The following morning arrived without a single visual cue, announcing its presence only through the changing rhythms of the manor. Shawn could feel the household shifting. The footsteps outside his heavy bedroom door carried a different pattern than the night before. Lighter, structured, and entirely less scattered.
It wasn't Ness, and it wasn't Clara. A firm knock rattled the wood with two distinct taps, followed by a sharp pause. The door swung open, and a calm, unfamiliar voice broke the quiet room.
"You are expected."
Shawn did not respond immediately. He turned his face slightly, tracking the origin of the sound.
"Expected for what?"
"Lessons," the servant replied simply.
Shawn let out a slow breath.
So it begins.
He stood up and adjusted his footing, refusing to rely on the servant for guidance. Over the past week, he had trained himself to navigate his immediate surroundings, and while he wasn't fully independent, he was no longer lost.
He followed the footsteps out of the room. The walk felt completely different from the usual routes he took with Ness. It wasn't a longer distance, but it was significantly quieter. Shawn noticed the change immediately; there were no overlapping conversations, no distant voices from other wings, and the air itself felt heavy and contained. They were entering a secluded section of the manor that did not welcome casual noise.
He counted each turn automatically: left, straight, down a long corridor, and then a sudden stop. A door opened, and the servant positioned him into a chair. [1]
Shawn ran his fingers lightly along the smooth, clean wooden table in front of him. This furniture felt completely different from the rough, splintered surfaces in his bedroom cell.
An older, measured voice spoke from across the table.
"You are the boy Morgan spoke of."
Shawn stayed silent. The tutor did not insist on an answer. Instead, Shawn heard a soft movement as a heavy object was placed on the table and pushed forward.
"Place your hands here," the tutor instructed.
Shawn hesitated for a moment before obeying. His fingertips touched raised lines and patterns carved into the material. They weren't random cuts; they were highly structured. He traced the surface slowly.
At first, the texture meant absolutely nothing to him. But as his fingers moved, repetition appeared, the exact same shapes in different arrangements.
Something inside his mind shifted. It wasn't full understanding, but rather a sudden recognition without meaning.
He frowned into the dark.
"What is this?"
"This is how people read," the tutor said.
Shawn's fingers froze on the page. The word was entirely familiar, yet it felt distant from his current reality.
He resumed tracing the shapes, forcing himself to move slower and more deliberately. The patterns began to separate inside his head, forming a distinct structure. It felt exactly like listening to a foreign language before learning what the words meant.
He lost track of how long he sat there in the quiet room. The only change was his breathing, which slowed as his confusion turned into raw focus.
"…I can tell there's a structure to it," he muttered.
Shawn didn't argue aloud, but internally, he disagreed. He was starting from absolute nothing.
Time passed without any definition. Without his sight or a clock to track the hours, the lesson became a continuous loop of repetition: touch, pause, retry, and slow refinement.
At one point, Shawn paused and leaned closer to the desk.
"This specific pattern repeats."
"Yes."
A long silence followed, and Shawn continued to trace the lines. Something about the physical arrangement felt familiar in a way he couldn't explain. It wasn't a visual memory or a standard instinct, but rather a form of muscle knowledge that had lost its origin story. He ignored the feeling and focused entirely on the mechanical layout of the text.
Eventually, heavy, unhurried footsteps entered the library room. Shawn didn't look up; he recognized the rhythm instantly. It was Morgan.
The man entered with no announcement or ceremony, his sheer presence filling the space.
The tutor stopped speaking out of respect.
Morgan spoke casually to the room.
"Progress?"
"Yes, my lord," the tutor replied.
Shawn remained silent, keeping his hands on the raised page. Morgan did not approach the table immediately, standing somewhere behind his shoulder to observe. Even without sight, Shawn felt the weight of that heavy attention. Morgan wasn't weighing his basic reading skills; he was looking for something much deeper.
Morgan finally spoke.
"Better than expected."
Shawn's fingers paused on the surface, but his face remained perfectly blank.
"The boy adapts quickly," Morgan continued, his voice dropping slightly. "Too quickly."
Shawn didn't move a muscle, but his chest tightened.
