Chapter Text
Raphael Bendyke
Once again, Raphael found himself gathering his siblings—Jester, Seth, Blaine, and Yohn , Ivide—as they heard their father's haunting cries echo through the halls of their ancestral home. It was a ritual that occurred once a month without fail, sending the servants scurrying to hide any sharp objects or potential hazards that could be used in a moment of distress.
Raphael, the eldest son of Viscount Kloff Bendyke, was a striking figure at 17 years old. As an omega male, he was revered for his beauty among the nobility—a golden boy adored by his father and the nanny who bore a striking resemblance to his late mother, Raphael Westport. Tales of Raphael Westport painted him as a sweet and beautiful omega, but there was always an unsettling air surrounding his memory.
Approaching his father's chamber, Raphael noticed the familiar sight of his father seated in his chair, his gaze fixed upon the cabin outside the window. Sometimes tears streaked down his cheeks, while other times, it seemed as though he was lost in a world of his own.
Unable to muster the words to confront his father, Raphael retreated to his room after ensuring his siblings were tended to. As he passed by a slightly ajar door, he caught the murmur of two aging servants conversing in hushed tones.
"Do you think it's karma for what he did to Count Aeroc?" a female servant whispered, the name Aeroc Teiwind sending a shiver down Raphael's spine, as he had heard it spoken in hushed tones at parties, often accompanied by tales of horror.
"Shh, if Martha overhears us, she'll have our heads," cautioned the male servant.
"But you know what they say about bad deeds coming back to haunt you," the female servant persisted. "I still remember when the Count was alive, we often saw the Viscount heading to the cabin..."
Her voice trailed off, and then she continued, "It was terrifying to witness the Viscount return with blood stains."
"Yes, it was both tragic and chilling. One day, curiosity got the best of me. I peeked inside the cabin when the Viscount left," the male servant confessed. "And there he was, Count Aeroc, battered and bruised in red and blue. It was evident that the Viscount's actions went beyond mere beatings... and not long after, Master Seth was born."
"Can you imagine if any of the kids found out who their real birth parents are and what their father did to them? Would they even want to stay?" The female servant's words sent a jolt through Raphael's heart. "Birth parents?"
"What can we say? The Viscount was a monster. He never let the Count see his children; he took them away right after birth," the male servant explained. Unable to bear the weight of the conversation any longer, Raphael quietly slipped away to his room.
That night weighed heavily on Raphael. His mind swirled with unsettling thoughts and unanswered questions. He knew he couldn't avoid it any longer; he had to confront the truth himself.
At 18 years old, Raphael unraveled the mystery shrouding Count Aeroc, discovering the chilling truths behind his identity and the atrocities his own father had committed. It was merely the tip of the iceberg, igniting a furious blaze within him. The urge to avenge consumed him, yet amidst the flames of rage, a thirst for deeper understanding simmered.
With the aid of a private investigator and well-placed bribes to loyal servants, particularly the seasoned ones, Raphael delved into the shadows of history. Fragmented whispers led him to unearth secrets, including fragments of his mother's obscured past. However, one enigma persisted—a room veiled in obscurity, housing the relics and echoes of the mansion's previous inhabitants.
Navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the vast estate, Raphael's quest culminated in the discovery of this elusive chamber. Veiled in silence and neglect, the room seemed frozen in time, its every crevice laden with the weight of forgotten memories. With the assistance of a trusted servant, the key to unlock this crypt of history was finally secured.
As the door creaked open, a rush of stale air mingled with the whispers of the past. Layers of dust bore witness to years of neglect, veiling portraits and cherished mementos in a sepia shroud. Yet, amidst the decay, a story awaited—tales of love and loss, betrayal and redemption—etched into the very fabric of the forgotten room.
As Raphael sifted through the relics of Aeroc Teiwind's life, a kaleidoscope of emotions engulfed him. Portraits traced the contours of Aeroc's journey from innocent childhood to the complexities of adulthood, each stroke of the brush whispering tales of joy and sorrow. Amongst the artifacts lay music sheets, their melodies hauntingly beautiful yet tinged with an undercurrent of violence—a reflection of Aeroc's tumultuous soul.
A painting, adorned with Aeroc Teiwind's unmistakable signature, commanded Raphael's attention. Its subject bore a striking resemblance to himself, a mirror reflecting the echoes of a past intertwined with his own. In that moment of clarity, Raphael realized the profound connection—the realization that to be called beautiful was to echo the essence of Aeroc Teiwind himself. A bittersweet laughter escaped his lips, mingling with tears of understanding as he embraced the weight of this revelation.
