The morning sky above the McTerror family manor stretched in a deep blue, scattered with lazy, drifting clouds. The sun hung golden and vibrant—more luminous than harsh—casting a warm glow that painted the world in soft reflections of gold.
The McTerror manor took it all and spun it back as an immaculate set. Floors shone like glass. The white walls were pristine, not a single speck of dirt in sight. Soft winds swept the heavy curtains with a low whistle, and the sweet sound of a wind chime carried somewhere in the courtyard.
Inside, the staff moved with quiet choreography. Their shoes made soft music on the marble. And then there was the smell: warm bananas, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg. A banana pie was announced by scent before a single pan clinked.
A group of maids passed each other in the corridor, their giggles low and conspiratorial.
"Look who's back at it," one maid said, stifling a laugh. "The young master and his infamous pie—always a toss-up between culinary triumph and rejected sacrifice."
"I wonder why he doesn't just let Chef Marcus handle the baking," murmured a younger maid with twin pigtails, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion.
"What a rookie question," the first chided, lifting her chin. "You must be new here. Allow me to enlighten you, as your superior. He's doing it for the little young master. Bask in the beauty of brotherly love, you normie!"
The younger maid nodded quickly and earnestly, as if receiving sacred knowledge. If she had a notebook, she'd be hunched over and scribbling away like Light Yagami.
Then a third maid gasped, pressing her hands to her cheeks, eyes glazing over. "It's a shame we don't get to see it often, but I cherish every glimpse! Malakai is so father-coded~ I can't help imagining how he'd treat his lover: gentle, protective, probably terrifying to anyone who dared hurt them."
The girls squealed like unhinged fangirls, united in their devotion and delusions.
Then, a fourth maid—marching passed with a basket of laundry—called over her shoulder, voice dry and unimpressed. "Don't get carried away with your daydreams, ladies. Someone of his prestige would never look your way."
The two "superior" maids gasped and playfully shoved their realist colleague.
In the kitchen, a boy of about eighteen moved through the sunlit space. Strands of his honey-blonde hair—a mirror of his mother's—glistened under the bright beams like silk.
His amethyst eyes, framed by pale lashes, caught the light like gemstones, laser-focused on his task. A faint scar curved over the edge of his upper lip, giving his otherwise angelic features a hint of danger; a story left untold.
He wore a loose black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the collar slightly askew like he'd tugged at it absentmindedly. His charcoal slacks hung low on his hips, cinched with a silver-buckled belt that gleamed faintly in the light. The whole look was casual, but deliberate, like he'd dressed for comfort and still ended up looking like a runway model who'd just rolled out of bed.
It was immediately clear he wasn't a genius chef. His hands fumbled every few moments, each slip followed by a string of muttered curses. His legs didn't seem to know what to do with themselves, forcing him into a clumsy dance of inefficiency. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, and a smudge of custard clung to his cheek. Though he had no idea how it got there.
He was self-aware; he knew his general pie-making skills were amateurish at best. His banana pie-making skills? Even sloppier. But when he recalled the person he was doing this for, he would shake his head and chuckle softly. The little squirt was going to squeal when he saw it. He had a good feeling about this batch, too.
He was just spreading the whipped cream over the finished pie when he heard footsteps approaching.
Slow. Quiet. Tiny.
It was Saturday, which meant Zev got to sleep in a little longer. Typically, he'd wake up, his attendant would prepare him, and he'd have breakfast before spending his free time productively: reading, folding origami, playing board games with any willing house workers, or indulging in sugary treats beneath the garden gazebo. Then he'd pick flowers for his mother, unknowingly murdering them in the process. On lucky weekends, the chef might have a few new human folktales to share.
His weekdays were devoted to a non-nightmarecraft curriculum: basic training for wards of elite families. Etiquette, mannerisms, languages, history, and light physical activities like swimming and archery.
The lessons were never grueling; Zev had always possessed a weak constitution. He bruised easily, and his bones were more fragile than average.
