(From "Until I Can Sleep Beside You")
The Aurelion manor had always been too large for silence.Marble halls stretched endlessly, draped in tapestries that told of conquests and divine lineage — things Cael no longer cared for.
After his awakening, word spread fast: The Duke's sickly son has opened his eyes.But the manor's servants soon learned that the miracle they'd prayed for was not quite what they'd imagined.
The young heir who once smiled shyly and played the harp by the garden now spoke little, moved slower, and spent hours sitting by his window, watching the sky as if he were waiting for it to end.
He asked no questions about family. He didn't ask for medicine, music, or even food.
Only tea.
Always the same request.
"Lavender. And quiet."
The head maid, who had served three generations of Aurelions, whispered that her young master's eyes no longer belonged to this world.
On the fourth morning after his awakening, the Duke himself visited — a towering man with steel-gray hair and a soldier's bearing. His footsteps echoed sharply on the marble floor as he approached the bedside.
"You've been asleep long enough," he said curtly. "If you're able to speak, then you're able to walk. I won't have my son lying about like an invalid."
Cael didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the cup of tea in his hands, the steam curling like threads of memory.
"Do you hear me, boy?"
Slowly, Cael lifted his eyes. His voice, when it came, was soft but clear — the kind of tone that could cut through marble if one listened closely enough.
"I've lived enough to know when something isn't worth waking for."
The Duke froze, caught off guard by the quiet defiance.
"What did you just say?"
But Cael had already turned his attention back to his tea.
"You wanted an heir who would survive. You have one. That should be enough."
The Duke's jaw tightened. He left without another word.
Later that afternoon, Cael wandered through the manor gardens — pale, barefoot, and dressed in loose linen. The spring wind tangled his silver hair like silk threads. He stopped before a great silver tree, its petals fluttering down like snow.
That's when he heard armor shift behind him.
"Forgive me, my lord," came a voice — calm, deep, and familiar in a way that made Cael's pulse still. "His Grace asked me to ensure your safety."
He turned.
Eren Vale stood there, sunlight glinting off his steel breastplate. His expression was composed, but his hands, clasped behind his back, were trembling faintly.
Cael studied him in silence.
Dark hair, storm-gray eyes, the faint scar across his left wrist — exactly where he'd taken a blade for Cael in his 17th life.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Do you know me?"
Eren blinked. "Pardon, my lord?"
Cael stepped closer, his gaze unreadable.
"Not my name. Me."
For a moment, Eren's composure wavered. He frowned slightly, as if something deep within him stirred.
"I…" He hesitated. "I feel as though I've met you before."
Cael's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile.
"Of course you have," he murmured. "You always do."
Eren blinked, confused, but before he could ask, Cael turned back toward the tree and sat down beneath it.
"Join me for tea tomorrow morning," Cael said softly, eyes half-closed. "If you'd like."
The knight hesitated — then bowed slightly.
"As you wish, my lord."
As Eren left, the wind carried the faint scent of lavender again. Cael leaned back against the tree, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"The same soul," he whispered. "Even if the body forgets."
He looked up at the petals falling through the sunlight.
"Let's see how long it takes before you remember me this time."