Chapter 27 : The Heart That Refused to Return

Sky Mountain — The Castle’s Rear Garden

Rowan clasped his hands behind his back and let out a soft laugh, his gaze resting on the little girl standing before him. The afternoon breeze passed through the garden, stirring the leaves and carrying the fragrance of flowers across the neatly maintained lawn, but the peaceful scenery did little to soften the absurdity of the conversation they were having.

“Yeah? And then what?”

the Golden Clock blinked at him, seemingly unimpressed by his response. “What do you mean, and then what? Kill it and give me its core.”

“And you aren't going to tell me what you need it for, are you?”

“...”

The Golden Clock merely shrugged, her small shoulders rising and falling with an indifference that was almost provocative. She had never been particularly forthcoming when it came to her plans, and apparently, five thousand years had done little to improve that habit.

Rowan sighed, raised his pitcher, and took another sip of his drink. He let the bitterness linger on his tongue for a moment before lowering it and looking at her again.

“Give me the key to leaving this place first.”

“...”

“What did you say?”

“I won't break my promise to you,” The Golden Clock replied, her voice becoming more serious. “But I want you to swear upon the spiritual world inside that little head of yours, my disciple.”

Rowan's expression froze.

To an ordinary person, a promise or oath might have seemed like little more than words, something that could be made in the heat of the moment and discarded when circumstances changed. At the level he had reached, however, such things carried a weight that few people could truly understand. Those who stood at the heights of existence might deceive others, conceal their intentions, or manipulate the truth to achieve their goals, but there were boundaries they could not cross so easily. Above all, they could not simply lie to themselves without consequence.

For someone like Rowan, whose existence was periodically threatened by the corruption within him, a binding oath was not a trivial matter. The spiritual world was not merely a place where thoughts and consciousness resided; it was part of the foundation upon which a being's existence rested. To swear upon it was to place something far more fundamental than one's reputation at stake.

He studied his teacher for several seconds, his expression gradually losing every trace of its earlier amusement. When he finally spoke, his voice had become cold enough to strip the warmth from the surrounding air.

“What kind of oath do you want?”

The Golden Clock remained unmoved by the change in his demeanor.

“Swear that you won't attempt to replace this world's will after you leave here. Stop what you're doing, take a rest, return to your home, and live peacefully.”

She paused, and for a moment, the firmness in her voice gave way to something gentler.

“Perhaps you don't know this, but your wife is still waiting for you at home. A beautiful woman with hair as black as silk and crimson eyes like a phoenix. She's been taking care of the house where the two of you once lived together, tending to it and waiting for you for five thousand years.”

She paused again, letting the silence stretch between you.

“Five thousand years… five thousand whole years, and she’s still waiting for you.”

Rowan said nothing.

The Golden Clock watched him, then continued, her voice carrying the quiet reproach of a teacher who had spent far too long watching a beloved but stubborn disciple walk toward a destination from which he might never return.

“My foolish disciple, your room hasn't changed. The garden you planted together hasn't withered, either. She has kept everything as it was, waiting for you all this time. So come back, Rowan. Return to the right path. The world outside may be on the verge of destruction, but we'll find a way to repair it. You don't have to carry everything on your shoulders forever. You still have somewhere to return to, my foolish disciple.”

Rowan did not answer.

He simply stood there, his gaze resting somewhere beyond The Golden Clock , as though her words had reached a place within him that he had spent five thousand years trying to seal shut.

Beside him, Liz's expression remained cold, but her eyes had sharpened. She watched The Golden Clock with quiet displeasure, her fingers tightening around the edge of her maid uniform. There was no outburst, no threat, and no visible change in her posture, yet the restrained anger in her gaze was unmistakable. The Golden Clock noticed it and gave her a brief glance before dismissing her reaction entirely.

The silence stretched.

For a while, the only sounds in the garden were the soft rustling of leaves and the faint noise of Rowan taking another sip from his pitcher. The sunlight filtered through the branches overhead, scattering golden patches across the grass, while the flowers swayed gently in the breeze as though nothing of consequence had been said.

Eventually, Rowan lowered the pitcher.

“How is she?”

