​Crickets sing through the flowery meadows. Moonlight casts a silver mist over the undulating grassland. 

Above, the sky glitters with countless stars, blanketing a vibrant purple and dark blue nebula that stretches across the horizon.

​The children are still up, laughing and running wild. 

From the cottage porch, the distant, wandering notes of a Renaissance lute drift through the night air.

​CLAMP!

​Claire slams the jar's lid shut, trapping a swarm of lightning bugs inside. She giggles, her eyes wide as she stares at the glowing glass capsule.

​The air is warm, the atmosphere perfectly light. It feels like a world where there is absolutely nothing to worry about.

​“I didn't know you knew how to play the lute, Don,” Zorn says, walking up to the porch.

​Donal sits on a small wooden rocker next to Gael. His feet barely touch the floorboards. He plucks the strings with a relaxed, easygoing smile.

​“I learned from my mother,” Donal replies, his fingers dancing effortlessly along the instrument's crooked neck. “Cecelia let me borrow it.”

​Zorn sighs quietly under his breath, watching him play.

​I wish he didn't act like such a fool all the time. He has so much talent... it feels almost cruel.

​“Talent in the hands of a jester,” Zorn murmurs to himself. He folds his arms, leaning his back against the cool stone wall of the cottage.

​Out in the yard, Khor is getting mercilessly chased by the kids. 

The short demon's face is a mask of pure frustration as the children tug at his pristine white robes, eventually tackling him into the grass. 

Ángel dodges the chaos with an easy laugh, only for a stray hand to catch the edge of his red cape, dragging him down into the dogpile.

​A short distance away, Cecelia sits under the sweeping branches of a large tree, watching the children play with a soft expression.

​“Her smile lights up the night more than the moon ever could,” Gael says, his tone drifting off dreamily.

​Zorn glances over. Gael’s eyes are locked onto Cecelia. 

They are warm, but underlying the warmth is a profound, suffocating grief.

​Zorn shifts his full attention to the man, waiting. Gael's voice is elegant and quiet, but it carries a sudden, crushing weight. The weight of absolute guilt.

​“Sometimes, I feel I have failed as a father... and as a husband.”

​Zorn's eyes widen. He stares at Gael's darkened gold eyes. The moonlight glints sharply off a single lens of his glasses. A sudden chill runs down Zorn's spine, and his chest tightens.

​Please... don't talk like that. I barely know you, and I finally found a place where I want to grow up. You didn't fail...

​Gael lets out a soft, trembling breath and looks up at the stars. The night wind brushes through his light blue and white clothes, making the fabric flutter elegantly.

​“We had a son. It was a long time ago, but the wound never truly heals. He was special. Our boy was the perfect mirror of our love. His hair shared our colors... and so did his eyes.”

​Donal keeps his smile, but his fingers soften on the lute. He weaves a gentle, comforting melody into the background, creating a safe space for Gael’s confession.

​“It was over a thousand years ago,” Gael continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It was July. Cecelia had just given birth right here, in this very home. I still remember it all like it happened yesterday.”

***

​The summer sun shone softly through the cottage windows.

​Cecelia's breathless laughter and the sharp, healthy cries of a newborn filled the house. She cradled the infant tightly against her bare chest, her dark hair falling loose over her shoulders.

​“We had a boy, my love,” she whispered, smiling up hopelessly at her husband.

​Gael rushed over from the water bin, a damp cloth gripped in his hand. He dropped to his knees right at her bedside. His smile stretched wide as he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

​“You did wonderfully, Cecelia,” he praised gently, using the wet rag to tenderly dab the sweat from her forehead.

​The baby's hair was pure white, shot through with striking streaks of black running down from the scalp. Two black horns protruded from his head as small stubs. Looking at him, the new parents' hearts melted instantly.

​Slowly, the baby blinked his eyes open. His vision was blurry, but he looked straight up into the ecstatic faces of his family.

​Cecelia gasped, her heart leaping with joy. The newborn didn't have her dark eyes, nor Gael's light gold ones. 

Instead, his irises were already perfectly formed with a stunning ombre, gold fading seamlessly into deep purple.

​“He's a perfect mix of the both of us,” Gael whispered in absolute awe. "He has your horns, Cecelia."

​The very air in the room felt thick with magic as they stared at their newborn. After years of trying with no success, the miracle was finally cradled in their arms. Time froze.

​Cecelia brushed a few stray black and white strands away from the baby's eyes.

​“I'm going to call him Jack,” she whispered.

​“I think that's perfect,” Gael chirped, his voice bright.

​But then, Gael's eyes caught something strange. He focused on the boy's left eye.

​Inside the shifting iris was a perfect, distinct circle split by eight radiating spokes. It was the ancient Mark of the Wheel.

​Cecelia noticed it a second later. She leaned closer, her brow furrowing. “Honey... what is wrong with our son's eye?”

​“My dear,” Gael stammered, his breath catching in his throat. “Our boy is... he's blessed.”

​Cecelia looked up from the baby, her expression turning curious. 

“Blessed?”

​Gael gently lifted Jack from Cecelia’s arms to get a closer look. The baby stared back at his father with quiet curiosity.

​“Are you aware of the five elements of the Pentacle, dear?” Gael asked.

​“Of course. It's one of the foundational basics of alchemy.”

​“My dear Cecelia... our firstborn is blessed with the Fifth Element. Spirit.” Gael beamed, his face illuminating with pride.

​Cecelia froze, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

“Should we inform the Pentacle Circle?!” she asked, instantly trying to bolt upright in bed.

​Gael quickly leaned in, hand placed gently on her shoulder to ease her back against the pillows. 

“Careful. You just gave birth, love. Don't overdo yourself.”

​He looked back down at the infant in his arms, his smile overflowing with affection. 

“Yes, we should inform them right away. Our son is going to help so many people.”

​Slowly, reverently, he settled Jack back into Cecelia's arms. 

She pulled the boy close against her chest, hanging her head low to rest her forehead against his.

​Gael turned and hurried out of the room, eager to draft a notice to send to the Pentacle Circle.

​Left alone in the quiet room, Jack stared up at his mother's beautiful face.

​“I'm Mommy,” Cecelia whispered excitedly, gently rubbing her nose against the baby's. 

“Welcome to the Hallow family, my child.”

​The baby's eyelids grew heavy. He closed his eyes, and the warmth of the world faded into a peaceful black.

***

​“Little did I know,” Gael's voice cut through the present night air, darkening with a sudden, violent tremble.

 “...that I had just killed my son.”