The morning sunrise hit the windowpanes of the house of Fairfax. The looming, dark, grand house was, in fact, ominous in the face of light. The shadow it casts has always been spine-chilling. Yet... the people that occupy this house are the polar opposite.
The father, Frederick Le Fairfax, was this bright and cheerful soul that lights the entire house with his optimism. He always greeted each day with a loud laugh and a warm smile, making even the old walls of the manor seem alive. The mother, ,Mae Le Fairfax, was this intelligent and stylish figure that filled the room with her strict yet caring positive energy. Her presence alone demanded respect, yet her soft words revealed the gentleness beneath her sharp tone.
Their child, Marco Le Fairfax, was the contrast of the two of them. He was the black sheep of the family — shy, introverted, and silent. While his parents filled rooms with laughter and conversation, Marco preferred the corners, the quiet spaces, the flicker of candlelight on his desk where he could lose himself in books or sketches. But there was something… something that hid within him. Something he couldn't understand.
Marco woke up in a cold sweat. The room around him felt suffocatingly still — the silence pressing on his ears. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Damn it! What's happening to me?" he muttered under his breath. His voice trembled slightly. He looked at his hands — trembling uncontrollably — as if they no longer belonged to him. The memory flashed in his mind again: the vague image of the system, the massive, colorless vitreous silica that appeared before him like a vision, pulsating faintly as though alive.
He blinked hard, trying to shake off the unease that clung to his mind. "It's just a dream," he whispered to himself, though deep down he knew it wasn't. The image was too real, too vivid.
He decided to shrug it off and went downstairs to greet his mother and father. The old wooden staircase creaked beneath his feet as the scent of fresh coffee and butter filled the air. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden patterns on the polished floor.
"Good morning, Mother and Father. What's for breakfast?" Marco asked, forcing a small smile as he entered the dining room.
His father, sitting at the head of the table with a newspaper in hand, looked up and grinned. "Good morning, son! We're having your favorite — pancakes with honey and fresh fruit. Mae outdid herself today."
Mae looked up from the table, a proud smile tugging at her lips. "You should eat well, Marco. You look pale again. Are you sleeping properly?"
Marco hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the window where the sunlight touched the floor. For a moment, he thought he saw the faint reflection of that strange glass-like object again. He quickly looked away.
"Yes, Mother… I'm fine," he said softly, sitting down.
Frederick chuckled, folding his newspaper. "You always say that, son. One day, you'll have to tell us what keeps you up at night. You're too young to be worrying so much."
Marco forced a small laugh, but inside, his heart raced. The image of the system still hovered in the back of his mind, whispering things he couldn't quite understand.
Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, and for a brief second, Marco thought he heard it — a low, resonant hum, the same sound from his dream. He clenched his fist under the table, feeling that strange tremor return.
Something was changing. And deep down, he knew this morning was only the beginning.