Yes!

A triumphant grin stretched across my face in the dream. All those whispered tales about Levi's elaborate schemes and teenage rebelliousness had clearly burrowed their way into the fertile soil of my subconscious. But… I'm a teenager in this dream, too. Gods… I'm already of average height now; I was a runt as a teenager. I do not want to be short again!

I found myself in a sprawling garden, bathed in the gentle warmth of a spring day. Sunlight dappled through the vast, ancient trees that bordered the property. The air was clean, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth, and we were blessedly far removed from the clamor of any city. Yeah… this felt right. This was likely Blake's ancestral mansion. I turned slowly, my back to the sun-drenched woods, to take in the house. Oh. My. God. This wasn't a mansion.

The palace shimmered, an expanse of pristine white marble that seemed to absorb and reflect the spring sunlight with ethereal glow. Towering columns, fluted and grand, lined the endless facade, each capped with golden ornaments so intricate they appeared to be spun from pure light. They were miniature sculptures of mythical creatures, swirling vines, and geometric patterns. Vast arched windows, framed in dark wood, hinted at cavernous rooms within. The roofline was a symphony of balustrades, statues, and delicate spires that pierced the clear blue sky. Even the stone pathways leading to the grand entrance were inlaid with mosaics of colored marble, depicting scenes of hunts and celebrations, worn smooth by the passage of countless feet over generations. Just gazing at its majestic presence stole the very air from my lungs.

Gods. Was this where he spent his formative years? No wonder he gravitated towards the minimalist décor in our own home. This level of grandeur was simply impossible for my mind to fully grasp. Shaking my head slightly, trying to break free from its mesmerizing hold, I turned my back to the imposing facade and glanced around the sprawling garden. Levi harbored a deep aversion to gardens. Perhaps teenage Levi was still within the walls? I had no intuitive sense of direction in this dreamscape. But… despite its history, the garden itself possessed a thoroughly relaxing quality, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves and carrying the sweet perfume of blossoms.

Then, the soft crunch of gravel beneath approaching footsteps reached my ears – two distinct sets. I turned, my heart giving a nervous flutter, to see two figures emerging from the dappled shadows at the back of the garden. It was an elderly butler, and walking beside him… there he was. The teenage Levi. He was already slightly taller than my dream-adolescent self, and undeniably a little broader across the shoulders, too. I suppose those toned muscles had always been a part of him. But his features, while less sharply defined than the man I knew, were unmistakably his. The same straight, prominent nose, the strong jawline, a touch softer now around the edges, just like his high cheekbones, and yes, those piercingly deep blue, slightly slanted eyes. He was also dressed in a suit, though a more youthful style, paired with a vibrant red, short cravat that added a rebellious splash of color. Gods, he wasn't cute. Even then, in his youth, he possessed a striking handsomeness that made my breath catch in my throat.

The butler executed a deep bow. "This is Raphael, young master," he announced, his gaze flicking towards my teenage form before returning to Levi. "He was brought by the Cyrusian envoys and, by Royal Decree, will be under your accompaniment." Forget the Cyrusian envoy detail for a moment; what truly caught my attention was Levi's reaction to the butler's address. He flinched at the word "master."

Levi gave the departing butler a curt nod. The butler responded with bow before retreating back into the dappled shadows of the garden, leaving us alone. Then that intensely assessing gaze fixed on me. A small crinkling appeared beside his right eye. His eyes moved with slowness, first focusing on my face, then drifting down to examine my hands, lingering for a moment on my chest, before finally taking in my entire adolescent frame. Then, his gaze returned to my face, those sharp eyes seeming to dissect my very being. Yeah, I knew that way of observation intimately. It was Levi's trademark.

I offered a tentative wave, a warm smile spreading across my face despite the slight awkwardness of the situation. "Hi. I'm Raphael."

Little did this intense, observant teenager before me realize the seismic impact he would have on their world in the span of fifteen years.

"Levi Blake. Pleased to make your acquaintance," he stated, his tone carrying a note of polite formality that seemed almost too mature for his youthful appearance. His voice wasn't the deep baritone I was so accustomed to. It was still baritone, but clearly lighter. I had to actively suppress a chuckle. The teenage version of the man I knew was still under vocal construction, apparently.

