Sleep claimed Nero quickly.
In his dream, he stood inside a house—near the front door. It felt familiar, though he didn't know why. The air was still. Quiet.
Too quiet.
He began to walk.
The living room was empty.
The dining room—empty.
The kitchen.
The rooms upstairs.
Nothing.
Then he heard it.
A voice.
Coming from downstairs.
Nero froze.
Slowly, he made his way down the steps. With each one, the sound grew clearer. Warmer.
Familiar in a way that made his chest tighten.
The voice came from the dining room.
But it hadn't been there before.
"What's for dinner, mom?" The voice said.
Nero turned the corner.
The table was full.
People sat in their chairs, plates laid out, food steaming softly. But something was wrong. Every face was dark—smooth, featureless spheres, as though his mind couldn't—or wouldn't—remember them.
All except one.
Seated among them was a boy.
Nero's breath caught.
The boy was him.
No crack marred his face. His hair was a little longer. His eyes were bright—alive. He laughed, joked, spoke easily, his voice clear and warm. Nero couldn't hear the others respond, but it was obvious they were talking back. A family, sharing a meal.
The boy turned toward a smaller figure beside him.
"How was your day at school,—?"
The name that followed twisted, distorted. Nero couldn't understand it.
But he knew.
The boy said her name.
The sound of it made Nero's heart ache.
He tried to move. To speak. To reach out.
His body refused.
He was trapped—forced to watch as the scene continued without him.
Then the boy spoke again.
"How does it feel?"
Nero looked up.
The boy was staring directly at him.
The others vanished like smoke.
The table. The chairs. Gone.
Only the two of them remained—one standing, one rising from the chair.
The boy straightened, his expression shifting into something sharper. Older.
Angelo.
He tilted his head slightly.
"I asked you a question," he said calmly. "How does it feel?"
Nero opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Angelo stepped closer.
"Are you happy with your new name?" he asked. "With your new life?"
Nero's thoughts spun wildly.
What is going on?
The world shattered.
The floor dissolved into red.
Blood—thick, flowing, cold—spread across the ground and lapped at Nero's bare feet. He looked down.
Bodies.
The family lay scattered across the floor. Limbs torn. Still.
The blood wasn't symbolic.
It was theirs.
Nero's breath hitched. His chest tightened. Tears blurred his vision—but he didn't understand why he was crying.
Angelo walked through the blood without hurry, each step deliberate, until he stood inches away.
"Are you sad?" he asked softly.
"You couldn't save them. Not even with all that power. And now…" His voice hardened. "You don't even remember why you fought so hard."
Angelo's eyes bored into him.
"You forgot their faces. Their voices. The ones you loved most."
A pause.
Then a bitter smile.
"You even accepted the name that man gave you. A new name—Nero Angelo."
He leaned in, whispering,
"How fitting… for someone who lost everything."
Angelo straightened.
"But you didn't forget," he said. "Did you?"
His gaze sharpened.
"You're just… refusing to remember."
Nero woke with a jolt.
His eyes were wet. His breathing uneven.
For a moment, he stared at the ceiling through blurred vision, chest rising and falling too fast. Then he pushed himself upright, wiping his face with trembling fingers. His heart still pounded—but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember the dream.
Or why he'd been crying.
A knock came at the door.
"Nero? You up yet?" Dorne's voice called out.
"Yeah," Nero replied quickly, scrubbing at his eyes. "I'm up."
Dorne stepped inside, immediately narrowing his gaze.
"Dude… were you crying?"
Nero finished wiping his face and let out a slow sigh.
"I had a dream. Don't remember what it was—but the tears just started falling."
"Huh. Must've been one hell of a dream to do that." 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! Son of a—! Why the hell would you do that without warning!? Shit—my eyes!"
Dorne burst out laughing.
"Sorry, sorry! Next time I'll give you a heads-up, promise."
Still chuckling, he grabbed the stool he needed and headed for the door.
"Wash your face and get ready, you big crybaby. Help with breakfast, then we'll head to Anika's. She might figure out what's going on with you."
Nero squinted after him and muttered,
"Stop giving me nicknames."
After freshening up, Nero joined Dorne in the kitchen.
He yawned.
Dorne glanced over. "That dream really did a number on you. You look like shit."
Nero yawned again. "Yeah. I feel more tired now than last night."
Dorne was shoving branches and deadwood into the stove. Nero watched for a moment, then raised an eyebrow.
"What kind of stove is that? Don't think I've ever seen anything like it."
Dorne lit the wood and smirked.
"No shit. You lost your memories."
Nero rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.
"Yeah. This sucks. So—how does it work?"
Dorne straightened, inhaled deeply, and spread his arms as if preparing for a lecture.
"This, my boy, is called a Rocket Mass Heater.R.M.H for short. It runs on branches and small bits of dry wood. You can cook, bake—if you've got the brains—and it keeps the house warm for hours."
He grinned smugly.
"So. Mind blown, right?"
Nero gave him a flat look and clapped slowly.
"It's a lifesaver. I'll give you that. How many does the town have?"
Dorne's grin faltered slightly as he turned back to the pan.
"Each house used to have one. Only three still work. By some miracle, all three are in houses that didn't collapse."
Nero stood there quietly, picturing how hard survival must be in a place like this.
Dorne glanced at him.
"You gonna stand there all morning, or help me?"
Nero stepped forward. "Alright, alright."
They made a quick breakfast together and ate without much talking.
Outside, the air was cool.
The moment Nero stepped into the yard, he felt it.
Captain Headbutt.
The goat stood across from him, eyes narrowed, posture rigid—a silent challenge.
Nero leaned toward Dorne.
"What's his problem? What did I even do to him?"
Dorne stretched lazily.
"CH doesn't like outsiders. Especially ones living in his house."
Nero blinked.
"His house?"
"Yep," Dorne said. "This place is his domain. He protects it."
"Then why hasn't he attacked you?"
Dorne grinned.
"Because I'm not a crybaby."
Nero shot him a look.
"You're not letting that go, are you?"
"Nope."
They reached Anika's home. Dorne knocked.
After a moment, the door creaked open and a small boy peeked out.
"Oh—it's you, Mr. Elias," Eli said with a shy smile. "Come in. I'll get Mommy."
Then his eyes landed on Nero.
The color drained from his face.
His eyes widened—and without a word, he turned and bolted deeper into the house.
Nero stood there, confused.
Dorne frowned.
"What was that about?"
Nero didn't answer.
Seconds later, Anika appeared, Eli clinging tightly to her waist, half-hidden behind her.
"Sorry about that," she said gently, brushing Eli's hair. "He's been acting… odd this morning. Come in."
They stepped inside and took seats near the table.
"Can I get you anything?" Anika asked.
Dorne waved it off. "We just ate."
"At least have some coffee," she insisted.
She returned moments later with two steaming cups and handed them over.
"Thanks," both men said at once.
"No need," she replied, sitting across from them. Her gaze moved between the two.
"So, Elias—what brings you here? And you've brought the new guy with you."
Dorne smirked.
"His name's Nero Angelo. You already forget?"
Anika chuckled softly.
"Ah—sorry." She turned to Drone. "So… who's the patient?"
Dorne pointed at Nero dramatically.
"This cracked-face, dumbass, crybaby right here. Lost his memories—and apparently can't feel hot or cold."
Nero snapped his head toward him.
"Dude. Stop."
Anika's expression tightened as she studied Nero—suspicion mixed with concern.
Nero met her gaze and gave a small nod.
Confirming it.