His parents had realized early on that he simply wasn't inclined toward nightmares. McTerror infants showed mirth or curiosity during their first nightmare inductions, but Zev had wailed hysterically every single time.
Eventually, they relented, excluding all nightmarecraft-related subjects from his personal homeschooling curriculum, hoping it would allow him to grow up without issue. They had fully accepted that he was... different.
This morning, Zev stirred awake—only to nearly choke on a tooth. His upper left canine had come loose in his sleep. He was at the tooth-shedding age, and he hated it. Losing things filled him with a sadness he didn't know what to do with.
He fought back tears as he trudged toward the kitchen, expecting to find his mother. He should have been ecstatic about the smell of banana pie, but all he really wanted was someone to hold him.
He stepped through the archway, furiously rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve, a feeble attempt to stop the watering.
"M–Mum," he whimpered, the word tasting foreign on his tongue with yet another tooth missing. His voice was slightly skewed, too. "Another tooth fell out. A–Am I really going to lose them all? What should I do? I'm scared..."
Zev was expecting his mother's soothing voice. Instead, he got a baritone that sounded like it was barely holding back laughter.
"Hate to break it to you, buddy, but your mummy's not here. She took a hike ages ago and left you with me — the tooth-eating big bad wolf. Rawr~"
Zev paused. He knew that ridiculous voice and the even more ridiculous way of speaking from anywhere. His head snapped up, eyes landing on the blonde boy now cackling with a hand over his mouth.
His older brother had always been the type to snort at his own jokes.
"Kai?" Zev mumbled under his breath, not quite sure if he was seeing things. But when the boy dropped to a kneel and spread his arms wide, that familiar lopsided smile on his lips, Zev knew instantly this wasn't an illusion.
A sound—half sob, half heartfelt laugh—escaped him. He ran into the outstretched arms and threw his little arms around Kai's neck, all thoughts of his tooth disaster forgotten.
"You're back! You're f–finally back!" he squealed, burying his face in Kai's neck.
Kai wrapped his arms around him, fond laughter spilling from his lips. He straightened to his full height with Zev in his arms, spinning them around a couple of times.
"Yes, yes, Zev," he sighed blissfully, arms tightening around the smaller boy. "The love of your life is back at last. Bet you missed me to shreds. I missed you too~" He placed a few soft kisses on Zev's temples.
Zev pulled away, his big doe eyes glistening with tears, lips curled into an angry pout.
"L–Liar!" He slammed his hands on Kai's cheeks, earning a yelp, and furiously squished them. "You didn't m–miss me at all… If you did, you wouldn't have t–taken so long to visit. You're not the love of my life. You're j–just a smelly fraud!"
Kai gasped—or tried to—with his cheeks still puckered between Zev's hands. Zev noticed his struggling and reluctantly eased his grip.
"You wound me, kiddo," Kai finally managed, faking a dramatic frown with a hand over his heart. "You know I'd visit every day if I could. But it's not that simple when you're halfway across the world in a different region, elbows deep in work, work, and more work. Being the heir doesn't mean I get special treatment. You know that, right?"
Zev knew that. Of course he did. But knowing didn't make it any easier. He just wanted his big brother home more often. Why did he only get to see him a few times a year? It wasn't fair.
Fat tears streamed down his cheeks as he sniffled without a word. Whatever he said would've come out a stuttered mess anyway. His chest felt tight, like his feelings were tangled into knots.
Kai watched him for a moment and sighed. He gently wiped Zev's tears with his calloused thumb and walked them over to the kitchen island.
"Come now, let's have no more of that. Look what I made you. It's your favorite~"
He lifted the silver cloche with a cliche tada! to reveal a heart-shaped banana pie. It was clearly the work of an amateur. The whipped cream was uneven, and the crust had buckled on one side. But it was Kai's signature: messy, but made with love.