So, how do you navigate an awkward first encounter with a younger, equally intense version of your partner in a dream? The answer, naturally, was to lean into my inherent talent for unintentional embarrassment.

"So," I began, gesturing vaguely around the manicured garden, "are we just going to… stand here? Is there anything you, you know, want to do?" I asked, already sensing that familiar undercurrent of boredom I knew so well in the adult Levi, even in this younger iteration. He was… intrigued, to say the least, by my presence.

"According to the rather tedious formal greetings relayed by the Cyrusian envoys," teenage Levi replied, "my designated task is to offer you refreshments and engage in polite conversation. However," a subtle smirk touched the corner of his lips, "it is rather easy to discern that you possess a similar level of enthusiasm for such formalities as I do." A glint, a spark of something mischievous and undeniably familiar, ignited in his deep blue eyes. "Very well, then. Let us play."

I had a sinking feeling I'd just poked a very young, very intelligent, and very bored bear. That familiar glint of mischief, the nascent spark of the "little terrorist" Isolde had described, was already dancing in his deep blue eyes. A matching smirk spread across my own face, a thrill of anticipation coursing through me.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice laced with playful challenge. "Let's play."

Bring it on, teenage Levi.

"How much?"

What in the seven hells was this little terrorist talking about?

"W-What?" I stammered, completely thrown off by the sudden shift in conversation.

A ghost of a smile touched Levi's lips, a chillingly calm expression. "I've taken the liberty of burying sixteen barrels of gunpowder at strategic points around the foundations of the mansion. If we were to ignite them simultaneously using the conveniently placed switch in my bedroom, we might even manage to cause a rather… quaint little earthquake."

The "little terrorist" wasn't just a nickname; it was a prophecy. My jaw must be hanging open. I need to say something, anything, before he thinks I'm actually on board with blowing up his ancestral palace for kicks. Though... a tiny part of me is morbidly curious about that "quaint little earthquake." No, Raphael, focus! This is insane.

"The absolute hell?! You buried barrels of gunpowder?!" I exclaimed, my eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to dislodge the sheer absurdity of his statement. He took a deliberate step closer.

"To be entirely candid," Levi clarified, his voice calm and reassuring, "they are not, strategically speaking, buried directly beneath any load-bearing columns. No, they are positioned… around. The intended effect would primarily be a rather significant shaking of the ground and a most impressive percussive sound. Some poorly secured bookshelves might experience an unfortunate toppling, but beyond such minor inconveniences, structural damage would be… barely consequential." His deep blue eyes remained locked on mine, as if gauging my reaction, searching for… what? Disapproval? Shared excitement? I couldn't quite decipher his intent.

"Oh my god, no, absolutely do not blow up your ancestral palace!" I exclaimed. He took another deliberate step closer, his eyes never breaking contact with mine.

"Why not? There won't be any truly lasting structural damage, other than the aforementioned impressive auditory event. I've already finalized the detonation sequence and dispersal radius in my mind."

The lack of any emotional understanding of the inherent danger or the sheer wrongness of blowing up a historical landmark... it's unsettling, even in a dream.

"Levi," I insisted, trying a different angle, "I mean, even if there's no real damage, detonating sixteen barrels of gunpowder is going to make everyone think a massive earthquake has happened or something! People will be terrified!"

I knew my appeal to basic human concern was likely to fall on deaf ears, but I was morbidly curious to see his logical counterpoint.

"Even better, then!" teenage Levi exclaimed, a spark of genuine enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. " We will have a real-time, unannounced assessment of the efficacy of their fire and earthquake preparedness drills.”

"Okay, but Levi, have you even considered the cleanup involved?" I countered, desperately grasping at any semblance of practicality. "Sixteen barrels of gunpowder? That's going to leave a monumental mess of soot, debris, and who knows what else scattered all over the gardens!"

"There will be no discernible 'mess,'," Levi stated dismissively, as if I were worrying over spilled milk. "Other than the temporary displacement of some loose soil and a few small rocks being… propelled into the air. The elemental composition of the surrounding environment will remain largely unchanged."

"And what about the shockwave, Levi?" I pressed. "Even if your mansion remains structurally sound, the force of that explosion could shatter windows for miles around, potentially injuring people with flying glass."