Serafina's expression softened, though it was difficult to tell whether the change came from affection for the woman they were discussing or from the guilt she had carried for so long.

“She has been tormented by the choice she made back then,” she answered. “But you know how life works. It doesn't wait for anyone. It continues, just like the flow of time.”

“Don't speak as though you had nothing to do with it.” Rowan's gaze returned to her, and the faint warmth that had remained in his expression disappeared. “You're the one who forced her to choose.”

“Yes,” The Golden Clock admitted without hesitation. “And I regret the suffering it caused her. But it was the right decision, and I don't regret making it.”

She lowered her eyes for a moment before looking at him again.

“She's a good girl, Rowan. She deserves to be happy. That's why I'm asking you to return. Go home, my disciple. Let yourself be happy, too.”

Rowan raised the pitcher and took a longer drink than before. He remained silent for some time afterward, staring at the liquid inside as though the bitter mixture might somehow provide an answer that five thousand years of existence had failed to give him.

At last, he exhaled slowly.

The breath seemed to carry with it thousands of words he had never spoken, apologies he had never delivered, and questions he had never dared to ask. When he finally lifted his eyes to Serafina, the expression on his face was no longer one of irritation. It was something much older, something worn smooth by centuries of thoughts that had nowhere to go.

“Do you know, my dear teacher? I don't hate you, and I don't hate her. The truth is, I love you both. I really do.”

His fingers turned the pitcher slightly, watching the distorted reflection of his face shift across the surface of the drink.

“You were the one who pulled me out of the slums and showed me the wonders of magic. Before I met you, my world was so gray that even the meaning of home had become twisted in my mind. I thought a home was simply a place where you could sleep without worrying that someone might rob you while you were unconscious, or that you'd wake up with a knife at your throat. I had no reason to imagine it could be anything more than a place where you might survive another night.”

He paused, and the corners of his mouth lifted faintly.

“Then I met you, and I learned that a person could change his own fate. For the first time, the world seemed to contain something beyond the miserable existence I had been born into.”

Rowan raised his eyes toward the sky. The clouds drifted lazily above the garden, their pale shapes passing over the distant peaks of Sky Mountain.

“Then I met her, and I realized that I had been wrong about almost everything.”

His gaze returned to the pitcher in his hands.

“Home isn't the place where you sleep. It isn't the walls that shelter you from the rain, nor even the garden you've planted with your own hands. Home is the place where you can be weak without feeling ashamed of it, where you can remain silent without being forced to explain yourself, and where you can return no matter how terrible the things you've done might be, only to find someone asking whether you've eaten.”

He fell quiet for a moment, allowing the words to settle between them.

“She gave me that. Both of you did, in your own ways. You taught me how to live, and she gave me a reason to look forward to tomorrow. She gave me a reason to return home, a reason to keep going even when life itself felt like a burden I could no longer bear.”

His fingers tightened around the pitcher. The glass gave a faint, almost imperceptible creak beneath his grip.

“And that is precisely why...”

He stopped, struggling for a moment to find the words.

“That is precisely why I can't go back.”

The Golden Clock's expression remained unchanged, but her fingers tightened slightly around her staff.

Liz, on the other hand, no longer looked at the Golden Clock with the same quiet hostility. Confusion had replaced much of her earlier anger, and beneath it lay a faint, reluctant trace of happiness. She did not interrupt, nor did she attempt to draw Rowan's attention to herself. She simply stood beside him, listening to words he rarely allowed anyone to hear.

Rowan continued, his voice quiet enough that the breeze almost seemed capable of carrying it away.

“Five thousand years, wasn't it?”

The Golden Clock nodded slowly.

“Five thousand years she's been waiting for me. Five thousand years, and the room remains unchanged. The garden hasn't withered, and the door is still open in her heart, as though I'll return at any moment, apologize for being a little late, and sit down beside her as if I had merely stepped out that morning.”

A short laugh escaped him, but there was no happiness in it. He passed a hand over his face, as though he could wipe away the memories that had surfaced with such cruel clarity.

“What a foolish woman.”

The Golden Clock did not argue.

