The study room of the Valecrest Manor remained as composed and immaculate as ever, the white and navy-blue interiors reflecting the morning light that filtered through the tall glass panels, casting a calm yet authoritative glow across the polished desk where Duke Valecrest stood. He was writing something down with steady precision, his movements measured and controlled, as though every stroke of the pen carried weight beyond the paper itself.

A knock sounded.

Without looking up, he spoke.

"Come in."

The door opened quietly as the head butler stepped inside, closing it behind him with careful restraint before bowing in his usual formal manner. For a moment, the Duke did not acknowledge him, continuing his work as though the interruption held no urgency, but then, without lifting his gaze, he spoke again.

"Why the delay?"

The question came plainly, his tone even as his attention remained on the paper before him.

The butler straightened slightly before replying.

"I was asked by young master Damon to take a walk with him."

The pen stopped just for a moment.

Duke Valecrest’s hand stilled as he lifted his gaze, his golden eyes settling on the butler with quiet focus.

"By Damon?"

The butler inclined his head once more, confirming.

"Yes, master."

A brief pause followed before the Duke spoke again.

"What did he want?"

The butler did not hesitate this time.

"Young master... was asking whether a cure has been found yet for young lady Cecelia’s eyes."

This time— 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

The pause lingered.

Something unreadable flickered across the Duke’s eyes, subtle yet unmistakable, as though the question had struck deeper than it appeared on the surface. He did not react outwardly, but the shift in his stillness spoke enough.

"I see..."

The words came quietly as he set the pen down and then stood up.

Turning slightly, he faced away from the desk, his posture straight as he looked toward the window, the vast expanse of his estate stretching out before him.

After a moment, he spoke again.

"You have observed Damon since his childhood," he said, his tone calm but carrying a weight that demanded sincerity. "What do you think of him... at this moment?"

The head butler hesitated, his composure holding, yet a faint tension appeared beneath it as he lowered his gaze slightly.

"It would not be appropriate for me to comment on young master..."

"I insist."

The Duke’s voice did not rise.

Yet the firmness within it left no space for refusal.

The butler paused then exhaled quietly.

"In his younger days... young master was very similar to the late duchess," he began slowly, choosing his words with care. "After her passing... he..."

He hesitated for a fraction longer than before.

"...he had lost his way."

The words settled heavily in the space between them.

"But as of now..." the butler continued, steadying himself, "...young master is becoming more and more similar to your persona, master."

Duke Valecrest listened but gave no immediate response.

He turned slightly, his gaze moving outward once more, the vast lands of his domain stretching beneath his sight as though they alone could answer what words could not.

Then, after a moment, he asked one final question.

"Do you think I am too harsh on him?"

The butler lifted his eyes.

And for the first time, his gaze rested fully on the Duke’s back—not as a servant observing his master, but as someone who had witnessed years unfold from a distance.

There was something undeniably solitary about that figure, something that did not match the overwhelming authority he commanded.

The butler spoke carefully.

"I believe... you have the best interests of young master in your mind."

***

Damon sat alone at the long dining table, the polished surface reflecting the soft daylight that streamed in through the tall windows, while the quiet clink of utensils marked the only sound in the otherwise still hall. Sahira stood to his side, attentive yet silent, as he ate the simple brunch she had prepared, his movements calm, almost absent-minded, as though his attention lay elsewhere entirely.

This body has almost traumatized his siblings...

The thought surfaced without resistance.

...This won’t do.

His gaze remained lowered, yet his mind moved steadily, aligning possibilities with intent.

If I need information from them... this situation has to change.

The conclusion settled firmly, not as emotion, but as necessity.

Just then—

A hushed voice reached him.

"N-no, young lady... y-you shouldn’t be here... please... go and play with young master Saffron... l-let me take you to him..."

The words were quiet, almost whispered, yet in the stillness of the hall, they carried clearly enough to draw his attention. Damon’s hand paused briefly before he lifted his gaze toward the source, his eyes narrowing slightly as he focused.

There—Behind a pillar.

A small head peeked out full of familiar white hair.

And a pair of unfocused eyes directed toward him, searching rather than seeing.

Damon’s expression shifted subtly.

...Hmm?

Can she sense me?

The thought lingered as he placed his utensil down and stood, his chair sliding back with a faint sound as he began walking in that direction, his steps unhurried yet deliberate.

