An old dream. Frozen. Perhaps captured. My hands reaching toward somewhere, held by something, being dragged downward.
A foolish, repetitive dream. All these childish, scattered thoughts.
I wanted to sleep more, but I felt a faint light shining on my eyes.
Probably Frederick opening the curtains again, as usual.
A small smile touched my lips. I opened my eyes to say something to him—only to be met with something entirely different.
This was not my room. Everything appeared in black and white. My body was smaller.
It seemed to be a black-and-white dream, yet I still had control within it. However, I couldn't color it.
This meant that inside a black-and-white dream, I had seen a colored one.
It was somewhat confusing. Perhaps my mind was still disturbed by the events of the past few days.
Most likely, this was a memory from the real Elias's past. But why black and white?
I finally decided to get out of this bed. When I stood, I immediately felt the difference in height. This dream probably belonged to when Elias was seven or eight years old.
An old memory.
But the room was far too large for a child—much larger than any child would need.
I decided to search Elias's room. What better place to start than the desk?
I walked over and looked at the books on the desk. My steps in this dream were very short, which made sense since it was a childhood memory.
To read the titles, I had to climb onto the chair. Most of the books were either textbooks or political works. Nothing particularly special.
For some reason, I thought of climbing onto the desk itself.
Why not?
I did it. The titles on the left stack were ordinary. I turned my attention to the right stack—and my eyes fell on a familiar word. Or rather, a number.
The top book on the right stack had "XII" written on its cover.
My eyes widened. What was this book doing here?
Why did it have a cover? Did this book originally belong to the Montagu family? Could it be that—unlike the blank one I saw at Baron Romeo's wedding—this book actually contained writing?
I quickly reached for it, but the moment my finger touched the cover—
Ah.
I fell to the floor. Inside a hallway. Probably a hallway from the same dream.
I looked behind me. It was the same room, door still open. But when I turned to go back inside—
I collided with an invisible wall. Though it wasn't entirely invisible. It felt more like firm jelly. The imprint of my face remained on this hidden barrier.
This dream was likely progressing according to a specific memory. Meaning I could explore a location only until a certain event or person appeared in the memory. Once that happened, I would be pulled to a new place and could never return to the previous one.
Of course, that was just my theory—possibly correct, possibly wrong.
I gave myself a small, bitter smile and turned to examine the hallway—when I was suddenly transported again. This time, I stood in front of a staircase.
The memory was still black and white. The servants around me had completely black faces and only white clothes. White and black walls, black and white floors.
I spoke to myself:
"A colorless memory!? Why!?"
I began descending the stairs until I reached the main hall on the first floor. I wanted to explore more of the first floor—when I was suddenly moved to the center of the hall.
These random jumps were truly irritating. But it was clear I had to follow a specific timeline. Probably after the main hall, I would be taken outside the manor.
I took a deep breath and said:
"Fine… what's at the end of this? This is just boring!!"
After saying that, I closed my eyes and locked my hands behind my back.
I wanted to create a dramatic scene for myself.
When I opened my eyes, I was outside the manor—surrounded by bushes. Everything was still black and white, but from their shape, they were clearly bushes. Small white particles drifted down from the sky. Probably snow.
I said to myself:
"This memory… belongs to winter!"
Since I could feel the cold, my guess was probably correct.
This time I spoke inside my mind:
"Why am I making so many guesses inside a dream!!!—"
I placed my hand on my forehead—when I was suddenly transported again.
I removed my hand and looked around.
I was standing in the middle of an octagonal gazebo.
I looked around the structure and thought:
"This… wasn't in the Manchester manor!!"
As far as I remembered, there had never been such a gazebo in the Manchester estate.
I was still thinking about this and turning my head when my eyes caught something behind one of the gazebo pillars.
I took a few steps toward the pillar. But the moment I took the last step near the edge—I was transported beside the manor wall.
I looked around in surprise. Behind me, a few meters away, was the entrance to the manor—the same door I had used to enter the garden.
The gazebo was directly opposite that door.
Which meant whatever I had seen was right behind this wall.
I slowly lowered my head.
But the moment I saw what I probably shouldn't have seen, my heart began to pound violently. It felt as if something was squeezing it.
