The evening slowly receded, leaving behind the last strands of fading light as darkness stretched over the quiet white mansion.
It wasn't large, nor was it small—its slender pillars and tall windows rose elegantly from the center of a well-kept green garden, reflecting the refined taste and status of its owners.
Soft footsteps tapped against the stone ground near the closed gate.
A boy—twelve, maybe thirteen—with dark black hair and wide, anxious eyes stood there, breathless as he tried to steady himself.
He had snuck out earlier that morning to play nearby… and now he was returning late, his once-clean clothes stained with dirt.
His hands trembled slightly.
The fear of his mother's scolding outweighed anything else.
He looked around.
No guards.
No one.
Maybe they were inside…
He didn't think too much about it. He reached toward the electronic panel beside the gate.
It lit up, scanned his fingerprint, and a soft beep followed as the gate slowly opened.
He stepped inside, preparing himself for the oncoming lecture… but something was wrong.
No guards.
No servants.
No one at all.
He ignored it at first and ran through the garden toward the mansion's main door, pushing it open quickly.
A heavy silence greeted him.
A wide hall, gentle lighting, familiar decorations… but no mother, no servants.
Even the air felt thick—almost suffocating.
His steps halted.
This wasn't normal.
"Mom?"
His voice echoed back to him.
No answer.
"Dad…?"
The silence grew heavier, as if the mansion itself had stopped breathing.
He walked toward the stairs slowly, the sound of his shoes knocking against the marble like taps on a coffin.
Fear rose in his chest—no longer fear of punishment, but something else.
Something unknown.
He climbed the stairs one step at a time. Every instinct in his body warned him that something waited above.
The staircase ended at a short hallway, leading to a large double door.
The hairs on his arms stood on end.
The air… was cold here.
He stepped forward, placed a hand on the handle, and pushed.
Darkness opened before him like the maw of a beast.
A sharp metallic scent hit him, forcing him to recoil half a step.
He didn't recognize it immediately…
But his body understood before his mind did.
Blood.
He swallowed hard and stepped inside, feeling along the wall for the light switch.
He remembered where it was and reached it quickly.
Then—
His foot landed on something wet and sticky.
He froze.
His finger pressed the light switch.
And in an instant—his world collapsed.
The bright, pristine hall he had always known was gone—replaced by a gruesome scene of carnage.
The marble floor was drenched in blood.
The once-white walls were splattered with dark stains.
Limbs were scattered across the room.
Severed heads.
Organs strewn on the ground.
He didn't scream.
He didn't run.
He couldn't feel his legs anymore.
He recognized some of the faces…
Servants.
Guards.
People who always smiled at him.
His lungs tightened painfully. Tears pooled in his eyes.
Suddenly, he bolted—not toward the exit, but deeper into the mansion.
Toward his parents' room.
A trail of red guided him until he reached the open door.
He entered.
"Mom…?
Dad…?"
His voice cracked, fragile—desperate for hope.
But the faint light from the hallway was enough to reveal the truth.
Two bodies hung on the wall—limbless, skinned.
Faces he knew better than his own.
Faces etched into every memory he had.
His parents.
Something inside him shattered completely.
Sound melted away.
Light dissolved.
Everything vanished behind his eyes—
And he fell into a bottomless darkness.
…
…
…
In a quiet, beautiful room…
Soft morning light slipped through white curtains, drawing golden lines across the calm floor and sandy-colored walls.
The neatly arranged furniture gave the room a warm, harmonious feel.
Beside the window, a small desk was stacked with books, and on the opposite side, a large bed held a young man just beginning to stir.
His eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"…The nightmare. Again," he muttered.
He slowly sat up and rubbed his face with both hands.
He no longer looked like someone waking from a terrifying dream—and that was understandable.
He had grown used to it over the years.
Ever since that night at age thirteen, the nightmares had almost never left him.
With a soft sigh, he got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
Warm water cascaded over his skin, washing away the remnants of the dream clinging to his mind.
He let the water run without rushing.
He raked a hand through his wet hair, lifted his face, and closed his eyes as the stream hit him.
After finishing and drying off, he stood before the large mirror.
A young man of eighteen stared back at him—calm features, medium-length black hair falling neatly around his face, ink-black eyes, and fair, unblemished skin.
His physique was lean and perfectly balanced—neither bulky nor slender.
After a moment of stillness, he walked out, a towel wrapped around his waist.
He opened his wardrobe and chose clothes quickly: a long-sleeved black shirt and dark trousers.
He checked himself in the mirror.
The outfit suited him perfectly, highlighting his light skin and well-proportioned build.
He put on a pair of shoes and headed toward the door.
He opened it.
A maid, somewhere in her thirties, was waiting for him. She bowed politely.
"Good morning, young master."
He nodded briefly. "Morning."
She asked her usual question, "Did you sleep well?"
He answered shortly, "Yes."
While thinking:
If seeing that nightmare again counts as 'sleeping well,' then sure…
The maid nodded. "That's good. Please follow me. Lady Ellara is waiting for you at the breakfast table."
He walked quietly.
The maid knew well that he hadn't been very social since the incident years ago.
They reached two large doors.
She opened one and stepped aside for him.
The room was spacious, filled with sunlight pouring in from tall windows.
A few elegant decorations adorned the space.
At the center, a long table overflowed with breakfast: eggs, meats, milk, pastries… and more.
At the head of the table sat a beautiful woman with dark hair and gentle violet eyes, carrying the grace of years.
When her gaze fell on the entering young man, her lips curved into a warm smile.
"Good morning, Caius. Did you sleep well?" she asked softly.
A small smile appeared on his face—Caius.
"Good morning, Aunt Ellara."
She looked at him with a mix of pride and affection.
"Look at you, Caius… You've gotten so tall and handsome!"
Then, teasingly,
"I'm genuinely worried—you might start a war among the girls with that face of yours."
Caius let out a quiet chuckle as he sat down.
"Don't worry, Aunt. I won't… at least not yet."
She laughed. "So you will in the future."
He raised an eyebrow with innocent confusion. "Who knows?"
And in a comfortable silence, the two began their breakfast.