Morgan stepped closer, just enough to be heard clearly without invading his personal space.
"This will continue," Morgan said coldly. "Reading is only the beginning."
Shawn frowned.
"Beginning of what?"
Morgan did not answer immediately. The heavy silence stretched across the room before a single word cut through the dark.
"Access."
The word hung in the air long after Morgan turned away. Shawn didn't understand its full meaning yet, but he knew enough to dislike it.
"You may continue," Morgan told the tutor, adding almost casually, "Observe him closely."
The tutor gave a short nod, and Morgan left the room. His footsteps faded into the distance without any dramatic exit.
Shawn remained completely still, his fingers resting on the raised surface. He was no longer focused on learning the system; his mind was entirely fixed on that single word.
Access.
He didn't know what Morgan wanted to unlock, but he knew one thing clearly: it was not meant for his own benefit.
The tutor gently pulled the material back across the table.
"That is enough for today."
Shawn didn't immediately withdraw his hands, his fingers lingering on the empty wood. Stopping the lesson felt incomplete, but he finally pulled away slowly.
Silence returned to the room, but it no longer felt empty. It felt like it was waiting.
Shawn sat there for a moment longer, leaned back into his chair, and exhaled a quiet breath of curiosity.
...
Elsewhere in the manor, the silence was different. It wasn't the quiet of confinement like Shawn's room, nor the calm of the library. It was structured and controlled. Every sound in this part of the estate felt expected.
Morgan sat in his office. A servant stood at a respectful distance, head lowered.
"Sir," the servant said carefully. "The goods are ready."
Morgan did not look up immediately. His fingers rested against the edge of his desk as if finishing a thought.
"Already?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
Morgan stood.
"Take me there."
The corridor outside his office was long and quiet. No unnecessary footsteps followed him. The servants who passed immediately lowered their gaze and stepped aside. Morgan walked at an even pace, neither rushed nor slow. [1]
The servant led the way deeper into the manor, moving downward. The air changed gradually, growing heavier. Stone replaced polished wood, and decorative silence replaced functional silence.
Eventually, they stopped at a reinforced door. Two guards stood outside, opening it without speaking. Morgan stepped in.
The large room was built for purpose rather than comfort. At the center was a metallic bed structure where a man lay strapped down. Tubes ran from the ceiling, connecting to his arms and chest. Some were transparent, while others carried faintly colored fluids that pulsed slowly.
The man on the bed was barely conscious. His body trembled in uneven intervals, resisting something inside trying to break apart.
Morgan approached without hesitation, looking down calmly. He extended his hand, and a small vial appeared between his fingers. He opened it, letting a single drop of dark liquid fall onto his fingertip. Morgan leaned forward and pressed it gently against the man's forehead.
The moment the drop made contact, a faint pulse spread outward. The tubes reacted first, then the air, then the man's body. His breathing stabilized, and his trembling slowed. The fluid in the tubes shifted color.
Morgan watched closely, measuring the result.
Suddenly, a stronger pulse broke the stability. The man's eyes widened as if forced open. His body jerked violently against the restraints, making the tubes shake.
Morgan's gaze did not change as he took a single step back.
The reaction escalated. A sharp crack echoed through the room. The air felt strained, and then the instability collapsed inward. The man's body convulsed once more, and everything stopped.
A sudden rupture followed. The system failed. The energy inside the tubes dispersed violently, scattering into the air in a dull burst of distorted light and mist. The man's body went still, all remaining resistance erased at once.
Morgan looked at the result for a few seconds.
"Another failure."
No anger or frustration showed in his voice. He turned away. One of the assistants in the room lowered his head, not daring to speak.
Morgan walked toward the exit. Before leaving, his eyes briefly shifted toward the empty space where the reaction had occurred, then he left. The door closed behind him with a heavy sound.
Outside, the corridor felt clean again. The air returned to its controlled stillness, and the servant followed a few steps behind.
"Prepare the next subject," Morgan said calmly.
"Yes, sir," the servant replied.
Morgan did not slow his pace. As they walked back, his thoughts remained unreadable. This was not the first time, and it would not be the last.