Chapter 2

At midnight, I stood in the center of the alchemy array.

Seventy-two hours have passed since the answer was found in the ancient book.

Over the past three days, I have repeatedly checked every line of the alchemical array and confirmed every syllable of the incantation.

When everything was ready, I picked up the etching knife.

I took a deep breath and cut open my left palm.

Blood dripped into the alchemical array beneath their feet.

Circles, heptasyllabaries, ancient runes—they were instantly illuminated, emitting a blinding light.

I began reciting the Latin incantation from the ancient text: "Amor aeternus, dolor aeternus. Quod in corde meo ardet, nunc crystallum fiat."

A golden beam of light shot into the sky from the alchemy array and enveloped me.

I knelt on the ground, my fingernails digging into the cracks in the stone slabs, my clothes soaked with cold sweat.

It felt like someone reached into my chest and ripped my heart open.

But I gritted my teeth and didn't cry out. This pain is nothing compared to the past ten years.

My chest started to glow.

A point of light slowly emerged from the heart. It penetrated the skin, penetrated the bones, and solidified in the air.

Etheric crystal core—golden, warm, radiating a soft light.

It floated before me, its surface swirling with countless tiny runes—each a moment of my ten years of love. The heart-fluttering feeling when I first saw her. The anticipation of holding her cold hand at our wedding. The carefulness with which I prepared breakfast for her every morning. The heartbreak each time she pushed me away. The heartache each time I saw her tired face.

All the love, all the pain, is contained within this tiny crystal core.

I reached out my hand, trembling, and grasped it. It was warm, like a living thing.

“So…” my voice was hoarse, “this is what it feels like to tear love out of your body.”

I looked down at myself in the mirror. My face was as pale as paper, and the light that had once been in my eyes was slowly dying out, replaced by something empty and lifeless.

I am dying. I can feel life slowly slipping away like sand in an hourglass.

We can't delay any longer.

At three in the morning, I began making the potion. Following the recipe in the ancient book, I lit the distillation equipment and added the ingredients one by one. I had been preparing these things for three months—moonlight grass, silver dew, meteorite fragments… I had saved every penny and secretly bought them from the black market.

The final step. I placed the etheric crystal core into the crucible.

It slowly sank into the liquid and began to melt. Golden light dissolved in the potion, like liquid sunlight. The entire room was illuminated.

I carefully put the potion into the bottle.

The veins on my fingers have begun to become transparent, and I can see golden ether particles flowing inside.

I tucked the potion into my pocket and left the lab.

Daylight had broken, and the sun shone on me, but I felt no warmth. All the way there, I thought about how to spend these final moments with her. My steps were light, even though my body was so weak I felt like I was about to collapse.

Then I saw that luxurious steam carriage parked in front of my house.

The Blackwood family crest gleams on the car—a golden griffin with outstretched wings, symbolizing power and wealth.

I stopped walking.

The car door opened. Freya stepped out of the passenger seat, wearing a dark blue coat I'd never seen before, her hair fluttering slightly in the morning breeze. Theodore jumped out of the driver's seat and gentlemanly opened the door for her.

His hand rested on her waist.

She smiled. That smile was like the spring sunshine, the tenderness I had dreamed of seeing for the past ten years. I had never seen her smile like that before. She had always been indifferent, disgusted, and impatient with me.

“Theodore, you’re always like this…” came her voice, with a coquettish tone I had never heard before.

Theodore smiled and said something, and she gently nudged him. The gesture carried a certain intimate understanding.

The morning breeze ruffled her hair. Theodore reached out and gently tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

She did not dodge.

I stood on the street corner, clutching the potion bottle in my arms.

“Freya,” I finally called out.

She turned her head, and when she saw me, a clear hint of impatience flashed in her eyes. Like seeing an insect that shouldn't be there.

“You’re back?” she said.

Theodore raised an eyebrow, looking at me with a half-smile: "And this is...?"

He clearly knows who I am. This statement is an unwarranted provocation.

Freya didn't introduce me, but simply said coldly, "My husband."

My throat tightened: "I have something to give you..."

Freya glanced at his watch impatiently: "Let's talk about it later. I have an academic conference to attend later. Theodore will take me back to change."

"But..." My voice trembled.

“Ethan,” she interrupted me, “I’m busy. The fridge is empty, why don’t you go buy something?”

She turned and went inside. Theodore leaned against the carriage, lit a cigar, and looked at me with a half-smile.

Five minutes later, Freya emerged. She had changed into a deep purple evening gown and wore perfume—that expensive blend of rose and musk. She had never dressed up for me before.

Theodore opened the car door for her: "Professor, the meeting is going to be late."

She got into the carriage without even glancing at me again. The carriage sped away and disappeared into the London morning mist.

I looked down at the potion bottle in my hand. The golden liquid shimmered faintly in the glass, as if mocking my naiveté.

She didn't even notice that I was dying.

At six o'clock in the evening, I sat in my empty house and began to tidy up the clutter.

I went into her lab. The steam valve was still leaking—she'd been burned last week, and I'd offered to fix it, but she'd impatiently told me not to touch her equipment. Now, I'd quietly fixed it.

Then there were her manuscripts. Those parchment scrolls were always scattered on the floor, and she said I "would never understand them." I organized them by date and stacked them neatly.

I went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and filled it with the groceries I had bought. Blueberry pie—her favorite, though she would never admit it.

I wiped the dusty windows clean, watered the nearly withered potted plants, and hung her carelessly tossed coat back in the closet.

Every movement was slow and deliberate, as if cherishing every inch of space.

I've been doing these things for ten years.

After cleaning, I placed the potion bottle in the center of her usual workbench. The golden liquid shimmered faintly in the moonlight, like a gentle heart.

I walked to the mirror and looked at my reflection. My face was as pale as a dead person's.

Then he went outside and flagged down a horse-drawn carriage.

"Where are you going?" the coachman asked, looking at me in surprise. "You look terrible."

"To the Royal Magic Academy." I opened the car door and got in, every movement was difficult.

The wheels slowly rolled on, carrying my final farewell as I drove away.