I lowered my head again to look more carefully.
Two people. Only those two had color in this black-and-white dream.
The person on the left wore a white shirt with a brown waistcoat and dark trousers. But the most important detail was his brown hair. From the portraits I had seen in the Manchester manor, I was certain.
He was Elias's father. Or rather—my father. Henry Montagu.
But the person on the right—who was he?
Completely black clothing. The collar of his coat was so high it covered his face.
But what was that envelope?
What was Henry handing to that man?
What was inside that envelope?
I hid myself behind the wall so they wouldn't see me. But this was a dream, so I decided to run toward them.
With all the speed this small body could manage, I burst out from behind the wall and ran toward them.
But I had only taken a few steps when the ground beneath me collapsed. Or rather, the entire dream shattered like glass.
Everything plunged into absolute darkness.
I saw a familiar scene again.
A crooked, lidless dark blue eye—and perhaps hundreds or thousands of smaller eyes of the same color around it.
All of them staring at me.
Once again, the whisper came into my ear:
"Velkareth."
It was bearable—but then a loud heartbeat sound reached me.
Sudden. Extremely sudden.
With the sound of that heartbeat, pain exploded in my own heart—as if something was crushing it.
I closed my eyes from the pain. But if I died inside a dream, what would happen?
I tried with all my strength to open my eyes. They had only opened slightly when the voice whispering "Velkareth" grew louder—until my ears began to bleed from the intensity.
This dark blue eye wanted to kill me.
But why!?
What even was this creature?
The sound suddenly stopped. At that moment—while my eyes were fully open from the pain—shadowy hands resembling human ones slowly rose and wrapped around my body.
I couldn't move. The large crooked eye stared at me, not moving even slightly.
My attention shifted from the shadowy hands to the large crooked dark blue eye.
One of the shadowy hands reached into my chest and gripped my heart tightly. I could clearly feel five fingers.
The pressure on my heart grew stronger with every second.
It became so intense that I started coughing up blood. But the moment the blood left my mouth, it merged with the darkness around me.
As if no color except black and that dark blue eye was allowed here.
The pressure on my heart grew so great that I pressed my hand against my chest.
It was the only thing I could do.
But suddenly my hand was knocked aside. Pain, burning, tingling—everything hit me at once.
The shadowy hand had ripped out my heart. The broken bones of my ribcage floated in the dark space.
The blood pouring from my body no longer merged with the darkness. Blood even pooled in my eyes. There were no more tears.
I… was dying?
My life… was ending because I ran inside a dream?
I… shouldn't have taken risks?
Risk of what…? I was already dead!
My eyes slowly grew smaller. The last thing I saw was a faint light at the top of that dark space.
And then—I saw nothing.
But I think I heard something. Someone or something said, "Foolish."
Perhaps it was that light.
Even though I was sure I felt nothing—no pain, no sensation—suddenly I felt a powerful fist strike my back.
I turned quickly to see what it was—when I suddenly found myself sitting upright in my luxurious bed. Everything was normal. So normal that its normality frightened me.
I felt a severe choking sensation in my throat. To clear it, I coughed several times. The first coughs were very violent, but the later ones grew quieter.
I coughed so much that my throat was probably scratched raw—when Frederick suddenly rushed into the room and said:
"My lord… should I call the doctor?? Your coughing could be heard all the way to the first floor!!"
My eyes—which had been wide open since waking—returned to normal.
Well, this was the real world. No longer a dream.
I exhaled and said:
"No need… I just had a bad dream."
Frederick breathed a sigh of relief.
"Ah… I was worried for nothing!!"
I smirked and said:
"Old man, as the longest-serving servant of the Montagu family, at the very least you should knock before entering my room—like everyone else. I won't mention who."
Frederick gave a small laugh.
"Yes, I know. You definitely weren't referring to William!"
We both started laughing.
I knew dukes were not supposed to be too friendly with their servants and should maintain social distance.
But this man had been Head Butler of the Montagu family since Elias was a child.
───────────────────────────
Outside the Montagu manor, in a pipe shop in Soho, West End, a familiar person was present.
Oh, William had bought a new pipe.
It would be better if Frederick or Elias never saw that new pipe.
Good luck, William.