Ebony Castle

“When he suddenly disappeared, no one believed it was a health issue, even at Locke House. But it was real, huh? So, that guy’s body is paralyzed because of Neim, right?”Niklas’ chatter faded into the background as Doha struggled to untangle the messy thoughts in his mind. He recalled climbing the steep stairs of the mansion with his aching leg, and the image of the study, reminiscent of a rich oil painting, came to mind. The late afternoon sun’s red glow shining through the high arched windows, the man’s unrealistically beautiful face seated in a velvet armchair, and the large golden dog lying at his feet.When Doha snapped back to reality, Niklas was watching him, waiting for a response. He opened his mouth to give a suitable answer, but words he hadn’t intended to say slipped out between his lips.“He wasn’t… like that.”His voice cracked. Doha briefly closed his eyes and then opened them again. His own labored breathing echoed in his ears.“He didn’t have my name.”The man had been fine. Even though Doha couldn’t let go of his doubts until the man stood up, his steps across the luxurious carpet of the study had been light and graceful. There was nothing wrong with his hands or feet. The reason he suddenly left his life in London and shut himself away in the northern Scottish woods wasn’t because, like Doha, his body was deteriorating.The sound of Niklas setting down his glass was heard. The wind rattled the roof in the silence. The hundred-year-old inn creaked as if it were about to collapse.“Eden… What do you mean? He has a name, so obviously… he has it, too…”“…It’s rare, but I’ve heard that such cases exist.”Doha had read and researched a lot about Neim, so it wasn’t surprising that the general public wouldn’t know this. Niklas, who had been looking at him, spoke as if he understood.“Then, Eden’s Neim partner must be another Tristan Locke, not this Tristan Locke.”“…Including the middle Neim?”“But Tristan Locke is a celebrity and a nobleman. When a royal baby is born, people often name their children after them, right?”“……”“Sorry, Eden, I’m not trying to argue, but… There was even a documentary about the Neim phenomenon, and they didn’t mention anything like that…”Doha gave a short shake of his head. When he handed the document to Tristan Locke in the library today, his hand had lightly brushed against Tristan’s hand. In that moment, a sweet, fiery sensation swept through Doha’s body—something he had never felt before.Doha, who had recoiled as if burned and looked at Tristan Locke, could tell from his calm expression. When they made contact, Tristan hadn’t felt anything. The world trembling as if it would collapse when their skin briefly touched—it was only Doha who felt that.“Then, Eden, if… if you’re the only one with his Neim…”Niklas asked, fiddling with a hole in the carpet with his toe.“What happens now with Tristan Locke?”His voice was a mix of physiological discomfort and uncontrollable curiosity.“He doesn’t need Eden…”“……”“But Eden still has his Neim, so if you make contact, the symptoms might be cured… and Tristan Locke could help you, right?”There was no response from Doha, lying on the bed. Niklas coughed, unable to endure the prolonged silence.“Since you’ve found him, at least you could try, just enough to see if it works…”“I asked him.”Niklas turned his head. Doha’s pale face, buried in the pile of blankets, was faintly smiling.“I explained the situation and asked for his help. Told him that I desperately needed him.”“……”“He refused. Said, regardless of the reason, he didn’t plan on having any sexual contact with a man… and that there was nothing I could offer him that he needed.”Niklas opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn’t think of a counterargument. To Tristan Locke, who owned a seemingly endless forest as his private property, money was as insignificant as scraps of paper, and honor or power were mere trinkets he was born with at Locke House. Eden, a former pianist who wasn’t even that anymore, had nothing Tristan Locke could desire.Doha’s small face momentarily disappeared into the blankets and then reappeared. Aside from the feverish blush on his cheeks, his face was pale and white. His cracked lips gently closed.“Niklas, go back to London for now and leave me here.”“Huh? But…”“You’re not my exclusive caretaker. It wouldn’t be good for your job if you stayed away from the company for too long. I’ll stay here for a while and try to persuade Mr. Locke… and if it doesn’t work, we’ll think again then.”Niklas wavered between saying something realistic, like “Do you really think that guy can be persuaded?” and offering the typical comfort, like “Everything will be fine, don’t worry.” In the meantime, Doha slowly lay back. Niklas quickly stood up and helped straighten the crumpled blankets. He even dusted off the pillow and set it in place, then looked down at Doha with concern.