-"family Agreste"-
Chapter One: In the Presence of
Silence
Deep within the grand Agreste estate, where the furniture was embroidered with golden thread and the walls whispered of forgotten dynasties, Andrew stood before the tall arched window like a statue carved from time itself. His gaze was fixed on the grey horizon, as though he were judging the sky for sins only he remembered. Behind him, heavy velvet curtains trembled beneath the hand of the wind, yet he remained perfectly still — untouched by time, unmoved by weather.
The air within the palace halls held a stillness so dense, even thought had weight. Yet through that silence came the faint sound of footsteps — soft, hesitant, like a boy walking not toward his father, but toward a storm. Gabriel, the firstborn, heir to a throne he never asked for, approached with quiet defiance. He moved like someone who knew fear intimately — and had chosen to walk through it.
He paused at the threshold of the room, his blue eyes anchored to his father's back. He said nothing. Words were unnecessary between them. Silence, between Andrew and Gabriel, had always been a language of its own — filled with unspoken wounds and unanswered questions.
Andrew turned slowly, his sharp eyes meeting those of his son. In that brief exchange, something invisible and ancient stirred — not quite love, not yet understanding, but a recognition. The kind forged only by time, pain, and blood.
"You're late," Andrew said, his voice devoid of anger — colder than wrath, more piercing than ice.
Gabriel answered softly, but without wavering. "I was practicing… enduring you."
Andrew's brow twitched — not with amusement, but with a kind of startled silence. The boy had answered. He had dared.
Without a word, Andrew stepped closer, his presence heavy, consuming. Gabriel did not flinch.
"When you rule," Andrew said, his voice low, "you will learn that endurance does not make a king. Silence does not command respect. If you want the throne… your shadow must burn, and your voice must cut."
Gabriel met his gaze, and for the first time, nothing in him wavered.
"I don't wish to be a shadow, Your Majesty. I want to be light… even if it burns me."
Silence fell again. But it was no longer the silence of dominance. It was the silence of realization.
Andrew saw it — in those clear, storm-born eyes — the spark. The spark of someone who had touched pain and risen from it. A boy who had not yet become a man, but who had already become a survivor.
With slow precision, Andrew reached into his cloak and drew a dagger — small, yet ornate — and placed it into Gabriel's hands.
"Then learn to be light," he said, "without letting the world shatter you."
He turned away before Gabriel could speak again.
The boy stood still, the dagger pressed between his palms like a vow.
What neither father nor son could have known was this: the moment had marked the beginning of a quiet war — between a man who ruled through silence, and a boy who would one day demand to be heard.
Chapter One (continued): Within the King's Wing
Night had begun to descend upon the palace with a velvet hush, draping its silence across the stone walls as though whispering secrets that dared not be spoken in daylight. At the highest point of the southern tower — where the king's private quarters lay — light was a rare guest. It entered only through a narrow skylight, where the moon spilled in like trembling silver fingers.
Andrew stepped into his chamber soundlessly. He removed his royal cloak and cast it across the ebony chair with a single motion, then sat on the edge of the great bed, peeling off his gloves as one might shed a role he never asked to play.
Everything in the room spoke of power: the fireplace burning pinewood, the crimson velvet drapes, the scattered books with frayed leather spines. And yet, the cold inside was not the cold of air — it was the cold of memory.
He closed his eyes briefly and placed a hand over his chest. The pulse beneath his palm was heavier than it ought to be, as though it carried the burden of a heart that was never truly his — a heart given, not born, in a moment of forced survival. A heart traded for silence and obedience long ago.
He exhaled — not from exhaustion, but from something deeper. That hollow ache only known to those who once believed in warmth, and had it turned to ash.
Then a voice stirred in the back of his mind.
Not real… but not unfamiliar either:
"Will you break him… as you were broken?"
Andrew's eyes snapped open. The voice had not come from the room. It had come from within — from a place that still bled in silence.
Gabriel.
That boy. That defiant spark. That unrelenting echo of himself. He had stood tall today. Unshaken. And for the first time in years, Andrew had seen not a son… but a mirror. A reflection of something buried.
He rose slowly and walked to the iron cabinet in the corner of the room. From within, he pulled a small box, sealed with an ancient lock. He set it on the table beside the hearth. He did not open it. He only stared — as though it held a life he'd never lived. A version of him that could have loved without cruelty… trusted without fear.
And at last, he whispered — not for the room to hear, but for himself:
"Don't let me see him in your eyes, Gabriel… Don't let me see me."
He returned the box to its prison, locked it once more, and turned toward the window — where the moon watched him without mercy.
It was a quiet night in the Agreste palace, but within the king's wing… a war had begun.
