They say the starting point of memory holds the most intense moments from childhood. 

The moment you fell hard onto a sandy floor mixed with pebble-sized stones, the moment you soared toward the sky on a swing, or those moments when you were isolated in the safest space, held in large arms.

Those beginnings would converge into one thing.

The person who lifted your small fallen body, the hands that pushed the swing, and the owner of those arms. All of them being your parents.

The man’s beginning was also with his father. But it wasn’t intense at all. Only a silence like the world had ended and an endlessly continuing wait—that was all.

It was around the time when the heavy snow pouring outside the window had piled thickly on the trees. The child watching snow tumble down, unable to bear the weight, turned his head toward an empty seat.

Today was his birthday. He’d waited dutifully without even tasting the sweet cake, having heard his always-busy mother would attend. But in the strangely continuing silence, the child finally realized.

Even when the snow stopped, even when the sun set, even when day broke again—Mother wouldn’t come looking for him. Just like she always had.

“Father, why doesn’t Mother come to see me?”

The child, not understanding sadness, asked with disappointment and doubt. His father’s eyes widened before contorting into a ridiculous shape. The father who approached the child knelt at the child’s feet. Dry, rough hands covered the child’s small hands.

Exactly like a sinner making confession, the adult who understood sadness all too well murmured sorrowfully.

“I’m sorry. To you, and to your mother—I’m sorry for everything.”

“Why?”

The child thought it was truly strange. The one who always made them wait, who broke promises—that was Mother. So why was Father apologizing like he’d done something wrong?

A calloused, hard hand descended on the head of the child tilting it in confusion.

“Because I’m the one who dragged someone from such a high place down here. That’s why.”

While gently stroking the satin-like black hair, the child’s father confessed.

The child didn’t understand what those words meant at all. 

Only after growing a span taller did he learn that Mother was someone who should be positioned at the world’s center, at the highest place, not in this harsh region. That his and Father’s existence had obstructed that.

‘Is that why she won’t love me?’

Because he was Mother’s obstacle—was that why she didn’t come looking for him?

Whenever he laid out such plausible speculation, Father would quickly shake his head and whisper that Mother loved him enough.

“Right now she just has very important matters… That’s why. It’s absolutely not because she doesn’t love you.”

“…Yes.”

But the love Mother possessed was clearly only the size of his small palm. So she must have held it and completely forgotten such a thing existed.

Exhausted from waiting, one day the child, unable to bear his thirst, went searching for Mother first. He crossed the endlessly continuing corridor with small steps and bravely climbed stairs only knee-high. 

When he finally pushed open the wall-like massive door with a soldier’s help, he could finally meet the mother he’d longed for so much.

“Mother!”

“What brings you all the way here?”

“Well, flowers bloomed in the greenhouse.”

The single flower he’d brought as a gift had wilted from the child’s warm body temperature, its stem bent halfway. The child placed the flower on the edge of the high desk, then stepped back half a step.

“I thought you’d like to see it too…”

The child, fidgeting with his fingers, glanced up at his mother’s neat face. Though it resembled his own reflection in the mirror, he’d never seen it smile brightly like his.

Though occasionally she’d generously lift the corners of her mouth, or pat his shoulder when he did something praiseworthy.

Like now.

“I see, the flowering season has come around already. The ground doesn’t thaw even in spring here, so I’d forgotten. Thank you.”

Mother, setting down the stack of papers in her hand, patted the child’s low shoulders a few times. At that lukewarm warmth, the child had to barely calm his grinning cheeks.

Perhaps Father’s words were true. If she’d considered him an obstacle, she wouldn’t pat him like this or welcome him.

The joy didn’t stop there. Mother, seemingly remembering something, sighed briefly and opened her mouth toward him again.

“Oh right, your birthday was recently, wasn’t it? Is there something you want?”

Though calling it recent when a full month had already passed, the child opened his mouth slightly at the first-time offer.

Several more birthdays had passed since that day when waiting was everything. During that time, his birthdays had consistently been just days of blowing out candles with Father or the butler. He’d thought Mother would naturally forget.

He was so surprised his heart dropped.

“Th-that is, I…!”

Now that the opportunity had arrived, words stuck in his throat. The child had so many things he wanted to do with Mother, so many things he wanted from her.

He wanted to have dinner with Mother, wanted to chat about the day’s events, wanted to be praised, and sometimes wanted her to hold him tight like Father had done.

But most of all…

‘Couldn’t you love me just a little more?’

Not palm-sized, but enough to fill both hands—no, just as much as his own embrace.

A desperate wish surged up. But if he brought out such an abstract, grand desire, Mother would surely answer “Alright, I’ll try” and then forget him again. 

So the child suppressed his true feelings and voiced a simpler, more modest wish instead.

“I know you’re busy but… I’d like you to be there for my next birthday.”

His faint voice trembled like leaves outside the window. Was it because of that precariousness? The child’s request sounded exactly like a plea or supplication.

The blue gaze lingered on the child’s flushed face and wilted flower.

“I will.”

