The departure was a hazy sequence of events. Levi's efficient arrangements for a taxi, the silent journey home, his arm a steady presence as he guided me to my bedroom – it all unfolded as if viewed through a thick, distorting fog. My surroundings seemed muted, the edges of things soft and indistinct, as if my eyes had suddenly developed a severe case of cataracts, blurring the sharp edges of reality.

His hand, cool against my flushed cheek, brought a sudden point of focus to the swirling blur. "Raphael," he murmured, his voice softer now. "You seem a little different tonight. Are you alright, dear?"

My voice was a low, shaky whisper, the words tumbling out like a confession. "I felt… lonely. Jealous. Insecure. And then… then I just kind of drifted away. Dissociated from my own pathetic existence."

His thumb continued its gentle caress on my cheek, a small, grounding motion. "Why did you feel like that, dear?" he murmured, his voice low and patient. "Explain it to me, yes? Tell me what was going on in that beautiful, complicated mind of yours."

I tugged gently on his shirt, pulling him down to lie beside me on the bed. He followed without a moment's hesitation, his movements fluid and yielding. I nestled my head against his chest.

"You and him," I began, my voice thick with unshed tears. "You have years of history. Similar tastes. He's undeniably attractive. Sophisticated… like you. I felt… pale compared to him. Insecure. And you were talking so effortlessly, understanding each other in ways I… I didn't. It felt… jealous. And that jealousy felt so… pathetic." The unwelcome burn of tears welled in my eyes, blurring his shirt beneath my cheek.

"Oh, my dear Raphael," Levi murmured, his arms tightening around me, a comforting weight. "You are never pale. Never. You possess a light and a vibrancy that is entirely your own." He paused, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "And you know I do not have a history with any other man in that way. Cassiel is simply an… acquaintance. Our conversation was merely intellectual banter, a familiar exercise between us."

"Do you know how small I felt there?" I whispered into his chest, the words muffled by his shirt. "It was so bad my mind simply… shut itself down. I just wanted to disappear."

"Ah, my dearest," Levi sighed. "You should have told me before. If I had known you were feeling like this, we would have come home earlier.”

"That would have been really, really rude after fucking at his mansion for hours, Levi," I mumbled, the exhaustion and lingering insecurity making me sharper than intended.

"Then it is a good thing I am incapable of feeling shame," Levi replied, his tone surprisingly even. "It is… interesting to hear you articulate your emotions so openly. Since I do not experience jealousy myself, it is not something I can easily discern on your face. I sometimes require an external input, of sorts, to understand its presence." His hand gently stroked my hair.

"It is not a nice feeling," I admitted, the memory of the evening still a raw ache. "Your chest burns, tight and suffocating. Your throat hurts, like you want to say something sharp and mean, but you know it's wrong. And your mind… it just races, showing you all the ways you don't measure up." I burrowed deeper into his chest, seeking some kind of solace in his nearness. "It's exhausting."

"My poor dear," Levi murmured. "To experience such discomfort. Please, do tell me if you feel that way again. My priorities always lie with you, Raphael."

"It's shameful to admit it outright," I confessed, the words barely above a whisper. "It's embarrassing. I tried really hard to control myself, reminded myself of us, of what we have. But suppressing it… it just made me drift away. Dissociate from the entire moment, like I wasn't even really there."

"My sweet pulla," Levi murmured, his voice laced with a tenderness that always managed to cut through my defenses. "I may not be able to fully understand or feel what you experience in those moments. But that does not mean I will not take every necessary step to navigate our relationship with care and understanding. That dissociation… it signifies that you were battling a strong, overwhelming emotion. You need to be more honest with me, dear.”

"I know you will. And I will try," I murmured, snuggling closer, the warmth of his body a small comfort. "It's just… sometimes it feels so irrational, so stupid, that I don't want to burden you with it. It's my own ridiculous insecurity."

"Why shouldn't you burden me, dear?" Levi replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I am, as you well know, a rather bored man with no conventional hobbies to occupy my time at the moment.”

"Yeah. You need other hobbies, Levi," I mumbled, a hint of a smile finally breaking through the lingering tension. "Your baking evolved into some terrifying chemistry experiments, and frankly, we eat nothing but sugar. My teeth are going to rot out of my head."

"Other hobbies?" Levi mused, a thoughtful pause. "I did attempt to read some poetry books, but they proved rather… pedestrian after a while. Perhaps the human condition is less intriguing in verse. But yes, you are right. We should sleep now, dear. We can discuss more… suitable hobbies in the morning?"

