Night pressed heavily against Blackwood Manor, its tall windows shimmering with moonlight as though the entire estate were holding its breath.
Inside the east wing, August pushed himself upright on the bedframe again — stubborn, pale, breath trembling. The poison still wormed its way through his veins, cold and merciless, yet he refused even the slightest hint of help.
Elias stepped forward at once.
"August. You should rest."
His voice was low, uncertain, thick with worry he tried to hide.
August didn't answer. He only gripped the bedpost harder, chest rising in uneven, ragged breaths. His skin glistened faintly — fever and poison threading together like twin serpents.
Across the corridor, in the guest chamber, Lirael stirred awake.
He lifted his lashes slowly, feeling a strange, warm pressure building at the corners of his eyes. A single tear slid down his cheek. Then another.
Lirael brushed his fingertips across them—expecting nothing more than the familiar sting of exhaustion.
Lirael brushed a fingertip across his cheek.
Moist.
Had he been crying?
He let out a small, embarrassed laugh and wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeve, rubbing away the wetness without looking closely at it. He didn't notice the faint shimmer that briefly clung to his skin. He didn't see the soft gold that flickered and vanished with his touch.
He remained blissfully unaware.
He only felt the familiar heaviness in his chest — the echo of a name he had spoken in his dream.
"…Martin," he whispered under his breath, voice hushed with old longing. "I dreamt of him again."
He shook his head, dismissing the strange heat gathering in his eyes again.
Exhaustion, he told himself. Nothing more.
He rose, still dazed, and stepped out of the chamber.
He didn't make it far.
A tall, hooded shape materialized in front of him — emerging from the long, arched window as if the moonlight itself sculpted him into existence. His cloak shimmered silver-grey, flowing like smoke. Half of his mask was white, the other black; beneath it, his eyes glowed like twin shards of emerald.
Lirael froze.
The masked man stepped closer, boots silent on the marble floor.
Some memory flickered behind Lirael's eyes — a whisper, an echo — but vanished before he could grasp it.
He stepped back in fear. His heel slipped.
The masked man's gloved hand shot out, catching him by the waist and pulling him upright with startling ease.
"Why are you afraid?"
His voice was deep, smooth… surprisingly gentle.
Lirael's breath trembled. "Why do I feel like I've seen you before…?"
A soft chuckle. "Well… you do know me."
The shift in his tone was immediate — playful, almost flustered — as though he himself was caught off guard by the sight of Lirael.
Lirael blinked in confusion.
"You— You know me?"
The masked man looked away quickly, as though hiding a blush beneath the split mask.
"You know nothing about yourself," he muttered. Then, regaining composure: "Lead me to August's chamber."
Lirael stiffened. "Why? Who are you to him?"
"I'm not his enemy," the masked man said calmly. "My master is a friend of August's. I swear it."
Lirael hesitated… then bowed his head.
"…Follow me."
They walked through the dim corridor, shadows curling behind them. Lirael kept stealing glances — something about this man tugged painfully at the hollow places in his heart.
When they reached August's door, the masked man leaned close, lowering his voice.
He tilted forward, close enough that Lirael felt the whisper of his breath against his cheek.
A sly lilt threaded through his voice as he murmured,
"Tell me, dear… who is Martin?"
Lirael's eyes snapped wide.
He stumbled back a step, breath breaking.
"H–How did you know that name?"
The masked man stepped forward, gaze sharp and soft all at once.
Almost reverent.
He touched Lirael's cheek, thumb brushing the faint glimmer along his lashes.
Lirael flinched. "What— what are you doing?"
But the masked man was already examining his thumb, where a smear of gold shimmered faintly like molten light.
"Almost got it…" he murmured.
Lirael clutched his face.
"What is this? — why are my tears—?"
"You'll know everything soon," the masked man said. "But first… we need to go inside."
He pushed the chamber door open.
Inside, the air was thick with fear and frustration.
August sat upright, sweat streaking his pale throat, breathing hard. Elias sat beside him, hands clenched, expression torn — wanting to speak, yet unable to force the words out.
August didn't look up when the chamber door opened.
He simply turned his face toward the window, jaw clenched, breath thin.
"… don't need anyone."
But the moment the masked man stepped inside — tall, cloaked in smoke-grey, half his mask white, half black — August froze. His eyes flickered, caught, unable to look away.
Elias blinked in confusion.
Behind him, Lirael stiffened.
The masked man surveyed the room once, then spoke with a low, unhurried certainty.
"Oh, but you do," he murmured. "And unfortunately for all of us… we don't have time to argue."
Elias exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself.
August scowled and turned his head aside.
"I said I don't want to talk to anyone."
The masked man stepped forward without hesitation.
And then — deliberately — he leaned in.
Elias straightened, puzzled.
Lirael's breath hitched.
Before either of them could react, the masked man caught August's chin between his gloved fingers and tilted his head up.
August's eyes widened in raw outrage.
"What the—"
The masked man ignored him completely. With unsettling calm, he pressed his thumb against August's lower lip, pushing just enough to part it.
Elias shot to his feet.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
A flicker — something dangerously close to jealousy — flashed across his face.
The masked man only hummed, amused.
"Relax. Let's see the magic do it's work."
And before August could jerk away, he slid his thumb past his lips.
August choked out a muffled, furious sound.
Then the masked man withdrew his thumb.
August barked, voice cracking with fury,
"What is wrong with you?!"
Lirael pushed forward at once, slipping in front of August as if to shield him.
"What did you do to him?"
The masked man lifted his gaze — unbothered, annoyingly calm.
"No need to worry," he said lightly, wiping his thumb against his cloak.
"If I meant him harm… we wouldn't be standing here talking."
