Dash stood at the edge of the dimmed hallway, just out of view from the door to his father's study. His heart raced, pulsing against his chest like a caged bird frantic to escape.
His body was taut, coiled like a spring, ready to react. He knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping; this was a line he had vowed himself never to cross, but an inextinguishable curiosity enchanted him, and he couldn't help but listen in.
He had to know what was happening in that room.
Suddenly, as if drawn by his anxiety, another voice cut through the silence. It was softer than the first, a whisper, yet it carried a significance that hung in the air. "It's too late. We've already made our decision."
Dash felt his stomach drop, the words hitting like stones tossed into deep water, each one sinking until a cold dread wrapped itself around his gut and tightened. What decision? The question resounded in his mind, intensifying his worry and fear.
His hand quivered as it hovered near the doorframe of his father's study; the familiar wood grain, a source of comfort, turned ominous. But he couldn't bring himself to cross that threshold; he was paralyzed by the gravity of the moment, the conversation unfolding in fragments that only heightened his anxiety.
Fragments of the overheard conversation drifted through his mind, unattainable yet loaded with a sense of premonition. Just as he tried to piece it together, familiar footsteps echoed down the dim hall. Panic surged, and Dash froze, muscles tense, holding his breath as the sound approached.
Dash retreated silently, his footsteps muffled against the cool, polished floor as he squeezed himself against the wall. Every breath he took was shallow, barely disturbing the stillness around him, as he slipped back down the hallway. It wasn't until he reached the entry of the sunlit parlor that he finally lingered, the radiant warmth washing over him like a comforting embrace.
The golden light spilled across the floor, illuminating the dust motes that danced lazily in the air, making the space feel vibrant and alive as if nothing had changed despite the pressure he had just escaped.
But everything had changed.
He stood there for what felt like an eternity, his gaze fixed on the comic book and textbook sprawled carelessly across the chaise lounge as if they were relics from a life that no longer belonged to him.
The vibrant colors of the comic book seemed dulled in the stark light of the room, while the textbook lay open, pages fluttering softly as if whispering secrets. The words he had overheard echoed in his mind like an enigmatic riddle: memories... trigger phrase... regain control.
At first, Dash assumed they were talking about Leo. His older brother had always been volatile, complicated, haunted in a way that seemed to deepen with time. But something about the tone in his father's voice didn't sit right.
It was too composed, too cold, like someone troubleshooting a faulty device rather than discussing a person in distress. That wasn't how his father talked about family.
Unease settled in his gut as another possibility crept in, quieter but far more disturbing. What if they weren't talking about Leo at all? What if they meant someone else, one of their Alucard servants?
His mind latched onto the thought like a thorn. Igor.
Always perplexing, with an air of quiet perfection, Igor had a knack for appearing at just the right moment and uttering precisely the words needed. But lately, Dash had begun to sense a shift. There were moments, brief, almost imperceptible, when Igor's eyes would linger just a second too long, like his mind was reaching for something hidden in fog.
Other times, a flicker passed over his face, subtle and strange, as if some buried fragment had clawed its way to the surface. In those instants, he didn't look obedient or blank; he looked haunted.
Dash slumped into his chair, the weight of these revelations crushing down on his chest.
He watched Igor glide silently through the house, his movements precise and fluid, each step a testament to years of training in servitude. Oblivious to scrutiny, Igor adhered to every command uttered by the Lennox family, never daring to question their authority or intentions, at least, not vocally.
As Dash observed this dynamic, a troubling realization began to dawn on him. The Alucards, unlike the family they served, had never been friends or allies; they had always been slaves, treated as mere tools to be used and discarded.
Dash's heart pounded as he stared down at his restless fingers, twisting them as if to shake off the uneasy truth creeping in. Despite his earlier careless jokes treating Alucards like property, deep down, he knew they were more, especially Igor.
They were individuals, deserving of dignity and respect.
The burden of the family legacy weighed heavily on him, and he realized he could no longer turn a blind eye to the darkness lurking beneath their polished facade.
It was like a veil had been pulled back, exposing the harsh reality of a system that had stripped the humanity from those he once saw as comrades. Gathering his resolve, Dash vowed to uncover the truth behind Igor and the Alucards', existence.
He wondered if perhaps Igor needed help to navigate the emerging chaos. The stakes were high; if his father uncovered Igor's slipping grasp on their carefully constructed facade first, if they resorted to the "trigger phrase" once more, Dash, the often-ignored youngest child in the family, could lose an important friend.
While Dash often sought distractions beyond the mansion's walls, chasing fleeting moments with girls and shallow friendships, inside, his world was defined by isolation.
As his father's only biological son, he moved through the vast estate like a shadow, often overlooked amid its cold grandeur. In that solitude, his bond with Igor, his sister's servant, stood out as a rare source of understanding and quiet support.
The thought of losing that fragile connection was heartbreaking.
The anxiety ground at him like a restless shadow, whispering insistently that he couldn't keep pretending anymore. The pressure in his chest grew heavier with every second, pushing him closer to breaking point.
He had to reach out to his sister, the only one sharp enough, strong enough to face the darkness creeping around them. No more hiding. It was time to face the storm head-on, together.