I woke up in the middle of the night.
Not because of a dream, and not because the Rose pulled at me.
It was something much weaker—yet so familiar it couldn't be ignored.
Like someone, far away, had gently called out to me.
Not with a voice.
With blood.
When I sat up, the city outside the window was still lit with scattered lights.A twenty-first-century night, as always—calm, orderly, unchanged.No fantasy distortions.No sudden appearance of dark creatures wandering the streets. None at all.
If it weren't for everything that had happened before, this would have felt like nothing more than a story.
Silent Man was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, not deeply asleep.The moment he opened his eyes, he saw me.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"I don't know."
That wasn't a lie.The warmth in my chest was slowly pulling me in a direction, without giving it a name.
We didn't discuss it for long.
Not because it wasn't dangerous, but because—this time, the guide wasn't the Rose.
It was the Elf Heart.
Following its quiet insistence,I returned to the short-term apartment I'd rented before.
When the door opened, a scent rushed toward me—one I had almost forgotten.
Not perfume.Not food.
It was the smell of lived-in life, mixed with laundry detergent, warm water, and the lingering trace of human voices.
The living room light was on.
A small cake sat on the table.No candles.No decorations.
Just there.
I froze, and tears spilled before I could stop them.
The moment I saw them—human, unmistakably so—my body moved before my mind could catch up.
I threw myself into her arms.
"Daughter," my mother said, stroking my hair,"you're back late. You've suffered so much out there."
Her voice was exactly the same as always.No blame. No surprise.As if I'd simply come home late from work.
My father stood beside her, holding two cups, as though he'd just poured water.
"This year," he said, "we came to you."
I stood in the doorway, my throat tightening.
The scene was too normal.
So normal it was frightening.
And then I saw it.
Not that they had changed—but that I could finally see.
Under the light, my mother's ears curved just slightly, in a way no human's should.So did my father's.
Small. Natural. Unremarkable.But undeniably there.
I didn't speak right away.
Not from shock, but from a feeling of alignment—like something had finally clicked into place.
"Your power hasn't fully awakened yet," my mother said gently, as if reading my expression."That's why you can see us, but not yourself."
I instinctively touched behind my own ear and walked to the mirror.
The reflection showed me exactly as before.No pointed ears.No glow.No visible difference.
An ordinary human of the waking world.
For some reason, I exhaled in relief.
Silent Man stood behind me, polite but distant.He looked at my parents with no recognition, no rejection.
Only unfamiliarity.
Not coldness—he simply didn't remember.
In his memories, the end of the world had no dinner table, no warm lights, no concept of "parents."
I didn't introduce anyone.
Not deliberately.It just didn't feel urgent.
My father handed one of the cups to Silent Man, casually.
"Sit," he said.
Silent Man accepted it, thanked him, and sat down—awkward, but without refusal.
In that moment, I realized something.
This wasn't a reunion.
It was acceptance.
The air near the doorway shifted slightly.
Sethiel appeared without a sound.
He was no longer a vague shadow of memory, but stood clearly under the light—pointed ears, defined features, as if he had finally been permitted to exist.
"Uncle. Aunt," he smiled lightly. "Long time no see."
My mother looked at him, unsurprised.
"You look like someone abandoned by order," she said with a smile.
Sethiel lowered his head and chuckled softly.
As he turned, he passed a mirror—and saw nothing.
The reflection was empty.
He didn't stop.
As if he were already used to it.
When the cake was cut, no one sang a birthday song.
We just ate quietly.
Like any ordinary night.
My mother slid a small box toward me.
"A birthday present," she said.
The moment I opened it, the air trembled.
Not an explosion—a resonance.
Before I could react, Silent Man frowned.The relic at his chest warmed slightly, and a faint line of light formed between them.
Not the red of the Rose.
But a color between green and gold.
The object inside the box began to rotate on its own,projecting a simple map outline.
One point was marked.
Not an endpoint.
An entrance.
"This isn't a weapon," my father said."And it isn't an answer."
"It's just a road," my mother added.
I looked at Silent Man.
He was already looking at me.
This time, he didn't look away.
Outside, the city continued to function.
The world hadn't stopped.
But I knew—something had changed.
This wasn't a waypoint in an escape.
It was the first time we stood before the same map.
I blew out the candles that weren't there and said softly,
"Happy birthday."
Not just to myself.
But to all of us—still able to sit here.
Later, after my parents explained it,I learned that the map marked the place where everything would end.
And the three of us—once considered essential to the world's operation, now reclassified as risks—
had stepped onto that road together.