The small child stirred from his slumber as the creak of the wooden front door travelled to his ears through the dead of night. He rubbed his droopy eyes and mumbled by instinct, "Father…?"
A green light floated by outside, washing away Silver's sleepiness. He scrambled to the window, standing on tiptoes to reach the sill.
Treading into the dark forest illuminated only by a magic orb of light was Lilia, in an attire black as his surroundings, a sizeable basket brimming with flowers in hand.
Silver didn't spare a moment to think twice, he sprinted out of his room, slapping on mismatched shoes, slamming into the heavy front door with all his weight and chased after Lilia.
"Father!" he yelled, but Lilia didn't seem to have heard, his footsteps only proceeded in the same andante as it had been, and it didn't take too long for Silver to catch up.
Little fists yanked at the hem of Lilia's robe. He winced, eyes widened, as if startled, as if awoken from some kind of trance.
"My," he recovered, looking for words, "you curious child."
"Where are you going at this hour, father?" Silver questioned, doe-eyed, hints of concern in his irises.
"Nothing to worry, dear," Lilia crouched down, tousling Silver's hair affectionately, "Off to bed you go, and I'll be back before you know it."
Silver lowered his head, right hand still gripping the robe firmly.
Lilia sighed, smoothly scooping his son up with one arm, "Alright, alright, you can come with me."
Silver beamed, helping Lilia hold the basket of flowers while Lilia held him. They ventured deeper into the woods, where trees grew more dense and light grew more sparse.
Just when Silver was about to doze off again, Lilia stopped before a cluster of trees. With a wave of his hand, the cypresses in front parted like guards who were relieved of their duty.
Lilia placed Silver on the ground, "Wait right here, I'll be just inside. If you hear voices that aren't mine, you must not respond. Call out to me if anything happens. And do try your best not to fall asleep. Alright?"
Silver nodded, standing as straight as he could to at least look awake. "But what's inside, father? Why can't I go too?"
"Nothing," Lilia repeated, himself not knowing he did. He retrieved the flowers from Silver, lips tugging into a smile Silver could not understand, "I'll just be giving these to some old friends."
Silver's eyes followed as Lilia walked inside. Moonlight spilled from the dome of foliage, casting vague shadows on the dozens of stone slabs perched on the grass-covered clearing. They started out in files, organised, as if ranks of soldiers awaiting a command. But eventually they looked as if someone abandoned a game of chess halfway, pieces strewn about the clearing, filling in spaces that had probably been empty once.
'Is that a child of man?'
Hearing a voice, Silver scanned the clearing for another being, for the friends Lilia had mentioned. But there was no one.
'Look at those ears, poor little ugly thing.'
Another voice, he whipped his head back. Again, he saw no one. He was confounded, but he remembered Lilia's instruction to not respond.
'What is a child of man doing here!?'
'Now, now, don't be rude. This child must be Lilia's.'
'Aah, that child. Pretty hair indeed.'
'Pretty? It's the hue of what his kind had welded to invade our land!"
'They live in a time of peace now.'
'Bleh, how fortunate. And what can some mere few years make up for?'
He stood in wordlessness, listening. He did not understand most of it, but still he listened. He might not know the meaning, but on a more fundamental level, he did understand.
"I don't think your friends liked me," he told Lilia the next day, in his hands were an array of wild flowers, gathered without the help of forest critters. "Can you give these to them? I want to be friends with father's friends too."
That statement gave Lilia pause. He almost fell onto his knees to enfold Silver in a tight embrace. His next words were heavy, as if spoken on behalf of many a soul perished before his very eyes, dipped in the syrup of pretence to disguise a bitter reality too early for a naive child.
"I wish you could."
Tonight, Silver catches Lilia venturing deep into the woods in the dead of night again, black attire, green light, flowers in hand.
He still doesn't know the complete story, but he is no longer a child. He, too, changed into dark clothing, and followed quietly.
He steals glances of the clearing from behind the cypress entrance, and he wonders why he never noticed all those years ago. He wonders why he never noticed Lilia's slouched silhouette — silently putting down a daffodil — is so small and so frail in front of the tombstone.
He sets foot into the graveyard and hears no voice, or perhaps he didn't stop to listen. He is only waiting for Lilia to take notice of his presence, because normally Lilia's ears would perk up if he so much as draws a breath.
But Lilia is still, oblivious, as if asleep in a world of his own, some kind of trance too raw to be a dream yet too serene to be a nightmare.
With every stone Silver passes by, he has to wonder how deep a trance it was. Everyone here must've had no one else to depend on aside from Lilia, otherwise he would've delivered them back to their families no matter what.
How would he have felt to lose someone like that? A sense of failure? Guilt? As if he hadn't done enough for them?
One step away. Finally Lilia turns to look at him, not a tear in his garnet eyes, and Silver briefly considers how many years — centuries— it took for them to dry up.
But, however hidden, however vague, the shadow still remains.
Silver kneels down, wrapping his sturdy arm around Lilia's upper back until Lilia's head rests on his shoulder.
Lilia's visage stays unchanged, but he shifts his weight onto Silver's shoulder and takes a deep breath. He reckons that was enough, intending to pull away, but Silver's grip is firm and unmoving.
It's not like he's expecting to make up for something with half an embrace and half a night spent by Lilia's side. No flower can bring real happiness to those in the world beyond, and nothing he does can bring real solace.
But this is his time, his turn. And he chooses to make the most of it.
He only wishes to do enough before—
Lilia grasps his hand abruptly, urgently, as if reading his thoughts. Garnet eyes now flare with intensity, speaking of an unspoken insistence.
You are still here, where I can see, where I can sense. We have time. We still have time.