In a room filled with elegance and finesse, a bed lies at its center. There, a child no older than twelve sleeps restlessly. Though the surroundings remain peaceful, the same cannot be said for the boy. His eyes flicker, sweat beads on his forehead, and his small body trembles. Time passes, yet nothing changes—if anything, his condition worsens. His voice begins to sound out, fractured words spilling from his lips.

"Stop! NO!!!" he pleads, but the nightmare neither hears nor cares.

"I'm begging you, please stop," he cries again, but to no avail.

Then, the vision in his mind reaches its peak. The child can no longer bear it—he screams at the top of his lungs, "NOOOOO!!!!" His cries echo through the grand room, tears streaming down his face, his faint sobs the only sound breaking the stillness.

He tries to calm himself, knowing there is no one else in this mansion to rely on. He wipes his tears, but more quickly take their place. He covers his mouth, hoping to stifle his sobs, but his efforts are in vain.

His plight continues for a while, but fortunately, he is able to slowly calm himself. He feels a sense of pride, knowing that this time, the wounds inflicted by his nightmares heal much faster than before.

Coincidentally, a knock reverberates from his door, coming just after he has stopped crying. "Young sir, is everything alright?" A voice speaks out—professional yet cold, lacking the concern one might expect with such a question.

"I'm alright," he replies in a raspy voice, clearly accustomed to the speaker. He rubs his eyes once more, wiping away the lingering tears. Inhaling and exhaling repeatedly, he hopes it will help him regain his voice—the way he remembers it sounding.

He gets out of bed, ignoring the aches and pains coursing through his body. Moving toward his wardrobe, he prepares to change his clothes, clearly accustomed to taking care of himself—unlike other noble children. With practiced ease, he strips off his nightshirt and heads toward the bathroom connected to his room.

The bathroom, like his room, is designed to fit the lavish tastes of nobility. The floor is covered with tiles as white as clouds, while the walls are painted gold, shimmering under the light of intricately designed orbs embedded in the ceiling. Despite its grandeur, he despises using this bathroom, much preferring the one in the training grounds. However, today is different—he has no choice but to compromise.

This is the most important day of his life. He can't afford to be late. He has already wasted too much time crying, and if he delays any further, he will only incur the dissatisfaction of his family—especially his cousins, who are eagerly preparing for this day.

With that thought in mind, he begins to clean himself, using the many luxurious products he despises. Their sickeningly sweet fragrance clings to his skin, a scent he loathes more than anything. But he is a noble—if only in name. He is neither respected by the maids, guards, nor butlers in this house, nor is he allowed to participate in the upcoming succession war that will follow today’s event.

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Today marks the long-awaited event celebrated throughout the empire—by commoners and nobles alike, by children and adults. It is a day of great anticipation, for it holds the power to change lives. This event is called the "Awakening"—a ceremony that determines the fate of many children who have reached the appropriate age. Zamel is one of them.

After completing his morning routine, he walks to his door and opens it. Standing before him is a butler—one of many who consider serving him a great displeasure.

"You should have asked for my help, young sir," the butler says, though Zamel can clearly see he is forcing the words out. He doesn’t even bother to hide the venom laced in his tone.

Even after experiencing this treatment every day, it still saddens Zamel. Though he understands the reason behind it—even believes it to be justified—acceptance does little to dull the sting.

"It's fine. I can take care of myself," he replies, attempting to mask the sadness in his voice.

The butler nods, feigning subservience but failing—or perhaps deliberately making his contempt known. "Follow me, young sir. Everyone is waiting for you in the dining room," he says before turning away, walking ahead without waiting for Zamel.

Hearing this, Zamel smiles at the news. Perhaps this time, he will be able to speak with his mother again this month. He is only allowed to talk to her once a month, and he seizes every opportunity to hear her voice.

He follows the butler to the dining room. Even from a distance, he can hear the voices spilling out of the room—joyful and filled with laughter, echoing through the hallway. Their excitement is palpable, bringing a small smile to his face, even though he knows it will fade the moment he arrives.

They step into the room, though this time, no one seems to notice them. Zamel silently hopes it will stay that way, but his hopes are quickly crushed.

"Young Master Zamel has arrived," the butler announces, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

Zamel is taken aback—this has never happened before. What is the reason for this? he asks himself. He thinks hard and comes to a conclusion. He can faintly guess the reason behind it—it seems that one of his cousin has arranged for the butler to announce his arrival, likely as an attempt to humiliate him.

As if something significant had happened, the lively chatter in the room comes to an abrupt halt. The people seated at the dining table turn their heads toward the door, their gazes landing on a small child.

Zamel, the target of their stares, lowers his head in fear. Even now, he still cannot grow accustomed to their eyes—cold, piercing, filled with undisguised contempt and distaste.

"Ohhh, Zamel, you've finally come," a voice calls out, belonging to one of his cousins—the one he is most familiar with.

His cousin speaks again, a smirk evident in his tone. "Can you explain why you're late? This is the most important day of our lives. Surely you didn’t oversleep? Or perhaps… you wet your bed again and couldn’t sleep well?"

Everyone seated at the dining table bursts into laughter. The butlers and maids remain silent. Though they despise Zamael, they cannot openly display their disrespect in front of their masters. After all, he is still part of the household they serve—and besides, the insult wasn’t even that amusing.

Zamel, the target of their mockery, lowers his head even further. This has never happened before, mainly because their family rarely dines together. And even when they do, they usually don’t acknowledge his presence—let alone care whether he is even breathing.

Their laughter continues for a while as Zamel stands awkwardly in the doorway, enduring every chuckles and giggles he hears. He knows this isn’t the end of it. Once the floodgates open, the insults will keep pouring in.

And just as he predicted, they do. The mocking words rain down on him like a heavy downpour.