"Oh," I said, a flicker of surprise. "You're going to sleep here?"

"Of course," Levi replied, his gaze softening. "Unless you do not wish me to?"

"No, no," I said quickly, a wave of relief washing over me. "I do. Let's sleep."

A comfortable silence settled between us, the tension of the evening slowly beginning to dissipate. I shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position against Levi's side. His arm instinctively went around me, pulling me closer.

Sleep didn't come immediately. My mind still replayed snippets of the dinner, Cassiel's elegant pronouncements, Levi's effortless understanding with him, and the crushing wave of my own inadequacy. But now, those thoughts were less sharp, less overwhelming.

…

I woke up in the morning, the soft light filtering through the curtains. Levi was still sleeping peacefully beside me, his usually sharp features relaxed and serene. I couldn't resist the urge to nuzzle my face into the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent. It was a subtle, clean fragrance, like a high-end soap. Endearing was the perfect word for it. To see him so unguarded, so… vulnerable like that.

"Stereoselective synthesis... chiral auxiliary... enantiomeric purity... pharmacokinetics... " Levi murmured in his sleep.

What the fuck were those words? Was he actually dreaming about chemistry, lost in a world of molecules and reactions even in his sleep? It was a little unsettling, to be honest.

"Novel excipient... solubility enhancement... formulation stability... "

It was hard to make out all the words, his voice low and mumbled, but... soluble, formulation… Those were definitely chemistry terms. Vaguely familiar from my high school classes. If I remembered correctly, he was talking about… synthesizing drugs.

Chemistry is truly his one big passion, I guess. But who dreams about it? And I thought he was vulnerable while sleeping, lost in his subconscious and unguarded.

I tried to carefully shift my weight, desperate to slip out of bed and away from the unsettling echoes of Levi's sleep-talking. But before I could even swing my legs over the edge, it happened. A sudden, terrifyingly swift movement – Levi's hand shot out, his grip like a steel vise clamping down on my arms. He hauled me back, his eyes snapping open, locking onto mine with an unnerving intensity. There was no gradual awakening, no sleepy disorientation. Just instant, focused awareness.

"Levi, it's me. Calm down. It's Raphael," I said, my voice tight with a mix of fear and adrenaline. My heart was hammering against my ribs.

He blinked, slowly, twice, as if recalibrating. The grip on my arms loosened, but didn't release entirely.

"Ah… I am… deeply sorry. I seem to have… overreacted." His voice was low, still rough with sleep, but the precision was returning.

"Overreacted? What the hell was that? You thought you were fighting off an assassin or something?" I tried to inject some humor into my voice, but my hands were still trembling.

"Possibly, yes," he said, his gaze still fixed on me, the intensity slowly fading but not entirely gone.

"What are you talking about? You're serious?"

"Raphael, please understand. My… upbringing was somewhat unconventional. As a noble, certain… defensive reflexes were instilled from a young age. It was part of my education. But I am truly sorry for grabbing you like that. It was unacceptable. Good morning." He finally released my arms, the transition from predator to gentleman almost seamless.

"You were mumbling chemistry terms in your sleep," I said, still a little wary from his sudden grab. "I guess you weren't having sweet dreams about bonding molecules?"

Levi blinked again, a flicker of something dark and intense passing behind his eyes before it smoothed over. "Was I? I was unaware I possessed the unfortunate habit of sleep-talking. But your assessment is… partially correct. Holden called from the company yesterday. There are… complications."

He paused, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "It appears I will need to engage in a certain amount of… persuasive negotiation with the Ministry of Health department to ensure our… progress is unimpeded."

"Oh. So you're going to be a little menace to the Ministry of Health department?"

Levi's smile was sharp and predatory. "Let us say I possess certain… leverage. A few strategically placed leaks, perhaps, or a sudden and inconvenient audit. It would be a shame if their careers were to… suffer due to bureaucratic inefficiency."

"Okay. So this morning escalated from me nuzzling your neck, to you grabbing my arm with the reflexes of a trained assassin, to you casually mentioning you're going to blackmail the Ministry of Health. Just another Tuesday for us, I guess. Could you possibly make me some coffee? I need a serious mental workout to process all this in the shower." I said, pushing the covers off and getting out of bed.

"Duly noted. My apologies for the… enthusiastic greeting. It appears my subconscious is somewhat overzealous in its protective duties. The coffee will be prepared with the utmost precision, ensuring optimal stimulation for your 'mental workout.'" Levi pushed the covers aside and got out of bed, closing the distance between us with a few swift steps.

