[ No matter the time it takes, Lilia holds Silver, doing his best to comfort the younger. His hand continues to pet his hair, his soft humming continues, his focus completely on what he could do for the boy who felt so small in his arms, despite how much bigger than Lilia he'd grown to be. For all time, Silver would be his little boy, even if he was never going to be that little again. For a time, they could just sit here upon the ground, pretending that the world, both this one and their own, and the consequences of their own actions, wouldn't reach them.

Lilia falls quiet, save for the quiet hums and reassurances, until Silver speaks up finally, admitting in four small words the feelings he held deep inside. Lilia's arms move, hands shifting to grasp onto Silver's shoulders, pulling him back from their embrace with a strength that, to anyone else, would feel impossible for his small form. Obviously, Silver already was well aware of this strength, this raw strength that never needed magical assistance.

No matter how his father was losing his magic, was withering away, he still had that strength. ]

Who told you that? What soul dared to put that idea into your head, Silver? No, no. Nothing has ever been your fault. Not a single thing.

[ Those hands move from Silver's shoulders, gloves quickly removed and shoved into the pocket of the jacket wrapped around him, to allow Lilia to cup the boy's cheeks in both of his hands. Skin against skin, thumbs carefully wiping at those tear stains. His gaze was serious, stern, but most of all, concerned. ]

Oh, my dearest, what is it that makes you say such a thing?