Chapter One (continued): An Inheritance Unseen
By midnight, when the guards' footsteps had faded and the corridor lights dimmed to slumber, Andrew sat once more in his worn leather chair, facing the fireplace where the flames had begun to flicker out. He rested his hand against his chest… then closed his eyes.
The pain was no stranger to him. It had lived with him for years — a quiet, relentless pulse out of rhythm, a heaviness that echoed through his ribs like something trying to escape. This heart had never been his. It had never truly belonged to him.
It was... a cursed inheritance.
At twelve years old, he had fallen into a coma that nearly took his life. What followed was a secret operation, ordered by his father, Dylan — a man who wore the title father like a crown, but acted more like a god of cruel design. Andrew's own heart was removed… and replaced with the heart of his younger brother, Agnus.
Without permission. Without mercy.
Since that night, Andrew's chest did not beat with life. It beat with betrayal.
The heart inside him never truly grew with his body. His immune system attacked it in silence. The cost was severe: spells of weakness, collapsing episodes, numb limbs, periods of blackness and breathlessness. Rage. So much rage — with no clear exit but through the fire of others.
But he was no longer the only one who carried this hidden war.
Gabriel.
His son. His heir. His mirror.
The symptoms had begun — subtly, like the first tremble of a distant quake. The royal physician had already voiced concern.
He remembered the doctor's words on that cold evening:
"The inherited heart doesn't show itself in blood alone… It lives in the fire beneath the skin, in the violence without cause. If we don't act soon… your son may not survive it."
But Andrew had told him nothing.
How could he?
How does a father tell his son that the fire burning in him is not just emotion — it is illness? That the blood he inherited… holds not only legacy, but danger?
A sudden gust of wind burst open the window. Cold air rushed in, and Andrew shivered — though not from the cold.
His face remained composed… but his eyes—
In his eyes, something rare flickered: fear.
Not fear for himself…
But fear of what he might see in Gabriel's reflection one morning — a stillness where life should be.
He shut his eyes tightly and whispered:
"I never chose this heart… And I never meant to give it to you."
Then he rose and slowly closed the window.
But within him, the wound remained open —
A door that time had never dared shut.
Chapter One (continued): Cries No One Heard
The night hung heavily over the palace, thick with shadows and silence. Only the rustling of trees beyond the windows and the distant groan of old wood reminded the world that time had not stopped completely.
But in one distant wing — far from the king's quarters — there was another sound.
A low, broken sound.
A quiet struggle unfolding beneath silk sheets and royal ceilings.
In his ornate bed, Gabriel writhed in pain.
His small frame twisted beneath the covers, his brow slick with cold sweat. His fingers clutched the blankets tightly, as if clinging to something far more vital than warmth — as if clinging to life itself.
This was no ordinary pain.
No feverish dream.
No fleeting illness of childhood.
This was something deeper. Something pulsing wildly in his chest, disobeying rhythm and order — like a beast caged behind his ribs, thrashing.
He opened his eyes, vision blurred, and stared at the darkened ceiling. A moment later, he shut them again as dizziness crashed into him like a wave.
"What… is this?"
The words never reached his lips.
Only a tremble did.
He heard his heartbeat in his ears, violent and scattered, like drums of war echoing from within.
Then suddenly — silence.
For a few long, terrifying seconds, everything stopped.
The sound.
The air.
The feeling.
Then —
Pain. Blinding and cruel.
A surge through his chest so sharp he gasped, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
His body curled inward.
He screamed again —
But no one heard.
No one came.
He was alone.
He didn't understand what was happening. No one had told him that pain like this could be inherited. That some legacies are not written in gold… but in failing blood and broken heartbeats.
All he knew now… was that something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
And that no matter how long the night lasted,
it would never be long enough to hide the truth.
Chapter One Continued: A Father's Wake-Up
The hour struck three.
And the pain... refused to leave.
Gabriel's tears had dried upon his cheeks, his small hands no longer able to clutch the blanket. His body had surrendered — but not his mind. Something inside him still whispered: "Get up... don't stay alone."
In the end, he was just a child. No matter how strong or composed he seemed during the day, by nightfall — pain stripped him bare.
With a trembling breath, he forced himself out of bed, each step unsteady, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as if afraid his heart would slip away.
He walked through the silent corridor, shadows dancing on the walls, until he stood before the tall black door — his father's wing. A place he once feared… but now, it was all he longed for.
Lifting his fragile hand, he knocked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time — barely audible.
No answer.
Inside, Andrew lay in heavy sleep — the kind no noise could disturb. Or so it seemed.
But suddenly…
Something twisted in his chest.
A pulse of instinct, sharp and undeniable.
As if some force tugged him from the depths of his dream.
His eyes snapped open.