Crushed beneath the weight of revelation, Raphael sought solace in the embrace of Aeroc's violin, its strings a vessel for the unspoken anguish shared between kindred spirits. Tears flowed freely as he clung to the instrument, each note a cathartic release for the emotions churning within.
Retreating from the haunting chamber, Raphael locked away the remnants of Aeroc Teiwind's legacy, sealing the memories within the confines of the forgotten room. Returning to his sanctuary, he sought refuge in solitude, recoiling from the prying eyes of those who could never comprehend the depths of his turmoil.
Yet, even in his seclusion, he was not spared from the intrusion of the past. Martha, his trusted nanny, approached with concern etched upon her weathered features. But behind the facade of care lay the shadow of betrayal, a revelation that shattered the fragile trust Raphael had placed in her. The weight of her transgressions hung heavy in the air, staining the sanctity of their bond with the indelible mark of deceit.
As tears welled in his eyes, memories flooded back like a torrential rain. He found himself transported to the vivid imagery of the rose garden, where he once encountered the enigmatic figure who gifted him those radiant yellow daffodils. The weight of nostalgia bore heavily upon him, yet the exact moment he drifted into slumber eluded his grasp.
In the midst of his reverie, a melodic and unfamiliar voice beckoned to him, its sweetness akin to the gentle caress of a summer breeze. Aware of the ephemeral nature of dreams, he hesitated to open his eyes, fearing that the mere act would shatter the fragile illusion. Nevertheless, the allure of the voice proved irresistible, its tender refrain resonating within the depths of his soul.
"Wake up, my son," the voice intoned softly, accompanied by a delicate touch that roused him from his trance-like state
."My baby, wake up," the voice called out, and as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, the figure before him came into focus—it was the man from the portrait he had seen last night. But instead of a distant memory, his mother stood before him, living and breathing, wearing a soft smile laced with concern. Was this a dream? The lines between reality and fantasy blurred.
His mother's hand, surprisingly tender for a man, reached out to touch his forehead. It was the first time he had felt his mother's touch, real or imagined. He didn't want to question it; he simply wanted to revel in the moment, tears of joy gathering in his eyes.
"Lennox! My baby, are you okay?" His mother's voice, filled with worry, broke through his reverie.
"What did you call me?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
lennox teiwind (in Raphael Bendyke)
He remembered it all too vividly: the frantic scramble up the towering tree to rescue the frightened cat. Urea and Jester had been relentless distractions, their clamor disrupting his focus like an unyielding tempest. Despite their antics, he pressed on, his determination fueled by a mixture of annoyance and concern for the trapped animal. With a surge of adrenaline, he managed to reach the trembling feline and cradle it in his arms.
But just as he readied himself to descend, the cat wriggled free, leaping into Urea's waiting hands below. Relief washed over him briefly, only to be replaced by sheer terror as his footing slipped on the mossy branch. The world tilted dangerously as he plummeted earthward, the ground hurtling up to meet him with alarming speed. Above him, his siblings' horrified screams pierced the air, their faces etched with stark terror.
In those final moments of consciousness, he glimpsed Hugo and Martha racing towards him, their panic palpable in the air. Was this truly the end? The haunting question echoed through his mind as darkness enveloped him, swallowing him whole.
When he awoke, it was to the sound of Martha's voice, cutting through the haze of sleep like a knife. Sitting up in bed, he blinked away the lingering fog, only to realise with a start that this wasn't his room. Martha's usually gentle tone carried an unexpected edge, her words clear yet strangely commanding. Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled to make sense of the situation. Why the sudden shift in demeanour?
His gaze swept the unfamiliar room until it settled on a nearby mirror. The reflection staring back at him sent a shiver down his spine—it was not his own. The clothes were his, the posture identical, but the face... it was like a younger version of his own mother, rendered in the prime of his youth. Disbelief coursed through him as he reached out tentatively, the figure in the mirror mimicking his every move with eerie precision.
Panic seized him, driving him to scramble out of bed in a desperate bid for answers. His legs tangled in the sheets, sending him crashing to the floor with a resounding thud. Martha rushed to his side, her voice laced with concern as she helped him to his feet.
"What happened, young master? Are you alright?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
"I... I don't know," he stammered, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. "What happened to my voice?"
Martha frowned, studying him intently. "Your voice sounds perfectly fine to me," she replied before offering a reassuring smile. "But let me get you some hot cocoa. It'll help settle your nerves."
As Martha disappeared from the room, he was left alone with his thoughts, his mind racing with unanswered questions. Walking unsteadily towards the mirror, he studied his reflection once more—blonde hair, blue eyes, a perfect replica of his mother in her youth. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks: had he somehow traveled back in time to inhabit his mother's younger body?
