Morning crept into Blackwood Manor like a slow, deliberate intruder.
Its first light spilled over the velvet drapes, brushed across marble columns, and slid along the polished floors of the east wing. The house felt as if it was waking reluctantly — stretching, yawning, blinking.
And then it froze.
Because August entered the hallway.
Every maid in sight gasped.
Not one whisper preceded him; they had rehearsed mourning in their minds all night, expecting screams or doctors or funeral preparations by dawn. Instead, the young master walked through the corridor with an icy, immaculate stillness that made even the portraits on the walls seem unworthy to glance at him.
Silver curls — bound loosely at the back with a ribbon. Several strands fell rebelliously across his cheekbones.
High-waisted trousers, ivory lace shirt fastened to his throat, boots polished to a merciless shine.
Long coat trailing behind him like a shadow made of winter.
His skin held no fever.
No tremor.
No trace that he had been dying last night.
The maids exchanged wide-eyed looks, breath caught in their throats.
"Is this… real?" one whispered.
"Wasn't he— yesterday—"
"How is he walking?"
August ignored them all, his smoke-grey eyes flat as a blade's edge. He descended the staircase with the kind of posture that belonged to lords, generals… or ghosts.
He entered the dining hall.
A cavernous room of gold accents, vaulted ceilings, and walls lined with ancestral oil paintings — none quite as cold as him.
August sat, spine straight as iron.
A maid rushed to place warm milk before him.
Three others bowed, startled and trembling, before scurrying out as if afraid he might crumble to ash before their eyes.
He lifted the glass.
He did not drink.
He was waiting — though for what, he refused to name.
Footsteps interrupted the silence.
Elias stepped inside.
He halted, blinking hard, as if he needed a moment to confirm this wasn't some hallucination fashioned from hope or exhaustion. The boy from last night — trembling, fevered, half-conscious — was gone. In his place sat someone composed, arrogant, pristine.
"August…" Elias breathed. "You should be in bed."
August took a sip of milk with languid disdain.
"I told everyone I didn't need help."
"So That's it—" Elias rubbed his temples. "Yesterday you were trembling in bed and now."
August set the glass down with quiet finality.
"And yet here I am."
Elias narrowed his eyes. "You should take better care of your body. It's too frail."
August's head snapped toward him, eyes blazing cold.
"You."
Elias immediately raised both hands. "Alright — enough jokes. I'm being serious."
August gave him the most bored look ever crafted by mankind. Elias felt a vein throb in irritation.
"…It's about your mother," Elias said.
August blinked.
Then he blinked again, slower.
A thin fracture formed in his expression, a single line of vulnerability slipping through before he sealed it shut.
"What about my mother?"
Elias exhaled, shoulders tightening.
"Since I remember nothing—and no one ever told me the truth to begin with… the only thing I have is what I saw. In my dream."
August stiffened.
"Your mother," Elias continued, "did she have a sister?"
August's eyes widened a fraction. He turned away, jaw tight.
"I… don't know."
"You do," Elias said quietly. "The portrait. The woman beside who was holding you is the same, I saw both of them in my dream They're twins."
August froze.
"How… how do you know that?"
"So it's true?" Elias murmured.
August hesitated.
"Yes, My mother had a twin. But I never saw her."
Elias stared at him. "Do you want to know what she said to me? In my dream?"
August's gaze lifted—slow, careful, wary.
"She…" Elias swallowed. "She called me son."
For a heartbeat, August didn't move.
His breath stilled.
His eyes widened—just a fraction—like the floor had shifted beneath him.
Only then did the reaction hit him.
The chair scraped sharply as he surged to his feet.
"That's impossible."
Elias stood as well. "Is it? I've lost my memories. I don't know who I truly am."
August shook his head violently. "You grew up without your parents. I know nothing about them."
"Exactly," Elias replied. "If she wasn't my mother, then why… why did I end up here in Blackwood Manor at all?"
August looked away, breathing hard.
"I don't know."
