🌑 Chapter 8 — Promise Under the Storm
The dinner in the Montclair manor continued under the soft glow of chandeliers, casting light on polished silverware, crisp white tablecloths, and the subtle shimmer of crystal glasses. The air was perfumed with a faint scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and expensive cologne. Laughter mingled with polite conversation, yet under the surface, tension lingered like an uninvited guest. Every glance, every gesture, was measured, calculated, weighed in silence.
Bill Montclair, Ayato's imposing grandfather, approached Ken and guided him with a firm but careful grip.
"Allow me to introduce Ariel, your cousin," he said, his deep voice resonating with authority yet holding a gentleness reserved for family.
Ken's eyes traced Ariel's figure carefully. The man was calm, poised, radiating a quiet confidence that made his presence commanding without being overbearing. His expression was composed, yet there was a sharpness behind his gaze—a subtle test of the newcomer before him. Ken forced the practiced smile of Ayato, the one that seemed effortlessly natural to the man he now impersonated, while inside, a storm of anger and suspicion churned.
"Nice to meet you, Ayato," Ariel said, extending a hand. His tone was soft, but his eyes scrutinized every detail.
Ken took the hand, offering a polite nod. He muttered something about being glad to see him too, but each word felt like a burden, a lie wrapped in courtesy. Every smile, every syllable, was a careful performance. The world of Ayato was unforgiving; even small gestures were scrutinized.
"So… I suppose you don't remember much since the accident?" Ariel asked, leaning slightly forward. His gaze held Ken's with the intensity of a man weighing the soul before him.
"Uh… no," Ken replied, careful not to reveal too much. "Just fragments… fleeting memories, nothing concrete."
Ariel inclined his head slowly, as though appreciating Ken's composure.
"I'm genuinely glad to see you alive, Ayato," he continued. "You matter more than many could imagine. These past days without you… they were unbearable."
A shiver ran through Ken's body. Each phrase carried an edge, a double meaning: affection, yes, but also a test. Every gesture, every word was a chess move, and Ken was playing a game he didn't entirely know.
"Thank you… that's reassuring," he muttered, his voice carefully neutral. Inside, his heart beat like a war drum. Every smile concealed fury, grief, and a deep yearning for revenge.
Ariel placed a hand lightly on the table between them. His fingers were steady, his touch almost casual, but Ken felt the weight of the unspoken message.
"Do not mistake my words. None of this is forgotten. You are different… distant… colder. The return of the White Wolf raises questions."
Ken felt a tight knot in his chest. He understood the unspoken threat: any misstep could expose him.
"Perhaps I just need time to adjust," he murmured, keeping his gaze low, searching the intricate pattern of the tablecloth as if it were a shield.
Ariel's enigmatic smile lingered.
"We shall see, Ayato. We shall see…"
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The dinner carried on, with polite laughter and controlled conversation. Ken ate slowly, carefully choosing his words, responding with precision. Each answer was measured, each laugh forced but believable. The effort to inhabit Ayato's body and mind demanded every ounce of his attention, and every glance around the table reminded him that he was not Ken—his own body and identity had been stolen, replaced by someone else's life.
Suddenly, a wave of suffocation hit him. He stood abruptly.
"I… I need some air," he murmured.
Hana, Ayato's younger sister, was at his side immediately, her small hand slipping into his. She had always been perceptive, and now she was careful not to leave his side. Together, they slipped out of the manor, the distant laughter of the other guests fading behind them.
The night was thick with shadows, clouds hiding the moon, leaving only the faint glow of streetlights to illuminate the garden paths. A gentle wind rustled the leaves, but the air carried tension, heavy and electric. Hana's eyes were wide, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I can't truly understand what you're feeling… but I can imagine. Living without memories, it's… it must be so hard."
Ken shook his head, attempting to downplay the truth.
"Not as bad as it seems," he replied, though the lie was bitter on his tongue. Memories of Ayato—the real Ayato—were fragments that haunted him, coming and going like ghosts. Each one reminded him of the life he had taken over, the lies he had to live.
Hana's fingers found his, squeezing gently.
"When I was little, I used to be afraid of the dark," she admitted, her voice trembling. "You stayed with me. You sang songs, made up stories… I pretended to be scared just to have you near."
Ken's chest tightened. A tear slid down his cheek—not for himself, not for Ayato, but for Hana, whose innocence had been caught in the crossfire of the lives around her. He placed a firm, comforting hand over hers.
"I promise you, Hana. I will never leave you alone."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the wind carrying the whispers of leaves. The world beyond the garden felt distant, muted, irrelevant. But the peace was fleeting.
At the manor entrance, Hansi appeared, her face pale, eyes wide with panic.
"Ayato!" she cried, sprinting toward them.
Ken's body tensed instantly, instincts firing. "What is it?" he asked, already prepared for a threat.
"Eloïse… she's been kidnapped!" Hansi gasped, her voice trembling.
Rage and fear surged through Ken like molten fire. Every heartbeat was a drum signaling battle. The White Wolf within him awoke fully, sharp and merciless.
> "This time, I won't let anyone harm her."
He gripped Hana's arm gently but firmly, ensuring her safety, then turned toward the manor, every sense alert. The household was in chaos now: startled staff, murmurs of fear, alarms blinking, phones vibrating. Ken's mind raced—plans, contingencies, escape routes, allies, and enemies—all coalescing into a singular focus: find Eloïse, bring her back.
Yuri appeared, calm but ready, observing every angle, calculating risks and opportunities. Ken's mind moved with precision, every thought a step in the hunt to come.
> "I will find her… and no one will stop me."
Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the twisted shadows of the garden. In that moment, Ken understood fully: the war had begun again. This was no longer a game of survival—it was a battle for life, truth, and vengeance.
The night's calm, the elegance of the manor, the false security of wealth and order—they were all illusions. The real world, harsh and unforgiving, waited just beyond the walls. And Ken, inhabiting Ayato's body, would confront it fully.
The White Wolf had returned. This time, with a storm burning in his chest and a promise etched in fire:
> "I will not fail. I will protect her. I will survive."