Zev was still dejected, but he couldn't suppress the crooked smile tugging at his lips. Kai always knew exactly what to do and say to make him feel better, which was precisely why his long absences hurt so much. He sniffled again, reminding himself to focus on the present because moments like these were priceless.
His smile, though wobbly, turned mischievous. "Why does it l–look like it had a stroke? After all these years, your pie-making skills still suck. Bleh!" He stuck out his tongue.
Kai, who'd been expecting praise and maybe a few reward kisses, started to say, "Yeah, I knew you'd love it. I'm such a—" Then he paused as Zev's words fully registered, his smile vanishing into a playful glare.
"Hey, wise guy. Did you just body shame my hard work? Do you know how many people would die for a taste of this? Huh? Huh? Adorable little ingrate. I should have your toes for this!"
Zev's feverish giggles and squeals threatened to obliterate Kai's eardrums as he lunged for his feet in mock vengeance.
After more rounds of goofing off and pie tasting—Kai feigning deep offense at every critique, and Zev gleefully demanding more kisses—they eventually moved to the patio to enjoy the weather. The air was still, the sun's warmth gentle, and everything felt just right.
Kai was stretched out on one of the cushioned chaise lounges, and Zev—clingy by nature, and even more so after so long apart—was nestled snugly in his lap, his back resting against Kai's chest.
His small hands toyed with Kai's fingers while Kai absently scrolled through his phone with the other hand. For a while, neither of them spoke. Only the melodic chirps of distant birds drifted through the air.
They remained in that comfortable silence until Zev's hands paused. Kai noticed the sudden stillness and was about to ask if something was wrong when Zev mumbled, the words muffled against his shirt.
"C–Can't I go back with you to Crescentia?"
It wasn't the first time Zev had asked, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Maybe if he kept asking, it would finally happen. Kai, used to this plea, was about to give the same explanation Zev had heard a thousand times, but to his surprise, Zev pressed on before he could speak.
"I–I know I'm not old enough yet, b–but… I'll be fifteen in—" he paused to count on his small fingers, "—seven years. I don't m–mind living there until I come of age and start the Rite of Resonant Blood. As long as I get t–to see you every day."
Kai didn't answer right away. The silence stretched, and Zev began to worry he'd upset his brother. But then Kai slid his phone into his pocket and leaned back with a heavy sigh, his amethyst eyes drifting toward the vast sky.
When he finally spoke, his usual buoyant tone was gone. "Listen, Zev, I won't lie to you, buddy. You'd hate it there."
In truth, the McTerror Estate might've sounded like a formidable sanctuary to outsiders, but to Kai, it was anything but. It wasn't a home, it was a viper's nest. The atmosphere was suffocating, filled with rigid formality and unspoken tension. There was no room to breathe, no space to be carefree.
Toxicity ran deep. Everyone was vying for something: status, favor, power. Kai knew many were quietly rooting for his downfall, waiting for the moment he slipped so their children could rise in his place. They wore civility like a mask: polite to his face, cold and calculating beneath. Their interactions were sparse, their glances sharp and measured. Kai had learned to read between the lines, and what he saw there was never comforting.
It was a dog-eat-dog nightmare, and bringing Zev into that world would crush him. Currently, most of the extended family didn't even know Zev existed; his identity was sealed off from everyone but their parents, Kai, his tutors, and the manor staff.
His innate aversion to nightmares—a core deficiency in their bloodline—would be the first weapon rivals used against them. In the worst-case scenario, they'd demand he be disowned, branding him an abomination to the McTerror lineage.
Kai refused to let Zev carry that weight. He was too young to be burdened by the rot of adult ambition.
He plopped a hand on Zev's head and ruffled his hair with exaggerated vigor. "When you're older, I'll tell you the details. For now, just remember... the McTerror Estate is the last place you want to be. Trust me on this."
Zev was instantly conflicted. He couldn't remember the last time his brother had sounded so profoundly serious. Deep down, he knew Kai was telling the truth. But… why? He'd learned about the Rite of Resonant Blood as an unavoidable, binding obligation for all McTerror minors at age fifteen. So why was Kai speaking as if he'd never take part?