A surge of relief washed over him as he dismissed the notion. No, Martha was here, which meant he couldn't possibly be inhabiting his mother's body. The thought was both absurd and terrifying in equal measure. But if he wasn't in his mother's body, then whose body was he in? And how on earth was he going to get back to his own?
With determined resolve, he decided to first assess his surroundings. Though this room wasn't his usual domain, the familiarity of the house reassured him. It may not have been his bedroom, but it was undeniably his family's estate.
As he pondered his next move, a gentle knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Granting permission, he was met by a servant bearing clothes. They were of inferior quality compared to what he was accustomed to—a stark reminder that something was gravely amiss. After dressing hastily, the servant departed, leaving him alone once more with his reflection.
Staring into the mirror, he couldn't shake the disconcerting realization that the man staring back at him was his own age—18. Yet, the discrepancy in physique was glaring. His original body had been tall and robust, a testament to his family's status and stature. He had inherited his father's height and sturdy build, often admired as the epitome of masculine allure. But now, in this unfamiliar form, he was smaller in stature, lacking the imposing presence he was accustomed to.
The reflection before him was undeniably handsome, possessing a delicate beauty reminiscent of his mother's. He couldn't help but marvel at the resemblance, a testament to his mother's unparalleled grace and allure. "My mama bear is the most beautiful out there, of course," he declared proudly, a fond smile gracing his lips.
With a renewed sense of determination, he resolved to confront the peculiar situation head-on. Stepping out of the room, he ventured forth to navigate the unfamiliar territory that lay before him. As he emerged outside, the familiar architecture of his family home greeted him, yet something felt amiss. Despite the recognizable structure, there was an unsettling absence—a palpable shift in the atmosphere.
Surveying his surroundings, he noticed subtle differences. The servants, once familiar faces, now seemed like strangers, their demeanor altered. All except for Martha, whose presence offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the uncertainty. Determined to find answers, he made his way to his father's office.
Entering the room, he found his father engrossed in work, his usual warmth replaced by an aura of solemnity. The jovial man he knew seemed distant, lost in his own thoughts. Deciding not to disturb him, he left silently, his mind buzzing with questions.
"Why does this house feel so somber and desolate?" he pondered to himself as he wandered the halls. Seeking solace, he ventured into his sister's room, only to be met with a sight that further confounded him. There she sat, his sister, poised and refined, a stark contrast to her usual spirited self. It was as if she had been replaced by an entirely different person.
Bewildered, he turned to leave, his thoughts interrupted by the sound of laughter echoing through the halls. Following the jovial sounds, he descended the stairs, where he was met with a heartwarming scene. Three children, blonde-haired twins and Jester, played joyfully, their laughter filling the air.
Before he could intervene, Martha's stern voice cut through the merriment, scolding the children for their noise. He watched as they obediently quieted down, their spirits dampened by her reprimand. Unable to bear the sight, he approached Martha with a determined resolve.As Martha scolded the children, her demeanor stern and unfamiliar, he scanned the room for his butler Hugo. Surely, Hugo wouldn't stand for anyone speaking to the children in such a manner. But to his dismay, Hugo was nowhere to be seen, adding to the disconcerting feeling that something was deeply wrong.
The children, chastened by Martha's reprimand, obediently lowered their voices, their playful energy dampened by her stern words. His heart ached at the sight, unable to bear the sudden change in atmosphere. Determination flared within him as he stepped forward, unable to remain a silent observer any longer.
"Martha, please," he implored, his tone urgent and eyes pleading. "Let the kids enjoy their childhood. They need to play and laugh, especially now."
"But, young master," Martha began, her voice gentle but uncertain, "your father is busy with his work, and your sister is trying to study. Their noise might disturb them." She handed him his cup of cocoa with a tender, maternal gesture.
"Did Father specifically tell you to keep them quiet?" he asked, his words hanging in the air, challenging her assumption. The laughter of one of the twins rang out, punctuating the tension, though he ignored it, focusing intently on Martha's wavering expression.
"No, but I thought that—" Martha's explanation was cut short as he took a deep breath, interrupting her with a resolute tone.
"If he hasn't expressly asked, then there's no need for reprimand," he asserted gently but firmly, his gaze unwavering. "Can you perhaps find another task to occupy yourself with?" Without waiting for Martha's response, he strode purposefully towards the children, sinking down to their eye level with a graceful bend of his knee. "Would you three like some cookies and milk?" he asked, his voice carrying warmth and kindness as he met their eager nods with a smile.