“Will you be okay sleeping alone?”“…I’m not a child, Niklas.”“Well… if you feel worse, call me. I’m next door. Good night. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”When Niklas turned off the ceiling light, the room darkened. Doha heard the sound of the door closing and pressed his cheek against the rough cloth pillow. The room was quiet.As the fire in the fireplace flickered, the yellow light on the ceiling swayed. Doha lay there, inhaling the scent of dust in the unfamiliar inn room, staring at the ceiling for a long time. The events of the day felt like an unreal nightmare. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that when he opened them again, it would all turn out not to be true.It had been three months since he’d deciphered the name. There wasn’t a place left unsearched, from Tristan Locke’s mansion in London where he had last lived, to the Locke family estate in Azenford, and even to Cornwall where his relatives lived. If it weren’t for a high-ranking official of the foundation run by the Locke family, who had grown tired of repeated inquiries and finally revealed the mansion in the Scottish woods, Doha would have continued his fruitless search for much longer.Suddenly, his lower back burned as if touched by fire. The name engraved there wasn’t something he had chosen. One day, it had appeared without reason or cause and ruined his life—it was a curse, a disease.Yet every dawn, as he endured the pain of his fingers shriveling and drying up, Doha had imagined someone else, a nameless person enduring the same pain. Wherever they were, he hoped they were safe, that they were holding on well today. He had imagined someone out there, searching for him. He had believed that once they finally met after all that waiting, everything painful would be okay.Today, he felt like he had learned the truth. At the end of the long, painful rope Doha had followed, inch by inch, with his paralyzed hand, no one had ever been waiting.***After visiting the mansion on the first day, Yeon Doha was bedridden for two days. Niklas spent one day nursing Doha and then returned to London the next day, following the company’s orders.Once he felt somewhat recovered, Doha set out again for Tristan Locke’s mansion. Leaving at dawn, he retraced the path he had taken with Niklas. After losing his way a few times, he finally arrived at the mansion in the afternoon. When the secretary opened the door, he had a lukewarm expression, as if he had been expecting Doha.That day, Doha sat in the mansion’s drawing room for a couple of hours but didn’t get to meet Tristan Locke. The next day, the day after that, and the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days were the same, with Doha returning to the village each time without seeing him.“I’ll inform the CEO that you’ve arrived. Please make yourself comfortable while you wait.”“Thank you.”After guiding Doha to the reception room, the secretary, with his perfectly ironed, stiff back, disappeared behind the door. Doha exhaled silently, releasing the tension from his body.He wasn’t being treated like an outright unwelcome guest. Tristan Locke’s grand mansion hadn’t turned him away at the door, called the police, or sent people to forcibly throw him out of the forest. Sitting in the luxurious reception room, Doha almost felt like a real guest. The spacious area had leather sofas, an antique wooden tea table, a fireplace, and a carafe of clean water with upside-down glasses on a sideboard.But this room felt more like a waiting area that led nowhere. No matter how long he waited here, it wouldn’t lead to a meeting with Tristan Locke. Doha knew this as well as the secretary—Tristan had no intention of ever meeting him again.Rustle.There was a sound, like something scratching at wood. Doha looked at the door the secretary had just exited. Creak, clack. The wooden door handle began to turn but stopped midway. A low growl could be heard.Creak. The struggling handle finally completed its turn, and a large dog burst into the room.It was the golden retriever that had been by Tristan Locke’s side the first time. As soon as Doha locked eyes with the round, jet-black pupils, he instinctively pulled both legs up onto the sofa.“You… are you allowed in here?”He spoke in a small voice, but the dog tensed and growled lowly, as if blocking Doha from leaving the room. It stood firm in the doorway.Doha hesitated about calling the secretary, then decided against it. He shrank back on the sofa, and the dog’s ears perked up. The golden retriever walked across the carpet with soft thudding steps, stopping next to the sofa. Its large, black eyes were fixed intently on Doha.