Then, the shift was palpable, almost a physical change in the air between us. The vibrant spark of mischievous curiosity that had animated teenage Levi's features abruptly vanished, replaced by a heavy blanket of ennui. He took the final step towards me, closing the remaining distance until our faces were mere inches apart. I watched, as the light seemed to drain from his deep blue eyes, leaving them flat and distant.

"You became boring remarkably quickly. Obviously, I did not actually bury sixteen barrels of gunpowder around this ludicrously oversized house. I was merely… playing."

So, the teenage terrorist fantasy was just a test, a way to gauge my… what? My tolerance for chaos? My capacity for imaginative destruction? And my very human reaction of "don't blow things up" was the wrong answer. Boring. That single word, delivered with that flat, affectless tone, cuts deeper than any accusation. He seeks intellectual stimulation, even in the absurd and potentially dangerous, while I… I worry about people getting hurt.

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"So, what exactly would have constituted an 'interesting' response, Levi?" I pressed, a hint of frustration lacing my tone. "Cheering you on as you hypothetically turned your ancestral home into a smoking crater?"

"Cheering?" A distinct note of disdain colored his voice. "No. The remotely interesting response would have involved a modicum of intellectual engagement. At the very least, you could have challenged the plausibility of my claim. Something along the lines of, 'There is no way you managed to acquire and bury sixteen barrels of gunpowder without anyone noticing.' But instead," he continued, "you immediately accepted my statement as fact. How utterly… predictable. And therefore," he concluded, that flat affect returning, "boring."

"So, you're genuinely disappointed that my immediate reaction to a casual mention of sixteen barrels of gunpowder wasn't a detailed logistical breakdown of your teenage explosives procurement and burial methods?" I retorted, a sharp edge creeping into my voice. "Perhaps that speaks volumes more about your rather skewed priorities than it does about my supposed lack of intellectual stimulation."

Teenage Levi rolled his eyes. "Ugh, who cares about your opinions? Just go to the tea room," he stated flatly, already turning and walking away with an air of utter disinterest.

My god. The fucking fifteen-year-old piece of exquisitely handsome, utterly infuriating shit.

The urge to physically shake some sense into that detached teenager was almost overwhelming, but what could I realistically do? It was his dream, or rather, my dream of him. So, with a frustrated sigh, I started walking, following in his wake. The little shit wasn't even bothering to wait for me, just striding ahead with that confident gait. I kept pace, trailing him through the manicured gardens. But… wait. We weren't heading back towards the imposing structure of the mansion. Instead, he was leading us onto a winding path that disappeared into the dense, shadowy depths of the surrounding woods? The fuck was going on now?

As we continued down the winding path, the dense foliage of the woods closing in around us, teenage Levi suddenly pivoted, his movements sharp and abrupt. "I distinctly instructed you to proceed to the tea room," he stated, his tone now bordering on a direct order, that imperiousness surfacing even in his youth.

The infuriating little shit. Ordering me around in my own dream?

"Why?" I demanded. "What's out here in these woods that's suddenly more important than your grand tea room directive?"

Levi's gaze remained fixed on me, unblinking and intense, sending a shiver of unease down my spine. "It is none of your immediate concern. Please cease your inquiries and return to the mansion as I instructed."

That unnerving stare… it was like watching a mask abruptly fall into place. The bored, mischievous teenager, the one who casually discussed explosives and berated my lack of intellectual engagement, had vanished. In his place stood someone colder, more withdrawn, a subtle tension radiating from his young frame. My empathy, began to tingle insistently.

"Fine, fine," I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. "Stop ordering me around, your teenage highness, and I'll leave." I turned my back to him, making a show of retreating, and began to walk away. But the very instant his gaze was no longer fixed on my back, I pivoted silently, my curiosity now burning hotter than ever.

I trailed him, my footsteps soft on the forest floor, for what felt like at least ten tense minutes. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot sent a jolt of anxiety through me. I moved with care, utilizing the dense trees and thick bushes as natural camouflage. Then, he stopped abruptly. A perfect circle of closely cropped grass, devoid of any trees or undergrowth, and in its center stood two weathered tombstones.