"Martha," he addressed her with a glance over his shoulder, "I'll be taking them out to the rose garden. Would you kindly prepare some cookies and milk for our little adventure?" With that, he rose to lead the children outside,
"Alright, but you both know the rules, don't you?" Martha's reminder was gentle yet firm as she addressed the twins.
"What now, are they not allowed to play outside either?" he responded inwardly, his patience wearing thin with Martha's constant directives. Inside the mind of the twin, frustration simmered. "Just do as I asked you to..., come on, let's go, Jester," he urged,asked his brother preparing to lead the way.
"But, Jester is already outside, big brother," one of the twins chimed in, their innocent confusion momentarily breaking through his resolve. He offered a small, understanding smile, dismissing their innocent mix-up as mere playfulness. "They aren't Marquis children, but who are they? They bear such a striking resemblance to Mother," he pondered silently, a pang of nostalgia tugging at his heartstrings.
As they stepped into the rose garden, his gaze was drawn to the quaint cabin nestled amidst the vibrant blooms. The air was filled with the sweet scent of yellow daffodils, their cheerful hues dancing in the gentle breeze. Amidst the sea of flowers, something caught his eye. Squinting against the sunlight, he focused intently, and there it was—a solemn presence amidst the blossoms.
A tombstone, adorned with delicate engravings, stood silently among the golden blooms. His brow furrowed in confusion and concern. Whose final resting place lay hidden amidst this idyllic garden?
As he walked towards the gravestone, one of the twins called out, "Look, Jester is coming this way!" Confused, he turned around and was shocked to see the twins running toward the boy, yelling "Jester." To his horror, the 14-year-old boy they were calling out to was none other than himself. It was as if he had stepped into a nightmare, the sight of his younger self approaching making the surreal reality undeniable.
Raphael Bendyke (in lennox teiwind)
"Wake up, my son," the voice intoned softly, accompanied by a delicate touch that roused him from his trance-like state.
"My baby, wake up," the voice called out, and as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, the figure before him came into focus—it was the man from the portrait he had seen last night. But instead of a distant memory, his mother stood before him, living and breathing, wearing a soft smile laced with concern. Was this a dream? The lines between reality and fantasy blurred.
His mother's hand, surprisingly tender for a man, reached out to touch his forehead. It was the first time he had felt his mother's touch, real or imagined. He didn't want to question it; he simply wanted to revel in the moment, tears of joy gathering in his eyes.
"Lennox! My baby, are you okay?" His mother's voice, filled with worry, broke through his reverie.
"What did you call me?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
"Lennox, sweetheart, it's me. It's your mother," the man said, his eyes searching Raphael's face for recognition. Raphael's heart ached as he looked into those familiar eyes, now filled with a warmth and love he had never seen in his own world.
"Mother..." he whispered, tears spilling over. The word felt foreign and yet right. He couldn't stop the sobs that shook his body as he buried his face in his mother's chest, feeling the comfort and security he had longed for his entire life.
"It's alright, Lennox. I'm here," his mother whispered, holding him close in his strong, protective embrace. The scent of his mother's cologne, the comforting warmth of his arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it all felt so achingly real, like a lifeline in the storm. Raphael clung to him desperately, afraid that if he let go, this fleeting moment of solace would vanish into thin air.
"Mother, I missed you so much," Raphael choked out, his voice trembling with emotion. "You were taken from me... you left, and I never had the chance to say goodbye."
His mother held him at arm's length, his eyes filled with sorrow as he gazed at Raphael's tear-streaked face. "I may not fully understand, Lennox, but I'm here now. I won't leave you again, I promise."
Raphael nodded, his heart laden with sorrow and longing. This moment felt precious, as if it were delicately woven into the fabric of time, a fragile treasure that could slip away in an instant. His mother's tender kiss on his forehead was a silent solace, speaking volumes in its simplicity.
"Lennox, you took quite a spill there! You're behaving like a mere child," a youthful voice chimed in, accompanied by playful laughter.
"And the two of you ought to exercise more caution. Your antics led to him rescuing the cat," his father admonished gently. Raphael glanced over, observing his siblings, Seth and Blaine, receiving their father's gentle scolding. Yet, his focus swiftly returned to his father, who approached with a warm smile. "Hello, my little warrior. Are you alright? I didn't realize a fall could turn you into such a softy," he teased gently, settling beside Raphael on the bed and still riepel enveloping him in a comforting mother's embrace. Raphael winced as his father's touch brushed against a tender spot, but he couldn't resist leaning into the reassuring gesture. "Oops, my apologies. But you truly gave us a fright, my boy," his father continued, his mother still cradling Raphael in his arms. Then, with a curious glance around the room, he inquired, "Where are Yohn, Ivide, and Jester, father?"