He reached out, his hand gently tracing my jawline. "It was not what you might be imagining, Raphael. The truth is, as an heir to a dukedom, I was constantly under the threat of abduction or harm. It was… a rather perilous existence. Consequently, I was forced to learn rather… effective methods of self-defense, ingrained so deeply they manifest even in sleep. But I am genuinely sorry for grabbing you like that. It was unacceptable." His gaze softened, becoming almost pleading.

"Let me properly apologize," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "With a warm, nice, shared morning shower, yes? I can personally ensure every ache and tension melts away. Then, I will make you the most exquisite coffee you have ever tasted." He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.

A shared shower, huh? He knew me so well. Maybe too well. But if he thought a little hot water and some suds was going to make me forget he'd practically ninja-tackled me out of bed, he had another thing coming.

"You're buying extra soap," I said, a grin spreading across my face despite the lingering adrenaline. "And you have exactly five minutes to explain this whole 'noble assassin' thing before I get distracted by… other things. Deal?"

"A deal, then. But be warned, my dear. The history of dukes is a complex tapestry woven with intrigue, power, and the occasional… assassination attempt. It may require more than five minutes to unravel. And I fully intend to utilize all available… distractions."

...

We went to the shower and, well, one thing led to another. Morning sex. Quick, intense, and surprisingly grounding. Nothing to elaborate on. No. The elaboration came after the shower, while we were having a slightly delayed breakfast.

I choked on my coffee, sputtering and coughing. "You got kidnapped four times as a child? What the hell, Levi!" I managed to get out once I'd regained my ability to breathe. "You've never mentioned this before!"

Levi calmly set down his cup, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "It's not exactly standard breakfast conversation, is it, Raphael? One tends to prioritize less… dramatic anecdotes. But yes. Four times."

He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "The first two attempts happened when I was barely a toddler, so my memories of them are… fragmentary, at best. The third time, I believe I was around twelve. Fortunately, I had already begun my rather rigorous self-defense training, so I was… easily recovered by my family." He paused, a hint of a dark smile playing on his lips. "The last one occurred when I was fourteen, a rather… awkward age to be abducted. Let's just say I incapacitated two of my kidnappers with a certain… pubescent ferocity. Once again, my family located me within… approximately six hours."

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Wait, wait, wait. Back up. 'Pubescent ferocity'? What does that even mean? And you're just… calmly eating your muffins like this is normal? Levi, this is insane! I grew up worried about bullies stealing my lunch money, not being abducted!"

Levi paused, dabbing his lips with a napkin. "Oh? If you are under the impression I resorted to stabbing or projectile weaponry, Raphael, you misunderstand my… preferences. I find the resultant mess of blood aesthetically displeasing. Two precisely applied concussive forces to the base of the occipital bone can achieve the desired neurological cessation with minimal effusion."

"So you punched two grown men, your kidnappers, into… unconsciousness, at fourteen?" I placed my cup carefully back on the table, trying to wrap my head around this.

"Precisely," Levi confirmed, taking another bite of his muffin. "And with a degree of accuracy that, I assure you, would have made a neurosurgeon envious. Those kidnappers were regrettably ill-informed regarding their target's… capabilities."

"Yeah. They didn't know who they were trying to snatch, did they?"

"Quite the oversight on their part. The irony, as you might imagine, was rather… piquant.”

What a ridiculous conversation. I mean, I'm relieved he didn't outright murder them, I guess. But how am I supposed to feel empathy towards this guy? I almost feel pity for the kidnappers, which is… deeply wrong.

Levi folded his napkin with his usual elegance and added, "The reason my retrieval was so swift is actually quite simple. A rather elementary, yet effective method. If you ever find yourself in a similar predicament, Raphael, I suggest you employ it. Discard articles of clothing or personal belongings at regular intervals. The tracking hounds will readily acquire your scent. And it will greatly expedite the authorities' search."

“T-Thanks for the info… I guess.”

What the fuck? He's giving me kidnapping survival tips over breakfast. This is my life now. Is this my life now?

"Rest assured, my dear Raphael," Levi said, his voice dropping to a dangerously possessive purr. "If any imbecile dares to lay a hand on my husband, they will swiftly learn the true meaning of regret. I implore you, they will beg every God they've ever heard of for a swift and merciful end."

