It has been years since Artemis' last attempt in fairy's world. Things change. He's still doing his legal-illegal business, continuing his Fowl Industries and family legacies—but no more playing with fairies. He promised his parents about it years ago; after the fairy helped him to cure his Atlantis Complex. He won't mess with fairy again, unless they mess with him first. And as a well-known man in every inches of the world, they need to think a thousand times before messing up with him.

Fowl Manor is standing perfectly still, unharmed, wrapped by the Ireland's morning haze. Everything stays the same for this old building—except for the people inside it, of course.

"Morning," says a young lady in a maid uniform. She opens the curtains in the master bedroom which seems to be empty, but he keeps talking. "What do you want for breakfast, Madame?"

"Uhh…" There is a soft voice which comes from the blanket. A pair of green eyes comes out from the darkness. "What time is it? And wher—where's—" She can't help herself from yawning.

"Seven past three-quarter, Madame," she says. "And Master Artemis is in the study."

"Study?" she mutters. "Not again." She wraps herself with a silk kimono and fluffy warm slippers. "Call me when the breakfast is ready." The young maid bows and walks away. Woman who just has been called as Madame walks through the paintings from the first Fowl—which seems like living in the Ice Age if she counts now. She opens the gigantic, carved oak door without even bother to knock.

"Arty," she says as she enters the study. "Arty, please. This is Sunday. Just forget about Fowl Industries for a while for me, okay?"

"Minerva," says Artemis, breathes in deeply. "Please knock the door for me, would you?" Minerva Paradizo, now known as Minerva Fowl, sighs and moves to Artemis' chair. She puts her hand on his laptop.

"This is Sunday," she says. "You know; the day-off. You've been working for six days in a week—it is the time to stop for a while."

"Wait," says Artemis as he clicks some more buttons. "Done," he smiles widely and kisses his wife. "Let us see what's young Butler's cooking today."

Things changed, thinks Minerva. She's right. A few years ago, she and Artemis were fighting for a little imp warlock named No. 1. A few years ago Artemis just saved her life. A few years ago they were shooting sarcasm words at each other. A few years ago she thought that she had no hope and she was making up stories in her mind—now she is married and has a fourteen years old son.

Things changed, thinks Artemis. He's right. A few years ago, he was just stealing gold from the fairies. He was just saving his father's life, fooling Jon Spiro around, and his memory got wiped. He helped the fairies to kick Opal Koboi, they helped him to cure his mother. He met Minerva Paradizo for the first time—they were kicking each other's butt, and he saved her life. He suffered from Atlantis Complex. The next thing he knows, he is married with her.

Not everything has changed, Artemis sighs, as he walks to the dining room. Myles and Beckett. Father. Old Domovoi Butler. Even though Mother is dead—

"Fa!" says a curly-haired boy from the dining room. He smiles widely. "Morning."

"Morning, Archie," replies Artemis. "Where is your grandfather?"

"Here," says Artemis Senior. "Seems like Archie doesn't have your formality, right?" Minerva can't help but laugh—and Artemis snorts.

"I have things back then, when I was in his age. Things—"

"That you can never forget. You never changes, huh?" says Myles while he picks up his French toast. Artemis waves his hand to ignore his brother's words.

"Where is Beckett?"

"Oh, he's taking the letters," says Myles, glances at the front door. "And here he comes."

"Letters?" asks Archie. "Why letters? We have more modern things like 3D messages, e-mails—"

"Some old things are great," says Artemis. "And don't talk while chewing your food." Archie shrugs and continues to eat.

"Hey, Little Archie," says Beckett. "One for you, Daddy—" he puts a white envelope in front of his father. "One for you, Arty—and the rest are for Myles."

"A letter?" says Artemis, as he raises an eyebrow. "The last letter was five years ago. And don't call me Arty," says Artemis sharply. Beckett laughs—but Minerva blinks. She feels something strange.

"Oh, they are offering some jobs for me," says Myles in a bored tone. "CERN, Phonetix, Myishi, Jerozitz—"

"I'll put from Fowl Industries on your table," says Artemis as he tries to open his letter. Myles almost pouts his brother—but he stops when he sees Artemis' knitted forehead.

Minerva begins to worry. "Is there something wrong?" She puts her palm on Artemis' hand. "What is the letter about?"

"Don't touch me," says Artemis dryly, as he pulls his hand back.

"Wh—what?"

"Do you hear me? I said; DON'T TOUCH ME!"

He springs his chair backward, and leaves everyone in that room with unreadable anger.

Dear Artemis Fowl Second,

I know you never heard about me. I know the fact that you don't know me. You don't even know if I were existed or not. But I know you, a lot. I've heard about you. People around me always talked about you. They never talk to me about you—they said I'm too young to hear things about first-place criminal like you.

But Foaly is an exception. You remember him? He told me you two were best friends. Well you threatened him, and he threatened you. You helped him, and he helped you. Just like good friends, huh? He told me everything about you.

Pardon me. Things I've sacrificed to send you a letter aren't for talking about you and Foaly. Not for talking about me either. Let's get to the point, shall we?

I know a man. This man was known as a badass, a criminal. Years ago he decided to leave everything about his past and change to a better person. He married a woman, almost perfect woman, I guess, and let his first love married another guy. What he didn't expect is—he can't forget everything about his past. He can't forget his first love—like the old saying; first love never dies. One night he met this woman, and he got her pregnant. But this woman was too afraid to let him know; she didn't want to be a problem for him. She tried to keep out this secret from everyone—except his husband; because he needed to know everything—including the child itself. But at last, the chid will know, right? And the father needs to see his child.

Considering that you're smart enough to think about this by yourself, I'll end this letter. It's my pleasure to send a message for my father who lives under the sun. I barely can wait for your next move.

Sincerely,

Your Daughter.