“Foolish because she still loves a man who no longer exists. A fool, to the point that I can almost imagine how she’s kept his place at the table all these years. Perhaps she still remembers how he liked his tea, the books he used to leave scattered around the house, and the songs he would hum when he thought no one was listening.”

He swallowed, then closed his eyes briefly.

“And even more foolish because she still hasn't understood that the man she's waiting for died a long time ago.”

Silence settled over the garden once more.

Even the rustling of the trees seemed to grow quieter, leaving the three of them suspended in a stillness that none appeared willing to disturb.

The Golden Clock raised her head and studied her disciple for a long time before speaking.

“You're still alive, Rowan.”

“Am I?”

He opened his eyes and looked directly at her.

“Then tell me, my teacher. Which part of me is still alive? The boy who used to run through the alleys to escape hunger? The young man who smiled whenever he succeeded at a new spell because his teacher would pat him on the head? Or the man who returned home to find a beautiful woman waiting at the door, a woman whose mere presence made every fear he carried seem insignificant?”

He tilted his head slightly, and a strange smile appeared on his lips, closer to an apology than to happiness.

“I buried that boy with my own hands, and I said goodbye to that young man a long time ago. As for the man...”

The words caught in his throat.

For the first time since their conversation began, Rowan seemed unable to find a suitable way to continue. He stood quietly for several seconds, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular, before finally forcing himself to speak again.

“As for that man, he simply kept walking.”

His head lowered, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

“Do you really want me to return to her now? To stand before her door, let her see this face, and smile as I tell her, 'I'm home, my love'?”

Serafina's fingers trembled around her staff.

“Rowan...”

“No, please. Let me finish this time.”

He raised one hand gently, stopping her before she could say anything more.

“I've lived long enough to understand that some doors shouldn't be opened. Not because we don't want to cross their thresholds, but because we're afraid of what might happen to the person waiting on the other side.”

He turned fully toward her.

“Tell me, my teacher. When you see her, does she still smile?”

The Golden Clock did not answer immediately.

“No,” she said at last.

Rowan's expression did not change, but his fingers shifted slightly around the pitcher.

“Then does she still talk to herself while watering the garden? Does she still leave the window open on warm nights? Does she still...”

His voice faltered.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might force the question out regardless of the pain it caused him. Instead, he lowered his head and released a trembling breath.

“Does she still call my name when she thinks no one can hear her?”

The Golden Clock closed her eyes.

“Yes.”

It was only one word, but it struck Rowan with the weight of a stone falling into a deep, dark well. He remained motionless for several seconds, seemingly unable to decide what to do with an answer he had both wanted and dreaded to hear.

Eventually, he raised the pitcher to his lips, only to discover that it was empty. He handed it to Liz so that she could refill it, as though the small, ordinary gesture had given him something to occupy himself with while he collected his thoughts.

“What a cruel woman,” he murmured with a faint smile.

“She could have forgotten me. She could have burned the room, uprooted the garden, continued with her life, and given her heart to someone else. She could have done anything that would have made it easier for me to accept the fact that I had left.”

His gaze returned to Serafina.

“But she chose to wait.”

The words lingered between them.

In that moment, The Golden Clock no longer saw the man who had challenged the mighty, brought kingdoms to their knees, and stood against beings whose names mortals were never meant to utter. She saw the disciple she had once taught, the boy who concealed his wounds behind a stubborn smile and believed that he had to endure everything alone if he wanted to win.

Her voice softened.

“She isn't waiting for you because you haven't changed, Rowan. She's waiting because she knows you're still you, even if you've forgotten that yourself.”

Rowan shook his head slowly.

“Perhaps.”

He smiled again, but the expression never reached his eyes.

“Or perhaps she simply doesn't know that I've come to fear happiness more than I fear death.”

Liz lifted her eyes toward him, while The Golden Clock remained silent.

When Rowan spoke again, however, his voice had acquired a firmness that left no room for interruption.

“You talk about home, my old room, the garden we planted together, and a woman who has been waiting for me for five thousand years. You speak of all these things as though time stopped there, as though I could return, open the door, and sit down at the dinner table as if I had only been gone since yesterday morning.”