“…You’re not going to bite, are you?”He extended his hand cautiously, though his fingers remained still—an old habit from when his hands were his most precious asset. After a moment’s hesitation, Doha slowly reached out his stiff hand to the dog’s neck. Surprisingly, the dog remained calm as he repeated the petting motion.The sensation of the long, soft fur against the back of his hand was comforting. Doha leaned forward, widening the area he could touch, and began to gently stroke the dog’s back, neck, and head with both hands. The dog half-closed its eyes and panted softly, its tongue slightly poking out. The warm smell of its breath mixed with the high body heat typical of large dogs and the scent of sunshine soaked into its fur.“…You have long eyelashes.”The dog’s soft golden eyelashes blinked over its black pupils. Judging by the sheen of its fur, no matter how indifferent Tristan Locke was, he seemed to take good care of his pet.As Doha stroked the dog closer, his hand brushed against something. A collar hidden beneath the fur revealed itself. Attached to the luxurious black leather was a gold medal inscribed with “Ulysses.”Doha settled into a more comfortable position, absentmindedly petting the dog now seated next to him. Time seemed to slip away. The days grew shorter as autumn deepened, and it was already getting dark outside. He wouldn’t be able to stay much longer today. Though he had memorized the path through the forest and wouldn’t get lost, the muddy ground would be slippery and dangerous if it rained.“…Ah.”Doha heard footsteps approaching, and the secretary stood at the threshold. His brows furrowed at the sight of Ulysses sitting obediently beside Doha’s sofa.“Apologies. He let himself in on his own….”Doha withdrew his hand from the golden fur and apologized. Ulysses immediately abandoned him and ran to the secretary’s side.“I was wondering where he had gone.”The secretary, scratching the dog’s chin, replied with an expression still tinged with displeasure.“…Yes.”Silence followed. Doha stared at the fine carpet now covered in dog hair, unsure if he should get up and leave.“Um….”“Today—”They both stopped speaking at the same time. The secretary gestured for Doha to go ahead. Doha picked up his scarf and stood.“I’ll be leaving now.”“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll escort you to the door.”The secretary stepped aside. As they left the reception room, descended the stairs, and crossed the entrance hall, an uncomfortable silence hung between them. Doha discreetly reached down to pet Ulysses one last time before stepping out through the front door that the secretary held open.“Mr. Eden.”The secretary spoke then. When Doha turned around, the white light from the entrance hall obscured his blue eyes behind his glasses. Standing on the doorstep, with the mansion behind him, the secretary spoke again.“I’ve heard you perform before.”“…At the Locke Foundation’s concert?”Doha asked, recalling the occasional performances he’d given as a student. The secretary responded.“Back then, and once or twice after you graduated. After you started coming here, I searched my memory and recalled seeing you on stage.”Doha unconsciously hid his crooked hands behind his back. The wind rustling the branches grew stronger. It seemed a storm was approaching.“Mr. Eden.”Looking down at him, the secretary spoke in an emotionless tone.“I’ve heard that the symptoms of Neim disease worsen more slowly over time, and that it typically takes about twenty or thirty years before it leads to death.”“…….”“In other words, even without help from the CEO, Mr. Eden, you’re not at risk of dying from Neim anytime soon. Isn’t that correct?”“…As you said.”A chilly breeze crept through the crack in the door, unsettling the carpet in the entrance hall. Ulysses, sitting by the door, let out a low growl as he gazed outside.“In that case, since this isn’t a life-or-death situation, there seems to be no reason for the CEO to go out of his way to help you, Mr. Eden, especially at the cost of his own discomfort.”The secretary’s gaze held neither pity nor disgust. Doha recalled Tristan Locke’s beautiful face staring at him with complete indifference from the brightly lit study.“Of course, I understand that your condition likely makes it difficult for you to sustain a livelihood. As your mobility declines, you’ll need assistance. In that regard, Mr. Eden, as long as you’re alive, we are prepared to offer you sufficient financial compensation and support.”