"T-Thanks again… What the fuck, Levi? Seriously, stop with the bizarre tyrannical shadow act. But, I'll admit, it was kinda cute in a terrifying way."

"My dearest Raphael, to inspire even a modicum of… endearment midst such… colorful pronouncements is a testament to the strength of our bond. However, I assure you, my protective instincts are merely a logical extension of my… loyalty. Nothing bizarre about it."

"Yeah, you were also a tyrannical shadow eight months ago," I said, a shiver running down my spine at the memory. "I was so scared of you back then. Like, genuinely terrified. I'm still a little scared, if I'm being honest. But now… now it's mixed with something else. Something almost… adorable, I think." I grimaced.

"Ah, Raphael. You wound me with your… accurate assessment. But consider this: even the most tyrannical of figures possesses a certain… charm, when viewed through the lens of affection. And perhaps, a touch of… Captivity syndrome. But let us not dwell on the past. The present, and the potential for further… endearment, is far more intriguing."

Captivity Syndrome. Wait. Was that… was that actually a thing? Was that what was happening to me? No, no, no. That was ridiculous. I'm not weak. I'm not some damsel in distress. Captivity implies a lack of choice, and I did have a choice, damn it! I ran away from him. I left. I was gone for three agonizing months. That's… that's not how Captivity Syndrome works, right? Please tell me that's not how it works. But it wasn't like I was actually captive. I could leave. I did leave… I chose to come back. Or did I just… convince myself I did?

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "You know, for a guy who claims to find my dramatic flair 'appreciated,' you're certainly giving me a lot of material to work with. Kidnapping survival tips, potential blackmail, and now… Captivity Syndrome. What's next, Levi? Are you going to reveal you're secretly a dragon or something?" The humor was forced, but it was better than screaming.

Levi's expression softened, but his gaze remained intense. "That was a poorly timed jest, my dear Raphael. I am not some… savage who would resort to physical coercion to keep you near. I would never force you to stay with me. However," he paused, his voice dropping slightly, "I am also not averse to employing every… persuasive measure at my disposal to ensure your continued presence. Though I understand such topics are hardly conducive to a pleasant breakfast."

"I-I need to take a walk, I think…" I said, the weight of my upcoming trip settling heavily on me. "Shit. All this dramatic talk reminded me, Levi. I need to go to the award festivals. I'll be traveling around the country, again. And award ceremonies and festivals are much more pompous than the publicity runs." My heart sank at the thought of the distance.

Levi placed his overtly sweet beverage on the table with a quiet clink. "Is that so? As always, I will endeavor to assist with the logistical approach. If you require any assistance, please do not hesitate to inform me." His tone was polite, but I could detect a flicker of something… regret? in his eyes.

I had to ask.

"Levi… do you want to come with me? You know how it was the last time. We were apart for two months, and I missed you a lot. This time it won't take two months, but…"

Levi's gaze softened with a visible sadness, but his shoulders squared with resolve. "I appreciate your generous offer, my dear Raphael. But… you know my circumstances. You know who I am, and you know what I am bound to. I do not possess the freedom to leave the capital. Especially while I am obligated to nurture fragile political alliances and shepherd crucial reform bills for the sake of this nascent democracy. And then there is the ongoing complications with my company, which demands my constant attention."

"I know… I understand," I said, the disappointment a heavy weight in my chest. "Damn. I'll miss you a lot. I have to leave this week. It always feels too soon." I sighed, trying to find a silver lining. "But, on the bright side… I really think my film, the one about the Lumin painter, it has a real shot at winning some awards this year." A small, fragile smile touched my lips.

"The logistics of your travel will, of course, be meticulously managed from my end. While your physical absence will be… a distinct disadvantage, the potential triumph of your artistic vision with the Lumin painter film is a matter of considerable importance. I trust you will represent our… endeavors with your usual brilliance."

"Thanks, Levi. Ah, I already feel sad…" But the thought of the awards did lift my spirits a little. "But, I will come back as soon as the victory lap is over. Lend me your private jet."

"Raphael, for you, the stars themselves would be within reach if I possessed the means. My private jet is, shall we say, a considerably more manageable asset. It awaits your command. Return swiftly, and with the weight of accolades."

"What? I meant it as a joke, Levi," I said, a playful smirk spreading across my face. "Didn't you just lecture me about your 'green' initiatives last week? You're actually going to let me use your gas-guzzling flying machine?"

Levi's gaze softened, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "For you, my dear, certain… ecological compromises can be made. Think of it as a necessary expenditure for national morale – your triumph, of course."

