceived, to remain happy until the final moment. Then this version of him, who’d come from the past to the future, would vanish, leaving only a memory that would never be recalled—a self-deceptive belief in eternal beauty.

Or even further, Tal could’ve told him nothing about the future, declared he’d adopt him, and he’d never have to return to the painful, cruel world.

But was that truly the outcome he wanted?

“You’re right,” Edwin suddenly felt strength return to his limbs. He murmured, lowering his eyes in shame, “Tal, I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you for telling me the truth. But I don’t want to forget, I really don’t. I can’t believe I’d still achieve everything after forgetting you—”

“But you did achieve it.”

Tal said quietly, stepping forward until they were as close as before. “Edwin, when I met you, your soul was so radiant, it was like light itself. You’re one of a kind. No matter how many times, you’ll earn the crown you deserve and find me.”

“…I’ll find you.”

The boy’s gaze was captivated by the god’s mesmerizing eyes. He repeated Tal’s words, his voice damp with emotion. He spoke of the future, of prophecies already fulfilled.

“But we won’t know each other. Can I really find you?”

Edwin’s voice was laced with tension. “What if I can’t find you? What if something goes wrong at any step? Even if everything goes right, I can’t make myself forget. Tal, I don’t want to forget anything about tonight. You… I want to remember everything about you.”

“Hm.”

The god’s dark hair fell over his shoulders, soft as silk, reserved only for Edwin.

He said, “You’ll remember, Edwin, just much, much later. I believe in what’s to come because I believe you’ll always make those choices. Do you believe in me and wait for me until that time?”

“What…”

The boy’s confusion was fleeting, his eyes suddenly alight with realization. “You mean you’ll tell the future me everything I forgot—”

Tal nodded, his voice slightly hoarse with tension. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate…”

But if it worked this way, everything would form a complete loop. Edwin’s heart was strangely soothed by those words. Tal was right—as long as he trusted the person before him, forgetting wouldn’t be permanent. Memory wasn’t just his own; it was something he and Tal created together, precious because of Tal. The memory wouldn’t be lost; someone else would hold it until the right moment in the future—

“I’m willing,” Edwin said quickly. “I’m willing.”

Tal looked at him with slight surprise. The boy felt his face flush. Earlier, he’d been so afraid of losing that he’d accused and repeated futile pleas—now, looking back, it was hardly rational or what a good child should do. He’d been so afraid because he’d never had someone he could trust make him a promise:

What you lose today will surely be returned in the future.

“Tal, can you hug me again?”

Edwin suddenly changed the topic, glancing at the wall clock. It was almost time, so he wanted to make this memory more meaningful, to not waste a single second since the future him would learn all the details. His voice almost sounded like a whine, but with a light gray-eyed boy looking at you pleadingly, Tal found he couldn’t hesitate at all.

“You smell like roses,” Edwin said, buried in the embrace with only his fluffy hair visible. He took a deep breath, feeling he should comment, and whispered, “I really like this scent.”

Young Edwin was adorably candid.

The time passed faster than they’d imagined, both trying to ignore the clock ticking backward. Edwin laughed and chatted so happily for the first time, flipping through the shelves of books the future him owned—most of which he couldn’t yet understand—and the expensive-looking clothes. Tal suggested he not develop such conservative taste, and Edwin agreed, though he’d soon forget. The room’s bed was incredibly comfortable; little Edwin had never slept on such a soft mattress. He hugged a pillow and cautiously rolled around, Tal watching with a smile.

“Not long after we met, I ruined your carpet,” Tal said, pointing at the floor. “So we picked this one together.”

Edwin loved hearing these stories from the future—memories he’d hold tightly now but soon forget, yet for the future him who “remembers everything,” they’d be a vivid recollection. He stared at the carpet and commented:

“It’s a light color, like your eyes.”

“It didn’t always look like that,” Tal said, lips curving. “You wanted a deep red one, and I wanted something lighter, so we compromised and got this.”

Edwin laughed too. But he couldn’t help glancing at the clock again. Just fifteen minutes left—just fifteen more ticks of the sharp black hands. If only time could freeze in this moment forever.

But he had to move forward.

Someone would be waiting for him in the future.

“Tal,” his voice couldn’t hide a trace of unease, an inescapable feeling before parting. The boy with light gray eyes looked at Tal one last time.

“What if I can’t find you? I’m still… a little scared.”

The tide of time began to surge with shimmering white waves, faint cracks appearing in the air around them. Edwin instinctively grabbed Tal’s hem, but any attempt to stay in the wrong timeline was futile. The fissures slowly swallowed him, his skin touched by the temporal cracks vanishing into the air.

The god wanted to ruffle Edwin’s hair one more time.

But it was too late. The boy’s hand clung tightly to Tal’s sleeve, his eyes pleading, his words fragmenting into countless pieces. In that moment, Tal felt a sudden impulse. He placed his hand over Edwin’s, praying it wasn’t too late, hoping his instinct was right—

“When you feel like you can’t hold on any longer,” Tal’s voice seemed to pierce through the rift connecting past and future, reaching a distant point in time, heard by someone destined to forget everything, “Edwin, go to the church’s library and find a book with a summoning charm tucked inside.”

*

The god felt the touch of the other’s hand vanish abruptly. The boy with light gray eyes disappeared as if he’d never visited, leaving no trace.

He’d returned to the time where he belonged, Tal thought, his heart aching with sorrow. In front of young Edwin, he’d played the role of an adult, a protector, a god in control of everything.

But looking at the half-open notebook on the bed, he realized he’d been deeply sad all along.

“Edwin…”

Tal bit his lip, sitting motionless under the bright light for a while, lost in thought, until a knock finally came at the door. The god blinked, rushing to open it without a moment’s hesitation.

As if it were a long-awaited miracle.

Edwin with light gray eyes stood before him, the room’s bright light reflecting in his pupils. A thin layer of snow dusted his coat, his aura as sharp as a blade, softening only when he saw Tal, offering an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Tal.”

Before the words even settled, the demon stepped forward, wrapping his arms tightly around the human. Edwin froze for a moment, feeling warm breath melt the snowflakes on his collar. He didn’t pull away, letting the demon’s warmth gradually steal away the outdoor chill, his heart filled with gratitude.

“We still have plenty of time,” Edwin said quickly, not waiting for Tal to speak, and leaned in for a kiss. The bishop was captivating when he took the initiative. The kiss was sweet, sweeter than the finest honey.

“Yes,” the demon blinked, his eyes stinging and blurry. After the kiss, he licked his lips, smiling at Edwin with a near-sigh, repeating, “So good… we still have so much time.”