Liz brought him the refilled pitcher. Rowan accepted it, raised it to his lips, and took a drink. The mixture tasted even more bitter than before, but he stared at it for a moment and took another sip anyway, as though he had decided that the bitterness suited his mood.

“But time didn't stop, my teacher.”

His voice was so calm that it was almost frightening.

“Five thousand years. Do you know how many people have died and become part of my world during that time? How many clans rose to prominence, only to fall into ruin? How many people were born believing that the world would endure forever, only to disappear without leaving behind even a name for anyone to remember?”

He lifted one finger and pointed toward his chest.

“I was there to witness all of it. I watched the world change, watched people change, and watched even the things I had once sworn would never change gradually disappear before my eyes. Every time I thought I had finally grown accustomed to it, time found another way to teach me that I hadn't grown accustomed to anything at all.”

His smile faded into something faint and tired.

“And you want me to go home?”

The Golden Clock offered no response.

“Very well. Let's suppose I do. I'll open the door and find her there, with her black hair and those beautiful eyes. Perhaps she'll cry. Perhaps she'll smile. Perhaps she'll be so overwhelmed that she won't be able to say anything at all.”

He lowered the pitcher slightly.

“And perhaps I'll do the same.”

His gaze drifted toward the garden, but he no longer seemed to see the flowers or the trees.

“Then what? Will I be able to look at her without remembering everything? Will I be able to hear her voice without wondering what she was doing during all those years I wasn't there beside her? Will I be able to hold her hand without remembering the hand that stabbed me at the very moment I needed her more than anything else in the world?”

He stopped.

For the first time, the smile on his face trembled.

“I'm not afraid that she no longer loves me, Serafina.”

It was the first time he had addressed the Golden Clock by her name since their conversation began.

“I'm afraid that I still love her.”

Something tightened in Liz's chest.

This time, she did not look at Rowan. Instead, her gaze shifted toward the Golden Clock, searching for some indication of how she intended to answer him, or how anyone could possibly find the right words for a man who had carried the same question in his heart for five thousand years.

But The Golden Clock had no answer.

Rowan seemed to understand that, because he continued without waiting for one.

“If I no longer loved her, everything would be much easier. I could tell her that it was over and leave.”

He gave a quiet laugh, though it faded almost immediately.

“But I know myself. I know that the moment I stand before her, I'll forget every word I've prepared over these five thousand years. Perhaps I'll reach out and touch her face, just to reassure myself that she's real, that I haven't spent all this time living on the memory of a woman who exists nowhere except inside my head.”

He lowered his eyes.

“And then I'll have to face the question I've spent my entire life avoiding.”

The Golden Clock finally looked up.

“What question?”

Rowan answered without hesitation.

“Can I forgive her?”

There was no bitterness in his voice, no accusation, and no desire to place the blame on anyone. He was simply asking, as though the answer to that single question were the last thing remaining of the life he had once known.

The Golden Clock drew a slow breath before replying.

“Perhaps you don't need to forgive her before you return.”

Rowan shook his head.

“You don't understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He studied her for a long time before turning his gaze toward the garden around them. The leaves swayed gently in the breeze, and sunlight filtering through the branches scattered golden patches across the grass. Nearby, a droplet of water fell from the edge of one leaf onto another before disappearing into the greenery below.

It was an utterly ordinary scene, the sort of quiet moment that countless people might experience without giving it a second thought.

Yet to Rowan, it seemed to belong to another world entirely.

He drew a breath and turned back toward his teacher.

“My dear teacher, you can keep a room free from dust, prevent a tree from withering, and make an entire castle resist thousands of years of decay. But you can't ask a human heart to remain in the same place for that long and then expect it to return unchanged.”

Serafina's fingers tightened around her staff.

For the first time, she seemed older than she had a few minutes earlier. Nothing had changed in her appearance or her small body, yet something in her violet eyes had grown weary, as though the weight of the years she had carried had finally become visible.

“She has been waiting for you,” she whispered.

“I believe you.”

“She refused to abandon the hope that you would return.”

“I believe you.”

“She has lived for five thousand years carrying the weight of that decision.”

“I believe you, my teacher.”