The moment he moved—

Cecelia reacted.

Though she could not see him, something in his approach must have reached her, as she instinctively pulled back, retreating quickly behind the pillar, her small form pressing closer to the attendant beside her as though trying to disappear entirely.

Damon continued forward closing the distance.

When he reached them, Cecelia had already hidden herself behind the attendant, clutching onto her from behind, her presence barely visible except for a glimpse of white hair.

The attendant reacted immediately.

Her composure shattered as she stepped forward, placing herself between Damon and the child, her body trembling visibly as she bowed deeply, her voice breaking under the weight of fear.

"P-please forgive young lady, young master... I-if there is any punishment... y-you can give it to me...!"

Damon’s gaze lowered toward the trembling attendant, his expression calm yet unyielding as he spoke in a voice that did not rise, yet carried a quiet authority that pressed down just as firmly as any command shouted in anger.

"Move aside."

The attendant’s entire body stiffened at once, her hands shaking more visibly as fear overtook whatever composure she had been trying to maintain, her instincts urging her to kneel, to plead, to shield the child further, yet before she could act, Damon’s eyes shifted ever so slightly, and that single glance was enough to still her completely.

"Move aside," he repeated, his tone softer this time, but far more decisive.

There was no defiance in her.

No resistance.

Only obedience born from fear.

With trembling steps, she moved aside, though not without hesitation, her body still angled protectively as though ready to intervene if needed, even if she knew she could not.

By then, Sahira had also arrived, her steps slowing as she took in the scene before her, her expression tightening with unease as her eyes moved between Damon and the young girl, sensing the tension without fully understanding it.

Cecelia remained where she was, small and fragile in that vast space, her presence almost swallowed by the silence that had fallen around them, her unfocused eyes searching without direction, her hands drawn close to herself as though unsure whether to reach out or retreat further.

The fear in her was unmistakable, not loud, not expressed in words, but deeply ingrained, something that had settled into her very instincts.

Damon could feel it.

He lowered himself slowly, bringing himself down to her level, his movements controlled and deliberate.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, his voice calm, devoid of the harshness she had come to expect.

The child trembled in place, her lips parting slightly as though she wished to speak, yet no words came, her body caught between fear and hesitation, unable to decide whether to respond or remain silent.

Damon watched her quietly.

Then, without warning, he raised his hand.

The reaction was immediate.

Cecelia flinched, her entire form recoiling instinctively as though bracing for something she had already learned to expect, her shoulders tightening, her breath catching, her body preparing for pain that did not come.

Instead—

Damon’s hand came to rest gently on her head.

Lightly and carefully.

And in that single moment—

The world around him stopped.

Reality itself had been stripped of motion, of color, of life, leaving behind a hollow stillness that felt profoundly wrong.

The vibrant tones of the manor vanished entirely, replaced by a dull, colorless expanse where everything existed only in faded outlines, as though painted in ash rather than light. The air itself felt thick and unmoving, suffocating in its silence, as if even time had ceased to flow.

Damon’s breath caught faintly, his eyes widening as his awareness sharpened in an instant.

"T-this..."

The word barely formed as his gaze moved around him, trying to comprehend what had just occurred, yet before he could make sense of it, before he could even begin to analyze what he was witnessing, his attention returned to Cecelia—

And everything snapped back.

Color surged into the world once more, sound followed, the air moved again, and the oppressive stillness vanished as though it had never existed, leaving behind only the echo of its presence within his mind.

Damon’s composure faltered for the briefest of moments, his eyes still wide as a bead of sweat formed along his temple, betraying the shock he had not allowed to surface outwardly.

He withdrew his hand immediately.

Only for—

Something small to stop him.

Cecelia’s hand.

Her tiny fingers wrapped gently around his, holding him in place with a grip that carried no strength, yet was enough to halt his movement entirely.

Damon paused, his gaze lowering toward her, his thoughts momentarily suspended as he waited—

But nothing happened.

No distortion.

No change.

Only her quiet, hesitant touch.

Then, slowly, almost uncertainly, Cecelia raised her other hand, her movement careful, mimicking what he had just done, as though trying to understand through imitation what she could not perceive through sight.

Her hand reached his head and touched him.

Damon flinched instinctively—

And once again, the world around him dissolved into something else entirely.

***

"T-this!..how c-can this be...m-mom...d-dad?"