He sat up, breath quickening — and with a single name echoing in his mind:
"Gabriel."
He rushed to the door and flung it open—
And there he was.
Gabriel, leaning against the wall, barely standing. His eyes were half-closed, face pale like melting wax.
In a broken whisper, he said:
"Dad… my heart… it hurts…"
Then — nothing.
He collapsed forward.
Andrew caught him just before he hit the floor, his arms instinctively cradling the small, fragile body. He looked down at his son — no longer the brave, stubborn boy he raised, but a child barely holding on.
Silence settled for a moment.
Then Andrew whispered — not to Gabriel, but to the darkness around them:
"No… not him too…"
He gathered Gabriel in his arms, held him close, and rushed down the corridor with a desperation only a father who's seen too much could know.
Chapter One (continued): An Unspoken Fear
Andrew carried Gabriel into his private chambers, holding him with a sense of urgency as if the very moment depended on it. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his racing heart, but the pounding in his chest wouldn't let him rest. His eyes darted down to the fragile boy in his arms, and he knew in that instant that nothing would ever be the same again.
He laid Gabriel gently onto the plush leather couch, stepping back and standing still. His gaze remained fixed on his son, cold and distant, yet there was an undeniable undercurrent of fear, something buried deep beneath his composed exterior.
Gabriel, barely able to keep his eyes open, struggled to focus on his father. His pale face was flushed with fever, his lips trembling as he tried to speak.
"Papa..." Gabriel whispered, his voice faint, barely a breath.
"I feel something... strange in my heart."
Andrew's breath caught in his throat. He stared at Gabriel for a long moment, his mind racing. He couldn't tell him the truth. He couldn't show his son the fear that clawed at his own heart. How could he admit that this was the same pain he had carried all his life?
"Just rest, Gabriel," Andrew said, his voice cold and controlled, hiding the turmoil within. "It's nothing. Just a passing thing."
But even as he spoke, his own heart knew better. It wasn't just a passing thing. This pain, this disease—it was more than that. It was the inheritance of their blood, a curse passed down through generations, a legacy of suffering.
Gabriel, though weary and in pain, shook his head weakly, not convinced by his father's words. Yet, exhaustion began to take over, and slowly, his eyelids fluttered closed, surrendering to the darkness of sleep.
Andrew stood there, watching over him, his expression unreadable. His heart, however, was a different story. It was gripped by fear—not for himself, but for the son lying before him. Fear of the legacy that had claimed him, and now, was beginning to claim Gabriel as well.
How could he protect him from this? How could he shield him from a fate so cruel and inevitable?
Continued, Chapter 1: The Revealing Truth
Gabriel, after a few minutes, finally succumbed to sleep. His weak body rested on the plush couch, his breaths coming in shallow intervals, his face pale as if it were telling the tale of pain that seemed unbearable. With every passing moment, Andrew remained standing, watching his son intently, as though he feared losing him at any given second.
But deep within his heart, a battle raged. He knew exactly what Gabriel was going through because he had lived through the same agony. Those violent fits, that pain that slowly consumed life.
"Did... did he inherit this from me?"
Andrew whispered under his breath, his eyes fixed on Gabriel, now asleep, wondering if this illness had been passed down to him entirely, just as the curse he had carried in his heart for so long had been.
At that moment, the doctor entered. He was a man in his mid-forties, wearing a simple white coat, yet his features reflected years of experience in his field.
"How is he?" The doctor asked, concern evident in his voice as he approached Gabriel.
"He deteriorated suddenly," Andrew responded, gesturing toward his son. "This illness... I think it's the same one I had."
The doctor took a deep breath before answering, placing his hand on Gabriel's chest to check his heartbeat.
"You're right that the symptoms are quite similar, but no," the doctor said, looking Andrew directly in the eye. "The illness Gabriel suffers from is a chronic condition, but it is entirely different from yours. Yours was a result of the strange heart transplant, whereas this is a genetic illness that requires ongoing care and treatment."
Andrew felt the weight of those words.
"Does that mean...?" he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief, "that he... has inherited this from me?"
The doctor paused, his face softening with compassion.
"It's a condition that cannot be easily cured. It's not as severe as the one you endured, but it requires continuous monitoring and treatment."
There was a long silence in the room, interrupted only by the faint hum of the doctor's murmurs and the wind hitting the windows. But Andrew wasn't hearing any of it. His mind was processing the doctor's words.
Is this his legacy? Has Gabriel inherited his suffering, just as he once had?
In that moment, Andrew felt something deep inside him stir—something much deeper than a father's fear for his son. It was a fear of the truth he was beginning to comprehend: perhaps everything that had happened in his life was just the beginning of what Gabriel would face.