The Golden Clock fell silent, but Rowan continued looking at her, his expression growing increasingly complicated with every passing moment.

“I want you to come back, my disciple.”

“I know.”

His voice rose slightly on those words, not with anger, but with the strained urgency of someone trying to stop a river of words that he knew would never truly end.

Then, gradually, he calmed down.

“Death is simple, my teacher. When you die, your suffering ends, and whatever you leave behind becomes the concern of the living. But to continue living, to be given a second chance, and to stand before the people you once loved after believing you would never see them again...”

He paused, and a bitter smile appeared on his face.

“It's like having someone place your heart in your hands and ask whether you're ready to break it all over again.”

He lowered his head, staring at the ground for a long time before finally speaking.

“I'm powerful, but I'm a failure as a husband.”

The words came out quietly, stripped of the grandiosity and confidence that usually accompanied him. Rowan looked across the expansive garden, then slowly raised one hand and pressed it against his chest, directly over his heart.

The aura of high-level mana surrounding his body rippled.

For a brief moment, the accumulated layers of mana parted, revealing something hidden beneath them: a golden scar near his heart, shaped unmistakably like a stab wound. Its light was faint but unmistakable, shining with the same peculiar golden radiance as the chains that had prevented him from leaving the continent.

Rowan looked down at it without speaking.

“What kind of husband drives his own wife—his other half—to stab him?”

His fingers remained pressed against his chest, as though he could feel the wound beneath the mana even after five thousand years.

“I'm sorry for her. I'm sorry I failed to notice her suffering. I'm sorry I wasn't more careful. And I'm sorry she fell in love with someone as ambitious as me.”

The Golden Clock stared at the golden scar near Rowan's heart.

For a long time, she said nothing. Her violet eyes held something difficult to name, a mixture of sorrow and regret, perhaps even an old anger for which she had never found a suitable target. The sight before her seemed to have brought back memories she had spent a long time trying to keep buried.

Rowan slowly withdrew his hand and restored the mana surrounding his body. The golden scar disappeared beneath its layers, hidden once more from view.

He offered his teacher a faint smile before raising his head.

“I don't hate her, my teacher. I swear I don't. I hate myself for forcing her to make that choice.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the powerful being standing before The Golden Clock seemed painfully human.

“If she stood before me right now, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from pulling her into my arms. I'd probably apologize for every single day I left her alone.”

The Golden Clock watched him quietly before finally responding.

“Those are the consequences of your greed, my dear disciple.”

Rowan glanced at her.

“No. They're the consequences of your pathetic little schemes, the ones that play upon the heart of a kind girl.”

“There was no other choice,” The Golden Clock replied slowly.

She did not attempt to defend herself further. Instead, she lowered her gaze, and when she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

“And I would understand if you hated me.”

Rowan regarded her for a moment before shaking his head.

“I don't hate you.”

He paused, then gave a small, rueful smile.

“...Yes, there was a time when I hated you. I resented you, too, of course. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But I don't hate you anymore, because I understand.”

The Golden Clock remained silent.

Rowan took another sip of his drink, then looked at her with an expression that had changed once again. The sorrow remained, but beneath it lay a quiet curiosity, as though he had suddenly remembered something he had never thought to ask her before.

“Ah, my teacher, tell me something.”

“What is it?”

“It must have been painful, wasn't it?”

The Golden Clock blinked.

“What?”

“That heavy responsibility. That damned duty you've carried all this time.” Rowan looked directly at her, his voice calm but unusually perceptive. “When I look back, I realize that no one ever asked you how you felt. Everyone simply expected you to find a solution, make the right decision, and deliver the results. They expected you to carry the burden, no matter what it cost you, because you were the one who was supposed to know what to do.”

The Golden Clock froze.

For once, the Golden Clock had no immediate response. Her small figure remained motionless, her fingers wrapped around her staff, while the violet eyes beneath her dark purple hair stared at her disciple without revealing what was passing through her mind.

Rowan drew a deep breath.

“My cunning teacher... your offer really is tempting.”

He paused, allowing the silence to settle between them one last time.

“But...”

His gaze remained steady, and the faint smile on his lips carried neither mockery nor anger.

“I refuse.”