Was it because he was different? Because he wasn't nightmare-inclined like the rest of their family?
His chest grew heavy, the familiar knot of inadequacy tightening. He gripped Kai's hand desperately.
"I–I still d–don't like n–nightmares, but I–I'll try! I–I… promise… I–I'll do my best s–so… so I can b–be with you, Kai," he sobbed, the tears returning with renewed force. "Please? I–It's so lonely here. I d–don't have anyone to play with. The lady m–maids and Sir chef only talk to me because t–they have to, but I always mess up my w–words and embarrass myself. Maybe that's why Dad h–hates me so much. He's never home, and when… when he i–i–is, he ignores me. A–And Mum is… S–She…"
His breathing faltered, the tightness in his chest overwhelming. His throat felt constricted, like a rope was pulling tighter with every word. His thoughts were a frantic jumble of things he desperately wanted to say but couldn't, his tongue refusing to cooperate.
Kai watched the painful struggle unfold, his expression quietly devastated. A sharp mix of protective sympathy and sorrow twisted in his chest. Zev's stutter didn't bother him, it never had. What broke him was the conclusion Zev had drawn: that he was hated, that he was alone.
Kai squeezed Zev's fingers firmly, anchoring him in the moment, silently reminding him that he was here. That he was listening. That he wasn't alone.
"You don't have to find the words right away," Kai said gently, lifting Zev and turning him so they were face-to-face. "Your thoughts will reach me in the end. They always do."
Zev sniffled again, hiding his face behind his hands. Kai smiled fondly, though his eyes still held that quiet note of sadness.
"Wanna try again? You were just about to tell me how much your mummy sucks."
Zev's head snapped up then, red-rimmed eyes wide with horror. "No, I w–wasn't! Why would I ever s–say something like that?!"
Kai, basking in the success of shocking Zev out of his tears, faked a confused expression.
"Huh, you weren't? I could've sworn you were just ranting about how her banana pies are a total rip-off of mine. You, word-for-word, called her a beautiful plagiarist with no substance."
Zev's jaw dropped at the sheer audacity. "Liar! I n–never said any of that! Quit making stuff up, you f–fraud! Take this!" He launched a furious flurry of kitten-like punches at Kai's chest, which barely tickled.
Kai snorted, then broke into a full, hearty laugh. He caught both of Zev's fists with ease and caged them against his chest.
"What were you actually going to say then, if it wasn't mummy slander? Go on, tell me," he said, barely holding back his chuckles.
Zev squirmed in his grip, struggling in vain. "I w–was just going to say that she's scary when she's mad, okay?!"
He froze, realizing he'd just screamed that loud enough for the whole manor to hear. Instantly deflating, he buried his flustered face in Kai's neck.
Kai chortled even louder at his expense.
After a while, Zev, still mortified, spoke again—his voice softer this time. "She's… scary when she's upset. That's w–why I try not to disappoint her. I love her. She's sweet and f–funny and doesn't ignore me. I don't want her to hate me."
Kai grunted, his laughter fading into a knowing smirk. Yeah, that sounded exactly like their mother. She was the kind of person who regularly had him pulling his hair out in frustration—thanks to her impromptu decisions, mood swings and stubborn streaks—but he could never hold her flaws against her. She was surprisingly lovable for someone so consistently annoying.
Kai patted Zev's back with firm affection. "She could never hate you. I don't know where you got that idea, but you should trash it now."
Zev peeked out from the crook of his brother's neck. "Really?"
"Here," Kai said, holding up his pinky finger. "I'll pinky swear on it."
Zev straightened, staring at the offered finger for a moment. Then, slowly, he curled his smaller pinky around Kai's. When their thumbs pressed together, Kai grinned. "Locked and stamped."
A slow, genuine smile bloomed across Zev's face. He threw his arms around Kai's neck, hugging him close. "I–I love you, Kai! Thank you for always being nice to me."
