We were walking through the flower garden of Isilia Pavilion, the sa place Elena and I had visited before.
The castle had several gardens, each carefully tended and beautiful in its own way, but hyacinths blood only here.
Their soft fragrance lingered in the air, gentle and familiar, as if the pavilion itself was holding onto mories it refused to let fade.
More than anything, Alphonse liked listening to stories about our mother when we were at Isilia Pavilion.
Whenever I spoke about her, his steps would slow, and his attention would turn fully toward my voice. I told him about the entries in our mother’s diary, one page at a ti, recounting small monts and ordinary days she had written down with such care.
As I spoke, I found myself sinking into those mories as well, recalling scenes I hadn’t thought about in years.
This ti, though, it was different from before.
I wasn’t rely drowning in nostalgia. I was sharing those beautiful days with my younger brother, who had never been there, who had never known that warmth. The realization grounded in the present even as the past unfolded through my words.
Our conversation drifted naturally from our mother to myself, then to og Damian, and eventually to Alphonse. It surprised how easily his story ca up, especially since I had never paid close attention to his feelings before.
"I didn’t really care about my mother," Alphonse said quietly. "The only family I rember is my older brother and my father."
His words weren’t bitter, just honest.
"Then... at Isilia Pavilion..." I started, unsure how to continue.
"It wasn’t my father’s will that I ca here without telling anyone," he explained. "I was just curious. Curious about who my older brother and my father were seeing when they looked at ."
He lowered his gaze, his fingers brushing lightly against the petals of a hyacinth as we walked.
"I wanted to know if they saw as myself," he added, "or as soone else entirely."
Hearing that made my chest tighten.
Until then, I had always thought of Alphonse as the child who followed behind us, quiet and obedient, soone who didn’t think too deeply about such things. Yet through this simple conversation, I realized how wrong I had been.
My younger brother was far more perceptive—far more mature—than I had ever given him credit for.
It was difficult to believe that such thoughts could co from the mind of a seven-year-old.
The way he spoke, the way he chose his words, felt too deliberate, too heavy with understanding. For a fleeting mont, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind—that Alphonse might be a reincarnated person like , soone carrying mories and regrets from another life.
That suspicion lingered quietly in my chest as he spoke, not because I truly believed it, but because it was easier than accepting the truth.
The truth was that pain forced people to grow up faster. And my brother had known loss long before he should have.
"After seeing the diary Mother wrote, and after hearing everything from you," he said softly, "I also wonder what she would say if she saw now. I wonder what she would think of us."
His fingers clenched lightly at his side, though his voice remained steady.
"I want to talk to Mother too. I want to stand in the place that you and Father rember."
Those words struck deeper than any accusation ever could.
Perhaps Alphonse had learned more about our mother through that conversation—through the diary, through my clumsy explanations, through fragnts of mory that were never ant for a child his age. Even so, after laying bare those fragile thoughts, he smiled at .
"But I’m fine," he said. "I have an older brother who thinks about like this. I have the strongest father in the world. And I have a pretty and kind older sister."
He looked up at then, eyes clear and unwavering.
"So please don’t feel sorry for . I’m a happy child."
No one could take the place of a mother who was gone.
That absence was permanent, carved into the family like a missing piece that could never be restored.
No matter how much ti passed, no matter how warm the days beca, there would always be a hollow space where she should have been.
But perhaps mories could be layered over that emptiness. Perhaps laughter, shared als, and quiet conversations could soften its edges.
What unsettled was not my brother’s resilience—but myself.
I was soone who should not have been here. Soone who, in another story, would have stood on the opposite side. An antagonist wearing the skin of a brother.
I wondered how my presence would change the future of this family.
Would I protect them, as I intended?
Or would I beco the very fracture that shattered what little happiness they had managed to build?
I don’t know.
The Kraus family in the original work was good, except for Damian, but I didn’t know if they were happy. They were just supporting characters in a passing novel.
But now I was Damian, and I was the next head of the Kraus family and was also their family mber.
I wanted my family to be happy.
As I recalled it, the anxiety about the future that I thought had disappeared began to pop up again.
I imdiately opened my closed eyes and looked for Elena.
The scent of hyacinth tickles the tip of the nose.
When I saw her smiling with Alphonse, it made feel relaxed as if to say, ’When did that happen?’
It was funny how just a few days ago, I was thinking about breaking up with her but ended up like this.
’Why am I trying to get closer to her even though I know that she will be far from soday.’
I was not sure either.
----
Author Note:
Thanks for reading the Chapter, hope you liked it.
Reviews
All reviews (0)