Elias glanced back toward him. "Does that mean… we could be cousins?"
"Stop talking nonsense," August snapped instantly, cheeks flushing. "We are not related."
Elias sighed. "Of course we're not. You inherited nothing from your mother. Her hair, her eyes — none of it is yours."
August glared at him.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," Elias said, taking a measured step closer, "if you don't resemble your mother… then how come I resemble mine?"
August's hand didn't quite tremble—he was far too controlled for that—but his grip on the back of the chair tightened, the knuckles paling.
A small, almost imperceptible pause.
A flicker in his smoke-grey eyes.
Shock first… then he crushed it beneath that usual iron will.
"Leave the matter to me," August said at last, voice low, clipped. "I'm investigating it myself."
"I'm involved," Elias shot back. "It's my past. I'm going to find the truth too."
August's jaw flexed.
"I said I'll do it myself. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
Elias didn't back off. He leaned in—deliberately, recklessly—until August could feel the heat of him, could count each breath brushing his cheek.
"Oh, I should," Elias murmured, voice dipping into something dangerously soft, "or else—"
August turned his head and met his gaze directly.
No flinch.
No retreat.
Only that iron, infuriating stubbornness Elias knew far too well.
Only that iron, infuriating stubbornness Elias knew far too well.
For a moment, Elias genuinely considered grabbing his face and shaking sense into him.
August sensed mmediately angled his chin away just in time, expression sliding into cool superiority like slipping into a well-tailored coat.
Elias let out a breath through his teeth.
"You're impossible."
"Good." August's reply was smooth, crisp, merciless. "Then stop bothering me.You stupid bastard."
Elias froze—just for a heartbeat.
A flicker of humiliation crossed his eyes, sharp and bright, before something darker replaced it. He stepped forward and seized August's wrist—the one half-hidden under the lace cuff of his shirt.
"What did you say?" Elias' voice dropped, low and flint-edged.
August startled, the tiniest crack in his composure—gone in a blink.
"Let go," he ordered, tone cold enough to frost glass.
Elias didn't. His grip tightened—not painfully, but with the promise that he could if he wished.
"I know you're a noble," he said, leaning in, "but throwing words like that won't make you stand any higher."
August twisted, trying to free himself, but Elias' hold didn't budge.
A muscle ticked in August's jaw.
He hated being overpowered more than anything.
Elias smirked, mocking. "In that fragile body, you wouldn't last long anyway."
August's teeth clicked together in fury.
"I said let go," he repeated, each syllable pressed through clenched restraint. "And stop interfering in my business."
Elias' breath hitched—not from exhaustion, but frustration.
"Yes, your business. As if that solves anything."
He leaned closer, shadows cutting across his face. "I'm hollowed out, August. My memories are all — gone. I don't know who I am. But now that I've found something, a piece of my past… I want to know who I really am."
August's eyes sharpened, turning storm-grey.
"My parents died. I know nothing about them. Nothing about my mother's sister. He lied."
His voice thinned—too controlled, too even—like steel stretched to breaking.
Elias' brows knitted, confusion and concern flickering together.
August drew a steadying breath. "Will you let my hand go, or I'll—"
He stepped forward, ready to shove Elias back with sheer will if nothing else.
Elias didn't move.
He stopped—completely—because August was suddenly too close.
The pale cheeks flushed from fury.
The narrowed eyes burning like winter fire.
Something stirred in Elias's mind—unfamiliar, haunting, a whisper of memory or emotion he couldn't name. A strange ache behind the ribs. A pull.
August sensed the shift instantly.
His pulse flickered at the base of his throat.
And in that brief lapse—Elias blinked.
August yanked his wrist free.
Elias inhaled sharply, as if dragged back to reality. Something had nearly surfaced—something his mind refused to shape.
August turned his back to him, spine straight, composure restored like a snapped cloak settling into place.
"I already told you," he said, voice cold enough to silence storms. "Stay out of older matters. It's not you who will decide what to do and what to not."
Elias watched him, chest tightening.