Raphael's brow creased in confusion as he gazed into the mirror behind his mother. The reflection that met his eyes was not his own—it was that of a jester, his head swathed in bandages. "Why am I Jester, Mother?" he whispered, his voice trembling with fear and uncertainty.
"Hugo, fetch the doctor at once!" his mother's voice echoed urgently, and a butler hurried out of the room. As the doctor arrived and began his examination, Raphael listened to his father's attempts at reassurance, yet the questions continued to whirl in his mind. Why was he inhabiting Jester's body? And where had his true self vanished to?
As the doctor administered a sedative, Raphael's father was gently escorted out of the room, leaving Raphael alone with his mother once more. Panic surged within him, and he reached out desperately to prevent his departure. "Please, don't leave me, Mother," he pleaded, feeling the grip of fear tighten around his heart like a vice.
His mother's eyes softened with understanding as he knelt beside the bed, gently taking Raphael's hand in his. "I'm not going anywhere, Lennox. I'll be right here when you wake up," he promised, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of Raphael's confusion. With his mother's presence as his only source of comfort, Raphael closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness, praying that when he awoke, he would find himself back in the familiar embrace of the man he knew as his mother, his steadfast anchor in a sea of uncertainty.
It had been a day since Raphael had woken up in a stranger's body, but one thing was clear: he was not in the right place. Everything seemed the same as his home, but the man in the mirror was a jester named Lennox, not Raphael.
Lennox had a brother who looked like Blaine, yet they called him Jester. ,Seth who was known to Raphael as Urea, was present as well. The servants and butlers were different, with a man named Hugo taking on those roles. Only Martha remained, but she had completely changed. And it wasn’t just Martha; his father was different too.
The man Raphael knew as his father had always looked pained and sad, sometimes angry. His father rarely smiled at him and his siblings. But the man in this house, who looked so much like his father, was completely different. He laughed, talked, and made jokes with his children. Most importantly, his eyes were full of life, unlike the father Raphael remembered, whose eyes were lifeless and always searching for something or someone.
The most startling change was his mother, who, in this world, was alive . He was here too, an angelic presence, the most beautiful creature with blonde hair and blue eyes, elegant and graceful. His voice was sweet, his touch delightful.
Raphael's heart clenched with longing and confusion. This place felt like a twisted reflection of his reality, a world where his loved ones were both distorted and hauntingly familiar. Standing before the mirror, he gazed at Lennox's reflection, overcome with a flood of emotions at the prospect of encountering his mother once more. He was so consumed by the overwhelming desire to reunite with him that he completely disregarded the fact that he addressed him as Lennox, not Raphael. The weight of this strange new world pressed down on him, its unfamiliarity suffocating yet strangely alluring.
He found himself torn between two worlds—the cold familiarity of his old life, with all its sorrow and pain, and the warmth and love that radiated from this new, vibrant family. Despite the confusion and uncertainty, His heart ached with the confusion of it all, the clash of memories and new experiences tearing at his soul. In the midst of this surreal existence, Raphael's only constant was the bittersweet realisation that while everything seemed the same, nothing was as it once was.
"I need to get out of this room," Raphael's inner turmoil surged as he felt trapped within the confines of his surroundings. Stepping outside, he was met by the concerned gaze of Hugo, the butler. "Ah, young master, you should really be resting," Hugo's voice was gentle, tinged with worry. Ignoring the plea, Raphael remained silent, his mind consumed by a desperate need to escape.
"Where's Mother?" Raphael's voice quivered with longing and uncertainty.
Hugo's expression softened, though a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. "You're quite the determined one, aren't you?" he remarked softly. "He's in his room," Hugo answered, his tone carrying a mix of understanding and caution. With a nod of thanks, Raphael hurried to his mother's chamber, his heart aching with anticipation.
"Mother, may I come in?" Raphael's voice held a fragile hope, teetering on the edge of desperation.
"Yes, my love," his mother's reassuring voice beckoned him inside. As he entered, Raphael's eyes fell upon him, overwhelmed by a flood of conflicting emotions. Tears pricked at his eyes as he struggled to comprehend the surreal situation before him. His mother appeared so regal, yet so distant, a mirror image of his own lost identity.
"Mother... I love you," Raphael's voice trembled with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks like raindrops in a tempest. His mother turned to him, his gaze filled with tenderness and understanding.
"I love you the most, my beloved son," Aeroc Teiwind's words wrapped around Raphael like a comforting embrace, offering solace amidst the chaos of his inner turmoil.