It was cold. And this coldness was familiar to me.
“The eyes are the pathway to the soul,” the Marquis had told me again and again. For that reason, he claimed, the surest way to judge whether sorcery had taken root was to observe the eyes obsessively.
At first, I hadn’t understood what he meant. But as I grew, I came to understand fully.
The cloth covering the servants’ faces was so thin and light that whenever a draft came or a door closed, it would flutter, often revealing the face beneath.
And in those moments, I had unwillingly glimpsed their eyes more than once. They looked like corpses drowned in water. Eyes empty, without a hint of light, sunk black like dead fish.
As expected, Zachary’s eyes were no different. Whether because of sorcery or because his awakening had yet to come, they bore no trace of the brilliant blue glow said to appear when his sacred power grew strong. Instead, they were heavy, dark depths—abyssal eyes. Who could look into those and believe his soul was alive?
Not even I.
I couldn’t believe it.
That a boy barely into his teens, after over two months of relentless brainwashing, still had a self? Even after seeing it with my own eyes, it was hard to accept. Yet I knew—Zachary’s mind had not been wholly consumed.
“You can hear me, can’t you?”
Still holding the paper mask, I leaned in. Creak—kneeling on the bed, I found myself slightly taller than him where he stood awkwardly. Shadows flickered across his pale face, but still he did not move. No trembling of his hands, no blinking of his eyes.
And yet, I was certain he heard me.
“You’ve suffered.”
Was that all I could manage to say? Never in my life had I thought my lack of eloquence a flaw—but today I cursed it bitterly.
“Thank you. For trusting me… and for reaching out to me.”
Even if all he could do was tremble his fingertips, who could measure the effort that had taken? The memory of him greeting me with all his strength when we first met seemed distant, dreamlike.
But that meeting had not been a dream. He had not let my words slip away. He had remembered, and endured, pretending to surrender to sorcery. And even when he was mastered so completely he could not control his own body, he had preserved one thing—the movement of a fingertip.
So slight it could be missed unless you paid close attention. And yet, with only that, he had managed to pull me back from despair.
What kind of miracle was this?
My chest surged, and I pulled Zachary closer, gripping his face between my hands. Flap—the paper mask slipped back over his face the moment I let go.
His body beneath the bandages was hard, unyielding. Perhaps the programming hadn’t included what to do when embraced—his arms hovered stiffly in the air, frozen. The two of us must have looked absurd.
Someone seeing this might laugh.
Another might shudder, horrified. His body was so cold, so rigid, it was like hugging a mannequin.
But the moment I drew him in, I widened my eyes.
The soul of Zachary Thaddeus trembled. His battered little body might be curled up and hidden, but it was still beating.
I heard it blooming slowly against my chest. And I made a vow.
“Your heartbeat just sped up.”
No matter what, I would restore him.
That rapid beat, as if begging me to notice him, shook my fragile mind back to resolve. I lifted my head, determination burning.
“Your mouth. Your tongue isn’t cut out, is it?”
I wanted to check.
Many servants had been robbed of speech. Especially those who knew secrets—their tongues had been carved out entirely. Usually, tongues were sealed with sorcery, but for those with foul mouths, the Marquis was known to cut them out as punishment.
“If it’s just sealed and not cut, that would be best.”
The spells carved all over his body were important to break, but the mouth was urgent. If he could open it, we could at least talk, exchange information.
Worried, I tapped his lips lightly, urging him to open. But there was no response.
“Quickly. Just open—it’s only to see if it’s sealed, and what the mark is.”
The Marquis knew how disastrous it would be if Zachary’s existence were revealed outside. He must have feared his voice might bring chaos, so it was likely he sealed it. Ordinarily, he would have altered the face as well, but since I was still sick, he must have rushed Zachary’s preparation, leaving the face untouched, replacing it with those bizarre bandages instead.
I pressed firmly. His lips did not part. Stubbornly shut. I had no choice but to speak.
“Open.”
Surely his tongue hadn’t been cut? It mustn’t be. If it were gone, there would be no restoring it…
But in the original story, the awakened Zachary had no trouble speaking. So his tongue must be intact. Still, I wanted to be certain.
“Come on. Open your mouth.”
Why wouldn’t he? Could it be that the Marquis ordered him not to reveal the sigils? If he refused to show them, how would I learn the spells to break them…?
“Wait, wait, wait—your legs—why are you—why are you spreading them? Hey. Hey!”
I froze, remembering vaguely that part of their training included compliance if the master sought satisfaction of lust. My face flushed. Hastily, I pushed his legs back together.
This was insane.
Of course the boy hadn’t meant it that way, but I was mortified. More than that, I couldn’t understand—he was a boy! Why on earth would he—
“It’s a misunderstanding.”
I hurriedly explained to him.
“That’s not it. I didn’t mean that. Don’t get the wrong idea. I only wanted to check if your tongue was there, so if you could just open your mouth… Yes, like that.”
Thankfully, this time he seemed to understand. His mouth slowly opened.
I leaned closer to check the seal inside—but then, a light knock sounded, and the door burst open in a rush.
There were only two people who could enter my room with just a token knock: the Marquis or Mother.
If it were Mother, it would be fine. But if it were the Marquis—he might realize I was investigating the sorcery. My face went bloodless as I turned my head.
“Pardon me, but I need to confirm something immedi—”
It was neither the Marquis nor Mother.
A stranger’s voice. Deep, heavy, husky—then abruptly cut off.
I turned slowly. At the door stood a tall figure, frozen in place. Taller even than the Marquis, his face was still boyish but his body looked already fully grown, solid. His features were unfamiliar, but the silver hair and pale gray eyes declared his lineage.
…Erhan?
It was hard to call him the same as the child I remembered. That delicate doll-like face remained, but his frame had become far too large.
Stunned by his sudden appearance, I stared blankly. Then noticed his strange expression. Following his gaze, I looked down—
At Zachary, kneeling obediently before me, half his face still covered by paper. At myself, clutching his jaw, forcing his mouth open.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
I denied it immediately.
But I had already seen.
Erhan’s eyes, wide and trembling faintly, fixed on me, his face pale.
“I-it really isn’t what it looks like.”
And why was I stammering?
I was so pathetic I couldn’t even sigh. Every second dragged like an hour in the heavy silence.
I looked at Erhan again.
I had often imagined our reunion. Since the day I was five, Erhan had avoided House Serpentine, preferring to spend his breaks at the villa near the capital, or visiting the Marquis at other estates. He hadn’t set foot in this main house since the age of eight. And now, at seventeen, he appeared.
Of course I had expected we would meet someday. But not like this.
Not in such a compromising scene.
I turned quickly, gently closing Zachary’s still-open mouth. Erhan, who had at first been simply shocked, grew calm as he watched.
He’s grown so much. Do boys at that age grow this fast?
Erhan had always been precocious. His face still held some boyishness, but at that height, he looked almost adult.
For a long while he only stared into my face, then slowly blinked. Sunlight caught his lashes, glimmering as he spoke.
“You’ve grown just the same.”