The sudden hug and heartfelt confession caught Kai off guard. But he recovered quickly, wrapping his arms around Zev and letting out a dramatic sigh.
"Tell me something I don't know. I'm the love of your life. Of course you love me and I'm nice to you. But fine, I'll admit it. I love you too~"
The brothers, in true chaotic fashion, goofed around a little longer—catching up on missed moments, taking a slow stroll through the garden, tossing stones across the pond in a messy competition neither of them won, and binging a few unhinged meme videos on Kai's phone (Kai had a whole album dedicated to brainrot.)
Eventually, Zev's social battery ran dry, and he could feel himself nodding off, their laughter still lingering in the air like sunlight.
Back on the patio, Zev was curled in Kai's arms again, his cheek pressed against his brother's chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
But before sleep fully claimed him, he had one last question.
His voice was groggy when he spoke. "Hey, Kai?"
"Yes, my glorious prince?"
Zev snorted softly at the nickname, then continued, the words slurring slightly. "Do you think… I c–could ever get over my phobia of n–nightmares… and become a true nightmare artist like you guys?"
Kai was thrown off by the question. He hadn't expected it. Not from Zev, and certainly not now. This was the first time his little brother had asked something like that, and it caught him off guard.
He took a moment to think, then began with a tangent, as he often did when trying to ease into serious topics.
"Well... you see, Zev," Kai began. "Most nightmare artists chase gratification: fortune, fame, or prestige. They turn nightmares into mainstream entertainment and forget what they really are."
He paused, gaze drifting for a moment. "But I'm not drawn to them because I'm Malakai McTerror, heir to some grand legacy. That title means nothing to me when I'm creating. I'm drawn to nightmares because there's a reason. A motive." He leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "It's a secret, though."
Zev blinked sleepily, too groggy to press for details.
Kai shifted, his tone softening as he returned to the original question. "As for you, little buddy… you can do whatever the hell you want, as long as it's what you want. Nightmares. Happy dreams. Heck, even Lust dreams." He chuckled. "As long as you find meaning in them, that's all that matters. Because direction is all it takes to change a person's perspective."
He reached down and gently brushed Zev's hair from his forehead. "Regardless, I'll always support you. No matter your choice."
Zev tried to process the words as best an eight-year-old could. Meaning? Happy dreams made people happy. Lust dreams were probably about intimacy and fun. But nightmares… what meaning could they possibly hold, besides terrifying people?
His eyes drooped, sleep tugging at him with increasing force. He was just about to let go when he heard Kai's voice again, soft and close.
"Zev..."
His eyes flew open, and he tilted his head to look at him. "...Y-Yeah?"
But Kai wasn't looking at him. His eyes were wide, locked onto something Zev couldn't see.
"Zev!" he said again, more urgently.
Zev's heart began to race. The drowsiness vanished in an instant.
He sat up on Kai's thighs, trying to get into his line of sight. "W–What's wrong? I'm listening to you, Kai."
But Kai didn't respond. He was frozen—like a lagging frame in a broken animation. Zev's panic surged. He looked around, and his stomach dropped: the warm, golden hues of the patio were bleeding into greyscale.
He screamed when Kai's hands suddenly clamped around his shoulders, shaking him violently until his vision spun.
"ZEV! WAKE UP!"
Then, like a switch had been flipped, everything vanished. The manor. The patio. Kai.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
A split second later, a brutal light flooded his vision, disorienting him. He blinked rapidly, his senses scrambling to catch up.
When his vision finally steadied, he wasn't staring into Kai's familiar amethyst eyes, but into twin pools of crimson.
Zach was crouched over him, gripping his shoulders tightly, his expression a mix of alarm and disbelief like he was staring at something he couldn't understand.
Zev gasped, chest heaving, the remnants of the memory clinging to him like static.
Zach exhaled sharply through his nose, then muttered, "You... have a lot of explaining to do."