The night air was heavy and still, carrying the faint scent of rain through the manor’s open windows. Ezekiel lay awake staring at the carved beams of his ceiling, thoughts circling.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the painting his parents side by side in a flower field, laughing as though nothing could touch them.
And he couldn’t stop hearing his mother’s voice in the cellar:

 I love my son more than life itself. For him, I’d kill a hundred like you.

It was love.
But it was terrifying.

Eventually exhaustion dragged him under. And with it came the dream.

He stood again in the Bonaventura gardens, but not as he’d seen them by day. The paths glowed pale silver under moonlight, the hedges taller, more labyrinthine. The air shimmered with a strange stillness the kind that came only in dreams.

And there, sitting on the edge of the marble fountain, was a man with shoulder-length purple hair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a paint stain still smudged on his wrist.

“Hello, son,” Ermes said, as if they’d known each other forever. His voice was warm, low, and so familiar it made Ezekiel’s chest ache.

“You know me?” Ezekiel whispered.

“Of course I do. I’d know you anywhere.” Ermes smiled, and it felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “I didn’t think her blood would wake in you so soon.”

“You mean these dreams?” Ezekiel asked.

Ermes nodded. “The Bonaventura gift. you see the past and sometimes… the future. But it’s dangerous. What you see isn’t always what it seems.”

Ezekiel stepped closer. “I saw you and Mother in a garden. You gave her a ring. She said yes.”

“She always said yes,” Ermes murmured fondly, eyes soft. “Even when it meant danger. Even when it meant running.” His smile faltered just slightly. “Tell her… no. Don’t tell her yet. Not until you understand.”

“Understand what?” Ezekiel demanded.

Before Ermes could answer, the garden around them darkened. A cold wind whipped through the hedges. Somewhere beyond the fountain, a shadow moved 

 tall, crowned, faceless.

 The air reeked of iron.

“Listen to me,” Ermes said sharply, gripping Ezekiel’s shoulders. “Stay close to Lana. Don’t let them turn you against her. No matter what she does she does it to protect you.”

The faceless shadow loomed closer. The moonlight dimmed.

“Who is that?” Ezekiel asked, voice trembling.

But Ermes was fading, the dream already dissolving. “Remember the past is a lantern. The future is only smoke. Trust your mother, Ezekiel. Trust her…”

Ezekiel sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. Dawn light spilled through the curtains. His hands shook as he pressed them to his face.

“Father…” he whispered.

The words burned in his throat. He wanted to tell someone Rue, Edric, even Lanastha but something in Ermes’s warning stopped him.

Don’t tell her yet. Not until you understand.