"No. No. It was a joke," I insisted, but a part of me was actually a little tempted. "I am content with the… questionable delights of public air travel."

…

The days of that week blurred into a mix of packing my most opulent attire – the kind that screamed "award-winner" even before the nominations – and the lingering scent of my richest perfumes filling the apartment. Levi was a phantom in the periphery, consumed by the latest diplomatic dance with foreign envoys, his presence mostly confined to his study. Yet, there was a noticeable shift in his energy, a quiet contentment that smoothed the usual sharp edges of his personality. It was unexpected, this almost serene Levi, but a relief nonetheless. When the call came, and the car arrived to whisk me away, a pang of sadness hit me despite the anticipation of the festivals. My voyage into that world of flashing lights and manufactured enthusiasm had begun.

The first festival was a blur of flashing cameras, polite applause that felt both genuine and obligatory, and the clinking of champagne flutes at endless after-parties. Lumin garnered significant attention, my performance specifically earning praise – "haunting," "visceral," "a revelation" were some of the more flattering snippets I overheard. I found myself navigating a gauntlet of interviews, my carefully chosen suits feeling both like armor and a spotlight. There were awkward encounters with other actors, the air thick with a mixture of camaraderie and thinly veiled rivalry, and late nights that dissolved into a haze of celebratory drinks and whispered networking.

The second festival, larger and more intense, ratcheted up the pressure. The competition felt fiercer, the stakes higher. But Lumin continued to resonate. The screenings were packed, the energy electric. My portrayal of the tormented painter drew deeper questions about my process, my connection to the character's emotional landscape. There was a heady thrill to the attention, a validation that settled deep in my bones, a welcome distraction from the quiet ache of missing Levi. I even managed a genuine laugh during a bizarre encounter with a veteran actress who insisted on giving me acting notes through a series of elaborate mime sequences.

The third festival, the one that truly held the weight of the industry's gaze, crackled with anticipation. My own nerves were a tangled mess of hope and a desperate desire to not appear overly anxious. When my name was announced among the nominees for Best Lead Actor, the blood rushed to my ears. The agonizing wait between categories felt like years. And then… my name again. The winner. The roar of the crowd, the blinding lights, the heavy, sculpted award suddenly in my trembling hands – it was surreal, a dream made tangible.

A hush fell over the cavernous hall, the spotlight burning a warm circle around me. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a stark contrast to the sudden stillness of the room. Looking out at the sea of faces – directors I’d admired for years, fellow actors whose work had inspired me, critics whose words could make or break careers – it felt impossibly surreal.

"Wow," I began, my voice a little shaky, a nervous laugh escaping before I could fully control it. "Um… wow. I honestly… I didn't prepare anything. Because, well, you just don't, do you? Not really." A few scattered chuckles rippled through the audience, easing the tension slightly.

I took a deep breath, the weight of the award grounding me. "First and foremost, thank you. To the Academy, for this incredible honor. To the festival, for championing films like ours." I gestured slightly with the award. "This… this isn't just for me. It belongs to our visionary director, who coaxed a performance out of me I didn't know I possessed. To the incredible cast and crew, who poured their hearts and souls into bringing the story of Lumin to life."

My gaze drifted for a moment, a fleeting image of Levi's intense, focused face flashing in my mind. "And to… someone who couldn't be here tonight, but whose unwavering belief in me, even when I doubted myself, made all the difference. Your quiet strength and… unique perspective on the world constantly inspire me." A small, private smile touched my lips.

I looked back at the audience, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "Playing Lumin was… a journey. He was a man consumed by his art, by his demons, by the very essence of light and shadow. It was a privilege to inhabit his world, to try and understand his struggles, his triumphs. I hope that through this film, we've managed to shed a little light on the complexities of the human spirit, the fragile beauty that can exist even in the darkest corners."

Another breath. "I… I don't know what else to say. Except thank you. From the bottom of my heart. This means more than words can express." I clutched the award a little tighter, a genuine wave of emotion washing over me. "Thank you." The final word was barely a whisper, lost in the rising swell of applause. The lights blurred, and a hundred faces seemed to smile back at me. It was a dream, undeniably. And for a moment, the ache of absence was overshadowed by the sheer, overwhelming reality of the present.

The ballroom buzzed with a frenetic energy, a chaotic symphony of clinking glasses, boisterous laughter, and snippets of breathless congratulations. And there I was, clutching the heavy, sculpted statuette, the cool metal a tangible weight in my trembling hand.