Ah, shit. I instinctively knew what this was meant to represent. His sister and his father. But that couldn't be right. They were interred in the ancient, noble cemetery on the island not here in this secluded, almost forgotten spot. So… fuck. He must have placed them here. Created this makeshift memorial. My breath hitched in my throat. I was crouched behind a thicket of bushes at the edge of the clearing, my heart pounding in my chest.

He stood there for a long moment, his small figure silhouetted against the muted light filtering through the trees, a profound stillness about him. Then, he began to speak, his voice low and almost a whisper, directed at the silent stones.

"I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so incredibly bored."

Gods, the isolation he must have felt. Trapped in that palace, surrounded by formality and expectation, with no real connection, no outlet for that mind. He acted out, he even pretended to plant explosives, all just to feel something. And my predictable, human reaction just reinforced his isolation. This isn't the mischievous little terrorist I imagined. This is a desperately lonely child.

"I devoured every text I could find," Levi continued, his voice muffled as he began to rub his temples. "Botany, chemistry, astronomy, linguistics… I even delved into the intricacies of cognitive and abnormal psychology, hoping to find some flicker of genuine interest. But no. None of it holds any real engagement. Utterly boring. Everything is crushingly, suffocatingly boring. So, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so boring." His voice cracked slightly on the last repetition, and he finally pressed his hands to his face. "I… do not know… what to do anymore."

Let me try to process this. What would typical parents do if their child expressed such profound boredom? They'd likely dismiss it as teenage angst, wouldn't they? And he's tried everything – elaborate, attention-grabbing schemes, relentless intellectual pursuits, even subtle manipulation, all in a desperate attempt to feel something. And still… nothing. Oh god, my empathy isn't just a gentle nudge anymore; it's a deep, visceral ache in my chest.

"The most recent astronomical treatise disseminated by the Royal Library proved to be nothing short of… pedestrian," Levi stated, his voice laced with disdain. "It was, quite frankly, an insult to the very realm of scientific inquiry, Father. It is a source of considerable chagrin to contemplate that they even dare to invoke your studies… But yes," he continued, slowly lowering his hands from his face, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, "you would simply pen them a further, painstakingly detailed elucidation of the fundamental concepts… patiently correcting their egregious oversights."

I could feel the sting of tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I remembered him mentioning his father's potential disappointment at the fire in the cemetery. And now, hearing him say his father would have responded with patient, scholarly correction… It painted such a vivid picture of a man who valued intellect and gentle guidance. Maybe, just maybe, it was his father who taught him to temper those destructive urges I'd glimpsed earlier, or perhaps it was simply the fear of disappointing the one person who truly understood him. Gods… To not only lose your father, but also your mentor, your intellectual equal, and possibly the only source of genuine warmth in that gilded cage… That loss, the profound sense of being adrift… I can't even begin to fathom the crushing loneliness he must have felt.

"I desperately wish you could just... tell me what to do, Father," teenage Levi confessed, his voice raw. "No one here truly understands. I try to articulate what I 'feel' – this profound emptiness, this utter lack of... anything – over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. It never pierces their thick skulls. How do I even begin to explain this... this all-consuming sense of... nothingness? It's not sadness, it's not happiness, it's not anger... it's just... absence. And it's getting... progressively harder to maintain the facade. This constant performance of normalcy, this forced act of happiness, the relentless effort required to simply smile..."

Ah, Levi… that performance of normalcy, 'masking,' must have been an even more suffocating burden within the rigid confines of his traditional and oppressive upbringing. And yeah, even after countless conversations, even I, who loves him and tries so hard to understand, can never truly grasp the full weight of his experience.

The sudden, sharp flapping of wings broke the stillness of the woods. Someone was approaching. I burrowed myself deeper into the undergrowth, my heart pounding. A moment later, a high-pitched noise began to emanate from somewhere deeper in the trees – like a melodic whistle.

"Come!" Levi bellowed, his voice carrying a strange urgency.

A figure stepped into the small, circular clearing. "Levi," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "We need to talk. I... I... truly cannot bear him any longer."

Oh! That voice. I recognized it instantly. It was Julia. Had they already developed some kind of clandestine signal, a high-pitched whistle to summon each other in secret?

