Chapter 13
Charlotte walked past Noctum and out of the field, letting out a heavy sigh. Her clenched hands shook. It felt like the sharp pieces of his displeasure were still pressing down on her. But what hurt most was her heart.
There really was no Noctum Afros she knew in this world. The love he’d given her had vanished like a summer night’s dream. Despair rose over her like a wave.
“If he were really my Noctum…” she murmured, then closed her mouth. Luck like that never came to her. God was always cruel to her—never letting her be happy. Since childhood he’d made her life hard, cut away her hopes, and finally took the only person who had given her hope. As if the world would end if she were happy.
‘I don’t need a world without you…’
She wanted to disappear. God was cruel only to Charlotte. Blessings like that never came to her.
***
“Damn it.”
Back home, Noctum went to the training yard and practiced hard. If he didn’t, he felt he’d be restless for days. But even training stopped when the thought of Charlotte pushed in again.
‘Why is that woman doing this to me?’
First she called him “dear” and talked about dying; today she said similar things and shook him again.
‘Is there something I don’t know?’
For a brief moment he even imagined something crazy—like he had a hidden twin.
‘No way.’
And even if he did, the man wouldn’t also be named “Noctum.”
‘Is this another trick of that villainess?’
He should have guessed when she said she’d only marry him and threw fits. He nodded—then stopped.
“No. For a trick, what she said was too specific.”
Saying there was someone who looked like him was still insane, but her behavior made it weirdly believable.
“Who is that ‘Noctum,’ anyway?”
It kept nagging him. He finally walked over to his aide, Tay, who was watching from a distance.
“Look into the duke’s daughter, Charlotte Dapshine. Everything. Her family, what she eats, wears, learns—everything.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And find anyone named Noctum. If he’s dead, find the grave.”
“…Pardon?”
Even Tay couldn’t help reacting. Noctum pushed on.
“Same face as mine… Right. She first said long hair, and that he could use magic. She said he’s already dead. Check his identity carefully.”
He repeated the details Charlotte had muttered in the field. A useless doubt flickered—why was he doing this?—but it passed. Better to suspect her motives than waste time.
He didn’t know then that he’d think about her so much he would even dream of her.
Under a sky full of stars, in his dream, he wore white robes like a weak court mage and hid in a rainy field, staring at a little girl with gold hair.
It was Charlotte at six years old.
***
Noctum felt oddly cramped in his body. The ground seemed too close—short arms and legs. More shocking: the clothes and the heavy hair tied back.
He’d never worn mage whites or worn his hair long. Yet now he did.
Before he could make sense of it, his body moved on its own. The place was familiar—the field he’d just visited. He could look closely at the girl. Curly blond hair to her waist. So small she looked breakable.
He knew at once: this was little Charlotte.
Rain poured, but instead of saving herself she hugged a tiny fox, sharing her warmth while she shivered.
“Hold on a bit more, little fox,” she whispered.
Watching, his body cast a thin magical shield around her. The rain still fell, but not like before. The child sighed in relief. A smile tugged at his lips.
Noctum didn’t even ask how he was using magic. Normally he’d call her foolish—but his body wouldn’t let him think it. Instead, he found her brave, good, beautiful. His cheeks warmed.
‘Wait—why am I blushing?’
The scene shifted. Same place, daylight. He was no longer hiding; he was with her—leaning against the big tree, smiling as she ran with the fox, now healthy.
The wind blew. She tucked her hair behind her ear and beamed—and his heart pounded wildly.
‘She’s… pretty.’
He couldn’t tell if it was his thought or the body’s. He just knew he wanted to keep seeing that face.
Another shift. New place—and he had his own body back: short hair, knight’s clothes, inside his manor. His feet carried him to the annex, a place he’d never visited.
He opened the door—and froze.
‘Why is that me?’
Inside stood “Noctum Afros.” But could he call that man “me”? The man wore the highest rank mage’s robe—something only the top imperial magus would wear. Long hair fell to his chest.
The look felt familiar, as if someone had described it to him.
“Charlotte. I wish you would smile at me like this,” the man said softly, gazing at a wall.
Noctum followed his eyes. There hung a portrait of Charlotte, smiling brightly—maybe ten years old, older than in the rain.
“I wanted to ask you to visit the field with me for your birthday, but that’s too much to hope for, isn’t it?”
His voice was aching. Noctum could feel it.
“For you, I can do anything. Please, just once, smile at me like before.”
Aching wasn’t enough—this was desperate. Pitiful. Noctum frowned at the man.
‘What is she to you?’
What was that woman, that this “him” wanted her so badly?
“And to me, Charlotte, you are greater than any god,” the man whispered.
Noctum couldn’t even argue. The long-haired “him” reached toward the portrait, and Noctum’s own hand lifted in the dream. Paper brushed their fingertips.
Knock, knock.
A sound that didn’t belong in this place rattled his head.
Time to wake up.
Memories merging