Shit. It kept echoing in my mind, a mantra of disbelief. I won an award. Not just any award. The award. The one whispered about in hushed tones, the one that could redefine careers. And I’d done it. With an indie film, a passion project about a tormented Lumin painter. Me.

Gods. It felt impossibly real. Seven years. Seven years of soul-crushing auditions, of fleeting, forgettable roles, of instant meals and relentless self-doubt. And now? Now I was standing here, a twenty-five-year-old actor, clutching the most prestigious award in the industry. A kid who wasn’t even born Ascarian. Every grueling hour spent meticulously flattening my Cyrusian inflections, every self-conscious vowel I’d practiced until my jaw ached – it had paid off. It had actually paid off.

A wave of something akin to hysteria bubbled up inside me. I’d done it. I’d actually done it. The weight of the award suddenly felt lighter, replaced by a giddy, almost manic elation. The faces around me swam into focus – my agent, beaming like a proud parent; her usually stoic expression cracked into a wide, genuine smile; other nominees offering surprisingly sincere congratulations.

Gods… the Cyrusian kid who once dreamed of escaping the dusty plains was holding the key to a whole new world. My world. I’d built this. I’d earned this. A choked laugh escaped my lips, a sound that was equal parts disbelief and pure, unadulterated triumph.

The celebratory haze of the after-party clung to me like an expensive perfume, thick and intoxicating. Apparently, my system wasn't quite accustomed to the free-flowing vintage champagne. The last thing I vaguely recalled was attempting to explain the nuanced symbolism of Lumin's brushstrokes to a bewildered studio executive. The next sensation was being unceremoniously deposited onto the plush carpet of my hotel room, my limbs feeling like overcooked noodles.

But the alcohol hadn't dulled the incandescent mania that still coursed through my veins. It had merely stripped away the veneer of composure. My legs, apparently operating on a separate, celebratory program, began to flail. I kicked at the air, my expensive loafers making soft thuds against the carpet.

"I WON!" The shout ripped from my throat, raw and triumphant, echoing in the silent room. "I WON!"

Months. Months of relentless publicity stunts, the soul-numbing repetition of talking points, the endless parade of boring, tedious interviews where I had to feign enthusiasm for the same tired questions. And for this. For this heavy, glorious weight that now resided on my bedside table. Not some blockbuster action flick, not some saccharine romance designed for mass consumption. But an indie film. A quiet, intense character study about a painter wrestling with his genius and his demons. Gods… I had actually done it. Against all odds, against the expectations, I had truly, irrevocably won. The sheer, improbable victory of it all sent another whoop of laughter bubbling up, slightly manic, utterly unrestrained.

The world swam back into focus with the dull throb behind my temples and the faint, lingering scent of stale champagne. Sleep had been a merciful oblivion, a brief respite from the overwhelming reality of the night before.

The journey to the airport was a surreal procession. Heads turned, conversations hushed as I moved through the terminal. I caught snippets of whispers, the kind that prickled with curiosity and recognition. Were they talking about me? Little old Raphael? The Cyrusian kid who used to dream of escaping small-town stages? It was a bizarre, intoxicating shift. No longer the anonymous face behind a character, the puppet for a director's vision. Now, the attention was laser-focused on the award-winning lead actor. My name, my face, my work – it was all anyone seemed to be discussing.

A thrill, sharp and addictive, shot through me. I straightened my shoulders, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on my lips. I soaked it in, this heady cocktail of recognition and newfound respect. This wasn't the fleeting attention of an attention whore; this was something solid, something earned. I loved every single, glorious second of it. The world, for the moment, felt like my stage.

The anticipation thrummed in my veins, a frantic counterpoint to the steady drone of the airplane engines. I could barely contain the urge to bolt the moment the landing gear touched down. Home. Levi. The thought was a magnetic pull, eclipsing even the lingering glow of the award.

Stepping off the plane, the familiar rush of air in capita hit me, carrying the faint, unique scent of the city. The hushed conversations, the subtle pointing, the sideways glances – they hadn't stopped. It was a constant, low hum of recognition that followed me like a shadow. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Levi, I thought, a smile already forming. A congratulatory message, no doubt, filled with his typically understated pride.

But the message wasn't a string of carefully chosen words. It was a formal notification, an official document. My breath hitched as I read the heading: Estate Transfer Notification. My eyes scanned the details, disbelieving. Levi… had inherited me… every single mountain on Ascaria.

Wait. What?