He tilted his head, those hidden eyes glinting behind the split mask.
"Now. All of you — calm down"
At first, nothing happened.
Then everything did.
August's breath hitched. His eyelids slid shut, his teeth grinding together as something surged through him — hot, bright, impossible.
Lirael crouched beside him in alarm.
Elias stepped sharply in front of the masked man, fury rising.
"What did you do to him?" Elias growled.
"Just watch," the man replied, folding his arms.
August's body trembled — not with fear, but with the sensation of shifting.
The pain dissolved.
The poison bled out of his system like ink dispersing in water.
He inhaled sharply.
Then opened his eyes.
"August?" Lirael whispered. "How are you feeling?"
August looked down at his hands… at his skin… at the absence of pain.
He peeled off the damp quilt, rising slowly — steady, healed.
Elias and Lirael stared at him like they were watching a ghost stand up.
August stepped toward the masked man, confusion slicing through his voice.
"What… what did you feed me? The poison inside my body is all gone."
Elias blinked again, speechless.
Lirael, terrified and furious both, grabbed the masked man's chest — though the man towered over him at nearly 198 cm.
"See?" the masked man said lightly. "Didn't I tell you everything would be fine?"
"What did you do? How do you know anything about something forbidden—" Lirael began.
But the stranger simply placed one finger against Lirael's lips.
"Shhh," he whispered. "Don't say anything."
The chamber door had barely stopped swinging when the masked man moved.
Before Lirael could form even half a protest, a gloved hand wrapped around his wrist — not harsh, not painful, but disturbingly gentle. The kind of grip that startled more than it restrained.
"W–wait—" Lirael gasped.
The masked man did not wait. He guided him toward the outer hall with an ease that made Lirael's breath catch. That softness — that exact softness — dragged up an old name he had buried so deep it felt foreign to think.
Martin.
August watched the door close behind them, the faint thud echoing through the chamber. The air fell still again. Only he and Elias remained.
August blinked once. Slowly. His smoke-grey gaze lifted toward the doorway where Lirael had disappeared.
"…What exactly did he feed me?" he murmured.
Elias didn't answer at first. He stood frozen, shoulders tight, as if the question had knocked something loose inside him. When he finally breathed, it was shallow.
"I… have something to tell you," he said.
August turned sharply. His silver-white curls followed the motion like a pale flame. A sudden flush touched his cheeks — brief, uninvited.
"I don't want to talk to anyone," he said coldly.
Elias swallowed. A single heartbeat of silence passed, thick enough to choke on.
"I—August, wait—"
But August had already slipped back behind his armor. He pulled his posture straight, hands folding neatly behind his back, his expression restoring itself into that impenetrable marble calm.
"I want to get ready."
That was all.
He turned his back to Elias with the crisp finality of a closing book. Elias opened his mouth again, searching for something — anything — but the words evaporated. He stepped forward, then stopped, helplessly suspended in indecision.
August left first.
Elias followed moments later, the chamber door clicking shut behind him like a quiet surrender.
---
The guest chamber down the hall glowed with the soft light of a single lantern. Lirael stumbled inside as the masked man finally released him.
He almost fell backward before catching himself.
"You—wait, don't go," Lirael blurted as the man turned toward the window. "Tell me how you know about… about me. About—"
He faltered.
The masked man paused mid-step.
"…about Martin," Lirael whispered.
His voice cracked on the name. He pressed his hand to his eyes, as if shielding them from a memory too sharp to face. "And… about my eyes."
A faint rustle answered him — the masked man turning, cloak shifting like ink in water.
"You seem to have forgotten many things from back then," the man said quietly.
Lirael lowered his hand. "I—I don't remember clearly."
The masked man took a step closer. Then another. He reached up, brushing a fingertip along Lirael's cheekbone, as if he were reacquainting himself with familiar terrain.
Lirael's breath hitched. "W–what are you… doing?"
A sliver of amusement traced the man's voice. "I'll make you forget Martin. Completely."
Lirael froze. Every muscle in his body locked in place.
"How do you know his name?" Lirael whispered. "How do you know anything about him?"
"When the right time comes," the man replied, voice barely above a murmur, "I will tell you everything."
Lirael took a half-step forward — instinct, or desperation, or recognition he couldn't name.
But the room emptied in an instant.
The masked man vanished.
No trace of air displacement, no blur of movement — simply gone, as though the shadows had swallowed him whole.
Lirael spun toward the window.
Nothing.
Except—
A single jasmine blossom rested on the sill.
Fresh. Dewy. Fragrant.
He moved toward it slowly, as if afraid it might dissolve. His fingers brushed its flawless petals, and a tremor shook his chest.
"He even knows…" Lirael whispered, "…my favorite flower."
He clutched the blossom carefully, holding it close.
"Who is he?" His voice was barely audible. "I… knew him. Once. Somewhere."
l stood alone, jasmine in hand, heart pounding with a fear he couldn't name… and a memory he almost recognized.
The masked man didn't simply vanish.
He flew.
A sharp gust spiraled through the manor's hall as his boots left the floor, his cloak unfurling like a dark wing. In a heartbeat he was outside, landing on the slanted roof tiles with a predator's soundless grace.
Blackwood Manor lay beneath him — quiet, unaware, trembling at the edges of a history Lirael had forgotten.
The night wind tugged at his cloak. Moonlight threaded silver along the edges of the black-and-white mask. He tilted his head, watching the window where Lirael still stood clutching the jasmine.
"You really forgot me that easily…?"
The words were no louder than a breath, meant for no ears but his own.
A faint, almost indulgent smile curled beneath the mask — the kind of smile that hid too many memories, and far too many sins.
Then the wind shifted.
And he was gone.