Not because of anger.
Because the truth—his truth—was slipping through his fingers like sand.
And August was walking away with it.
August reached the doorway of the dining hall, intent on escape, when the sharp click of hurried footsteps made him freeze.
"A-August?"
Lady Katherine's voice.
His spine locked. He turned his head just enough to confirm it—then immediately looked away, jaw clenched, as if pretending he had not been spotted because it might alter reality itself.
It did not.
Katherine swept toward him in fast, frantic strides, blinking far too rapidly for a woman of her rank. That alone spelled disaster.
Behind August, Elias stood awkwardly—half-stilled, half-confused—as if his damaged memories had chosen this exact moment to stir and torment him further.
Katherine reached her nephew and, without hesitation, placed both hands on his shoulders.
"August, dear—tell me it's true. Are you really well?"
His expression was sculpted from marble.
"I'm fine. There is nothing wrong with me."
She threw her arms around him.
"Oh, heavens above—my boy is safe! My sweet boy is truly well again!"
August's eye twitched.
"Aunt—stop making a scene. Let me go."
She held tighter.
Elias stood behind them, not daring to breathe. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or pretend he was invisible.
Katherine cupped the back of August's head, kissing his hair, then his forehead, then the flushed cheeks rapidly reddening with humiliation.
"I was ready to murder the entire court," she declared dramatically, "but now that you're fine, everyone may breathe again."
"AUNT—let go."
She pinched his cheek.
"Aww, my cute little—"
August's eyes grew wet.
Not touched—mortified.
He slapped her hand away, cheeks flaming.
"Enough."
Katherine froze, blinking wide-eyed at her suddenly feral nephew.
August inhaled sharply, turned away, shoulders stiff as spears.
Elias muttered under his breath, "Serves him right."
Katherine shot Elias a scandalized look before calling after August, "My dear angel, where are you going?"
"Stop calling me that," August barked back. "I'm not a child anymore."
He vanished down the corridor with the dramatic intensity of a man fleeing a battlefield.
Katherine pressed a hand to her heart, exhaling pure relief.
"Thank goodness…" she whispered. Only now did she fully relax.
She turned to Elias.
He straightened instantly, caught like a guilty soldier.
"Elias, my boy," Katherine greeted warmly.
He blinked, still stiff. "Yes, my lady?"
Since when did she terrify him?
She stepped closer, her tone softening. "Now that August is well, you must take care of him, all right?"
Elias's mouth twitched.
"Me? Taking care of him? My lady, when he was poisoned it was easy. But when he's perfectly fine—he's… challenging."
Katherine put a hand on her hip. "Since you've lost your memories, you have much to relearn. And most of what you've forgotten is tied to August."
Elias lowered his head, fingers curling into fists.
"Just as you say, my lady."
Katherine smacked his elbow with familial indignation.
"Stop calling me that. You may call me Aunt."
Elias blinked, startled.
"…Just as you say, Aunt."
"Good." Her expression softened into something fond. "Now—did you have your breakfast?"
Elias shook his head.
Katherine gasped. "Then what are you waiting for? Come. Sit."
They walked back to the vast table. She stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing at a half-empty glass of milk.
"He only had milk?" she hissed. "When will that boy understand—"
Elias sat beside her as maids rushed into the hall, each carrying trays stacked with warm bread, honeyed fruit, boiled eggs, and steaming tea. Servants practically lined the table in their effort to please Lady Katherine.
She waved a spoon at Elias. "When you finish, take a plate to August. I know he skipped his meal. But while I'm here, he won't waste a single crumb under my nose."
Elias nodded obediently. "Understood."
"Good. Eat."
Breakfast began.
Meanwhile…
August sat alone in his father's study—hands clasped, elbows on the desk, frustration radiating from him like heat from a forge.
He pressed his palms into his eyes.
"I must hurry," he murmured. "I must piece everything together before anyone else interferes."
Not Elias.
Not his aunt Katherine
This truth—whatever it was—belonged to him alone.