While everybody outside the cocoon was busy working, Serik did not remain idle. He relived his entire childhood at the Veylor estate again and again, without pause, as a mere spectator.
He was three—perhaps four at most. All he saw was a smaller version of himself: sleeping, playing, causing mischief. He was never alone. Always with his mother.
It began with a morning he did not remember at all.
That morning, his mother entered the room, sat down on the bed, and gently rubbed his arm.
"Wake up, my little bear."
Seeing her, Serik wanted to speak. He wanted to tell her everything he had experienced, to tell her how much he missed her. But he could not move a muscle. He could not speak. All he had were his sight and his thoughts.
The memory faded, and another took its place.
The first time he cooked with his mother, he tried to prepare pancakes without her help. He broke at least twenty eggs, failed to mix the batter properly, and got flour all over his face. His mother let him do whatever he wanted; she only watched and laughed. When he finally presented his first batch, she ate them.
His young mind could not tell how terrible they were, but the slight twitch of her lips gave it away. Even so, she finished them. To this day, he didn't know whether making him clean the kitchen afterward was punishment for the food or for the mess—but she did it together with him. And that was what mattered.
He was happy.
Sigh.
Then came another memory.
His mother sat on the floor with him, parchment spread between them. She held his hand gently, guiding it as he struggled to draw letters that were far too big and crooked.
"No, no," she said softly, laughing. "Slowly. Let the hand rest."
He frowned in concentration, tongue sticking out as he tried again. The letters were still messy, but she smiled as if he had done something extraordinary.
"That's good," she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Very good."
He remembered the feeling well—her hand over his, steady and patient. He failed again and again, and each time she was there to guide him back and let him try once more.
I miss those days.
But the happy memories soon came to an end, and the nightmares began.
They started shortly after his mother's death—at the funeral.
Elaria Feizen arrived without offering condolences or looking at the casket. She looked at his father and said calmly, "Let's quickly choose our wedding date."
His father did not turn toward her. His eyes remained fixed on the lowered casket as he simply nodded.
Satisfied, Elaria walked away—but not before casting a cold, menacing glance at Serik.
Serik did not notice. His thoughts were drowned in images of his mother, his young mind unable to understand why she had left him.
Eventually, everyone departed. Only Damar, Serik, and his father's employees remained.
After a while, his father pulled him aside.
"Your mother is gone," he said. "But don't worry. You still have me."
Serik broke down and hugged him tightly.
"She's gone, Dad," he cried. "Mother is gone."
"I know, my boy," his father replied, holding him. "I know. But you still have me."
Back then, Serik felt safe.
It did not last.
After Elaria arrived, everything changed.
He was not invited to the wedding. Elaria did not want an eyesore present at her happiest moment. When the ceremony ended, she moved into the mansion immediately.
At first, she ignored him completely. Every attempt Serik made to speak to her was met with indifference or scorn. He tried to connect—he had just lost his mother and was desperate for someone to fill that void—but after repeated rejection, he gave up.
He spent his days alone in his room, crying or clinging to memories of his mother.
Months passed like this.
One day, Elaria finally lost patience.
She dragged him from his room and took him into the garden, where several men dressed in black were waiting. There, she beat him and screamed that it was his fault she could not have children—that he should die.
"Because of you," she hissed, "he barely looks at me."
Serik begged. He apologized. He stayed silent. Nothing helped.
This happened more than once.
Whenever he tried to reach his father, he was stopped by his men. He cried outside his father's door, but no answer ever came. Years passed without him seeing Damar again.
His only solace was the mansion staff.
They remembered Sera—the most gentle person to have ever graced this world—and could not bear to see her child mistreated. They brought Serik extra food. Some played with him in secret. One of the older maids read him stories at night.
Elaria noticed.
She stopped pretending.
One night, after learning she was pregnant, she decided Serik was no longer needed. His existence had become an inconvenience—one she intended to remove quietly.
Damar was away that night. She went to bed satisfied, convinced that by morning everything would be resolved.
She never heard the hired man scream.
When she opened her eyes the next morning, the smell hit her first.
The man lay sprawled across the floor of her bedroom, naked and unmoving. His skin had turned a deep, unnatural purple. One eye was swollen beyond recognition. The room was silent—too silent.
She retched.
As she struggled to regain her composure, she noticed something on the wall.
A message, drawn in blood.
The next one will be you.
Fear spread.
The staff believed Elaria was displaying her power.Elaria believed the staff had the audacity to warn her.
Neither knew the truth.
Everything was done by Jons.
Disguised as one of the older servants, he ensured that Elaria would think twice before ever raising her hand again.