Levi walked towards her, and placed a comforting arm around her trembling shoulders. "Julia," he said, his voice calm and steady. "I know. I understand the depth of your frustration. But… no. You cannot kill him, you cannot hurt him. That will not solve anything. And besides… if you do, you forfeit any claim to the estate, to the lands."

"Who gives a damn about money when that fucking monster is constantly breathing down our necks, making our lives a living hell?" she spat, her voice laced with venomous fury. Levi took a deep breath, as if steeling himself.

"Just tell him you've decided to stay here for the evening," he instructed, his tone firm but low. "Tell him we're having dinner together.”

"No, no, he would never believe that. He would follow me, I know it. Let's just go to that summer house, even if it's only for two days… I swear, I can barely breathe in that house anymore," Julia pleaded, her voice tight with desperation.

Levi considered her words for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Okay," he finally conceded. "You leave for the summer house. I will handle securing the necessary permissions and making sure our absence isn't questioned too closely. Just… be calm, Julia. Do not act rashly.”

"Thank you..." Julia whispered, her voice now trembling with a raw vulnerability that tugged at my heart. "When will this... finally be over? I hate this so much..."

Levi squeezed her arm gently. "I am trying, Julia. I am actively engaging with the elder council, pushing for reforms that would at least allow illegitimate children to inherit titles... But no," he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his usually placid tone, "they do not budge an inch. Their archaic traditions are as impenetrable as stone."

Levi had mentioned that his initial political aim wasn't the immediate dismantling of the nobility, but the far more moderate goal of allowing nobles to marry commoners – a strategic move to at least dilute the dangerously incestuous bloodlines. I think I just witnessed the very genesis of that resolve. And even now, battling his struggles, he's trying to shield Julia from her father, I'm certain. Julia's future hatred for him, her chilling resolve to ensure he never recovers from his coma and to deliberately bankrupt his company… The seeds of that future were being sown right here.

"They've begun the preparations... for the engagement..." Julia choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I... I don't want this... I hate it so much... We don't love each other, Levi... We're practically siblings! It's so disgusting..."

"I know, Julia," Levi said softly. "Don't worry about the future; we will always protect our autonomy. I promise you, I will ensure the estate they intend for us is far from this suffocating place. But..." a flicker of concern crossed his features, "...does my mother know you're here? In the woods?"

"No," Julia hissed, a flash of defiance in her tear-filled eyes. "That harpy has no idea. I used the secret trail we devised, and I sneaked out of my own house. Anything was better than staying there."

"Okay..." Levi murmured. He swiftly removed his jacket and offered it to her. "Wear this. And here," he gently dabbed at her wet cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, "clean your tears. We'll simply tell her we were spending time in the woods, enjoying the fresh air."

In the future, Julia will blossom into one of the most fiercely independent and resilient individuals I know, but here, she's just a child, her sense of self being eroded by the lack of agency, the oppressive and likely abusive family, all culminating in this forced marriage. Just a little teenage girl, weeping in the arms of her future husband, a boy equally trapped by circumstance.

Julia gratefully accepted the jacket, pulling it around her small frame as if seeking a fragile shield. "Just... just tell me this will end someday, Levi..."

Levi took a deep breath, his young face set with a grim determination. "It will end, Julia. I will end it, if that becomes the only way. But..." a shadow crossed his features, "...conviction alone is not enough. I need time, I need leverage, I need a plan. So, for now, Julia, we will do as they say. We will keep our true thoughts hidden behind smiles and chosen words. But I assure you, the moment they grant us the supposed independence of our own estate, the moment we are finally away from their control, things will be better. You will be better. I will make certain of it."

Yeah… he did end it.

Wow… what an indomitable determination. Now, with absolute certainty, I understand the crucible in which justiciars are truly born. Not in dusty law libraries, not through detached philosophical debates about morality, not in the simplistic realm of black and white thinking. No. They are born by swimming through molten lava of injustice, by breathing in the toxic fumes of despair, by consuming the indigestible stones of hardship. By bearing witness to the weight of tradition, the creep of unchecked and corrupt power, and allowing that pain to transform not into an explosive rage, but into a inexorable glacier, capable of eroding mountains over time, patiently, meticulously, without ever revealing the full extent of its power until the very end.