The acceptance that finally fell was so joyful. His chest swelled more than when the butler had gifted him a rare foreign book, more than when Father had showered him with praise.

In the end, the child burst into bright laughter before his mother.

* * *

Chester’s seasons were distinguished not by temperature but by snow depth. After the season when even the snow that had shallowly covered the greenhouse ceiling faded, past the cool summer and even past autumn when chilly winds raged.

The child still often didn’t see his mother, but no longer felt disappointed like before. Because he had the faith that promises gave.

Thus the child, unusually, welcomed that year’s winter with an excited heart. When this harsh season retreated, his promise would be fulfilled too.

‘Just eighty-four more nights to sleep.’

Like it was the only means to confirm affection, the child counted the remaining days over and over. But two or three months, not just a day, was a terribly long time for a child.

Before the child’s patience ran out, the remaining period was filled with an unexpected schedule.

“We need to go to the capital, so pack your things.”

Mother suddenly notified the child who’d just finished etiquette lessons.

The capital. The child reflexively recalled the castle that had been even more magnificent than his own estate. On the very rare occasions he visited following Mother, he could meet Mother’s sibling and his cousin Noah.

Though Mother and even butler Harry seemed displeased about him growing close to Noah, the child quite liked this close yet distant relative. Because of that, while the child boarded the journey gladly, Mother across from him was as quiet and calm as someone submerged in water.

The child, carefully reading the mood, also held his breath. They crossed a couple mountains, passed through a gate, and went through checkpoints several times. The capital they finally reached had a winter as fierce as their territory.

“We’ve arrived.”

As soon as they got off the carriage with a servant’s guidance, a sharp wind struck both cheeks. At the cold that made his knuckles curl, the child reflexively looked for Mother.

Because Mother didn’t like cold weather. He was worried she might be struggling.

But Mother, standing tall before the Imperial Palace, was firm like a deeply-rooted tree rather than fluttering like fallen leaves. Mother standing before the castle looked not like an occasional visitor but exactly like its owner. Just returning late.

The child, suddenly terrified, quietly clutched Mother’s hem. Fear surged that Mother might never return home and go back to her original high place forever.

“Wait here.”

Mother, glancing down at the child, gently removed the small hand and moved forward without hesitation. The child, watching that retreating figure endlessly, answered belatedly.

“…I’ll wait quietly.”

Even after Mother’s back grew distant and completely disappeared, the child remained standing there blankly, holding his position.

When the child didn’t budge, an elite knight who’d remained carefully approached and suggested.

“Young Grand Duke, it’s cold. Please go inside.”

“I can’t do that.”

The child firmly shook his head. Because it would be terrible if Mother forgot him and returned alone. He had to wait as much as possible on the path Mother would pass.

But the Imperial Palace’s winter weather was too harsh for a child to endure. 

When his plump cheeks turned red and cracked and even his breath grew faint, the restless knight hurriedly moved to fetch warming equipment.

Under the name Chester, even the number of knights permitted entry was extremely limited, so the child left alone kicked at the snow by his feet. He tried standing with his back to the cold wind and blowing lukewarm breath on his frozen hands.

Then faint crying reached the child’s ears. The child walked deeper into the garden following the sound. And discovered a young kitten stuck in a large tree, unable to move.

‘What should I do?’

The deliberation was brief. Besides learning to swing wooden swords at knights, he’d roughly learned how to start fires and climb trees too. The child carefully climbed the tree and succeeded in rescuing the kitten.

“Shh, don’t be scared. I’m trying to save you.”

The kitten held in his arms was very small and cute, like a fairy from a book. Like that existence said to bring miracles, the kitten truly brought him a miraculous girl.

In the dangerous moment of falling from the tree, the girl who appeared like a hero caught him with her whole body. Then she readily removed even her scarf and gloves for him shivering in the cold.

[Should I wait with you?]

Not stopping there, she even offered to stay by his side.

Burying his face in the scarf full of warmth, the child mulled over the question. He’d only nearly hurt the girl. Yet the girl casually bestowed warmth and kindness on him.

[Why are you nice to me? I didn’t even help you…]

[Hm? Just because. I wanted to.]

At that simple answer, the child finally realized. That he could be cherished by someone without reason or compensation.

He’d thought Father was nice to him because of guilt. He’d thought the butler’s and knights’ goodwill was only because he was Father’s or Mother’s child.

But without any conditions, just by his existence alone, he could receive affection. Realizing that fact warmed his heart like entering warm blankets.

In that warmth, even the bit of wariness he’d reflexively raised melted away completely. The child hesitantly shared with the girl a wish he couldn’t even convey to Mother.

[I want to become a child who can be loved.]

Not because he diligently attended successor lessons, worked hard, and behaved well, but so she could pat his shoulder or hold his hand for no reason at all.

Perhaps it was a slightly unfamiliar or difficult story for the girl—her neat eyebrows twitched. 

After pondering briefly, the girl soon stretched out both arms and drew in the air the maximum size she could have—not palm-sized, not just her small embrace.