As Nero slept, he dreamed.
A memory, perhaps—of a time long gone, when he was still Angelo Walker.
In the dream, he sat at the dining table, eating dinner with his family.
Laughter echoed softly, conversation flowed.
But Nero wasn't at the table.
He stood a few steps away, just out of reach, silently watching.
The others were there… but not really.
Their faces were dark, featureless spheres, as if his mind couldn't—or wouldn't—recall them.
He couldn't hear their voices. Only Angelo's voice came through, crisp and clear, as he spoke and laughed, oblivious to the figure watching from the shadows.
Nero tried to move, to speak, to reach out.
But his body didn't listen. He was a prisoner in his own dream, standing still as the scene unfolded.
Then, without warning, Angelo turned his head and looked straight at him.
The others vanished like smoke, leaving only the two of them—Angelo and Nero—face to face.
They stood apart at first, staring across the dark.
Angelo looked just like him.
Same pale eyes. Same long hair.
And a dark, jagged crack stretched across his face—from the left side of his chin to the right side of his forehead.
The sight made Nero freeze. It wasn't just a dream—it was a mirror.
Angelo tilted his head slightly and asked,
"How does it feel?"
Nero opened his mouth, confused, desperate to respond—but no sound came.
Angelo stepped closer.
"Are you happy with your new name?"
Nero stared at him, stunned.
How could he know?
Suddenly, the scene shifted. The warmth of dinner was gone.
The bodies of his family lay scattered across the floor, limbs torn, blood pooling like a river.
It spread outward, creeping until it touched Nero's bare feet.
His breath caught. His chest tightened.
His vision blurred with tears—but he didn't know why he was crying.
Angelo walked calmly through the blood, slow and deliberate—until he stood just inches away.
"Are you sad?" he asked, voice low and steady.
"You couldn't save them… not even with all that power. And now, you don't even remember why you fought so hard.
You've forgotten their faces… the ones you loved most."
He paused. Then, with a bitter smile:
"You even gave yourself a new name—'Nero Angelo'. How fitting… for someone who lost everything."
Angelo leaned in, his voice a whisper.
"But you didn't forget, did you? You're just… refusing to remember."
And then—
Nero woke up.
His eyes were wet. His breathing uneven.
He sat up slowly, wiping his face with trembling fingers.
But no matter how hard he tried,
he couldn't remember the dream.
Or why he had been crying.
A knock came at the door.
"Nero? You up yet?" Dorne's voice came through.
"Yeah, I'm up," Nero replied, quickly wiping the tears from his face.
Dorne stepped inside, eyeing Nero's expression.
"Dude… were you crying?"
Nero finished drying his eyes and sighed.
"I had a dream. I don't remember what it was, but… the tears just started falling."
"Huh." Dorne looked at him for a moment, then moved toward the window.
"What time is it?" Nero asked.
Dorne drew back the curtains and opened the windows, letting the sunlight flood the room.
"Already eight in the morning."
The light struck Nero's eyes like knives.
He winced, throwing up a hand and letting out a sharp groan.
"FUCK! Why the hell would you do that without warning!? Shit—my eyes!"
Dorne let out a loud laugh.
"Sorry, sorry! Next time I'll give you a heads-up, promise."
He snorted a bit more, then grabbed what he needed before turning to leave.
"Wash your face and get ready, you big crybaby. Come help with breakfast, then we'll head to Anika's.
She might be able to figure out what's going on with you."
Nero, still squinting through the light, muttered,
"Stop giving me nicknames."
He freshened up, joined Dorne in the kitchen, and the two of them prepared and ate a quick breakfast.
Afterward, they stepped outside.
As soon as Nero walked out, he noticed CH staring at him from across the yard—eyes narrowed, posture stiff.
A silent challenge.
Nero looked at Dorne.
"What is his deal? What did I even do to him?"
Dorne stretched and said,
"CH doesn't like outsiders. Especially ones living in his house."
Nero blinked.
"His house?"
"Yep. This place? It's his domain. And he'll protect it."
"Then why hasn't he attacked you?"
Dorne grinned.
"Because I'm not a crybaby."
Nero gave him a deadpan look.
"You're not letting that go, are you?"
"Nope."
They reached Anika's home and knocked on the door.
It creaked open, and little Eli peeked out.
"Oh—it's you, Mr. Elias," he said with a small smile.
"Come in, I'll get Mommy."
Then his eyes landed on Nero.
The moment he saw him, his face drained of color.
His eyes widened—and without a word, he bolted into the house.
Nero stood silently, confused.
Dorne glanced at him.
"What was that about?"
Nero didn't answer.
A few seconds later, Anika appeared at the door, Eli clinging tightly to her waist, half-hiding behind her.
"Sorry about that," Anika said, brushing Eli's hair gently.
"He's been acting… odd this morning. Come in."
Dorne and Nero stepped inside.
They sat down on the chairs near the table.
Anika smiled politely.
"Can I get you two anything?"
Dorne waved a hand.
"No need—we just finished breakfast."
"At least have some coffee," she insisted.
Without waiting for a reply, she headed to the kitchen and returned moments later with two steaming cups.
She handed one to each of them.
"Thanks," they both said in unison.
"No need to thank me," she replied, taking a seat across from them.
Her gaze flicked between the two.
"So, Elias—what brings you here? And you've brought the new guy with you."
Dorne smirked.
"His name is Nero Angelo. You already forgot?"
Anika chuckled lightly.
"Ah—sorry about that."
She turned to Nero.
"So… who's the patient?"
Dorne pointed at Nero with exaggerated flair.
"This cracked-face, big crybaby right here. He's the one. Lost his memories, and apparently can't feel hot or cold."
Anika's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him—caught between suspicion and concern.
Nero gave a small nod, confirming Dorne's words.