“…….”“If you have a figure in mind, feel free to propose it. After all, having the name of Locke attached to your person, even if by coincidence, carries enough value to warrant negotiations.”The words about the name on your back being completely unrelated to the Locke family were more contemptuous than anything else.There were always those for whom even a single touch held meaning. Once visited, a building bore their name, and even trivial objects brushed by their fingers later found their way into glass display cases in museums. For the first time, Doha thought of himself as someone who had accidentally brushed against the fringes of the noble world of Tristan Locke. The Locke Marquis was the most beloved nobility in modern England. From the moment that name was etched onto his body, Doha was no longer a whole person, but rather a keepsake touched by Tristan’s hand.“Please tell Mr. Locke that I will visit again.”Without looking at the secretary’s face, Doha turned away. He walked quickly, dragging his aching leg, ignoring Ulysses’ farewell as he followed him to the front door. The darkness of the forest swallowed Doha like a cold rest.***The rain had not stopped for two days. Scott Lowell, the secretary of Tristan Locke, felt the front hall behind him flash with lightning as he reached the landing of the stairs. When he arrived on the second floor, he heard the low rumble of distant thunder. Mixed with the heavy rain, the forest groaned as it withstood the strong winds. After such storms, trees struck by lightning often fell across the forest, blocking passageways.Carrying a thick folder under one arm, Lowell walked down the long corridor and stopped in front of a door. After knocking and waiting, he heard Ulysses barking inside. Understanding his employer’s silence as permission, the secretary opened the door.The ceiling light in the office was not on. A small desk lamp illuminated the large rosewood desk, where the documents the secretary had submitted that morning were neatly stacked. Ulysses, lying beside the desk, wagged his tail weakly. At the sound of his tail tapping the floor, the man standing by the window turned his gaze. His gray eyes were cold and gloomy, as if reflecting the scene outside.“The issue with the readers from the Neim Center has been resolved.”The secretary pulled a chair from the wall to sit across from the desk.“The hospital is handling Neim’s symptoms without identifying the patient for security reasons, but just in case, we’ve taken the same approach. The only remaining issue is with the management company… We are still trying to figure out how far the information has spread.”Tristan finally seemed ready to listen, stepping toward the desk. The secretary placed the heavy folder in front of him and opened it.“Here are the materials after the cross-check investigation.”His employer said nothing as he glanced down at the thick stack of papers. With elegant, pale fingers, he turned the first page. Under the yellow light of the desk lamp, tables and graphs packed with small text passed swiftly. The secretary offered a brief explanation.“In the Western world, the incidence rate of Neim is about one in fifteen thousand. It’s classified as a rare disease in the UK, and there are currently just over four thousand registered patients in the country. Due to its peculiarity, it’s relatively well-known despite the low occurrence rate. Unilateral Neim is more of a rumor, with fewer than ten officially reported cases worldwide.”Tristan flipped through the last twenty pages without looking at them. The secretary pulled the stack toward him and opened the section with photographs printed in the back.“Like in the case of that pianist, limb paralysis is a fairly common symptom of Neim. The symptoms vary, but generally, they appear first, with the Neim mark emerging on the body later.”Flipping through the photos documenting Neim symptoms, a full-page image showed a mark that had surfaced on a person’s skin. There was also a photo of two people pressing their Neim marks together. Feeling an unpleasant sense of intrusion, the secretary closed the paper and said:“As you know, symptoms can be alleviated through physical contact with the other person who has Neim. If they don’t make contact for a certain period, the symptoms return. This means continuous contact is required for life. In the case of unilateral Neim, it’s uncertain… some say it can be cured, while others disagree.”The secretary stopped speaking. Following Tristan’s gaze, he saw Ulysses pressed against the window, growling lowly as he looked outside. His fluffy tail hung down, slowly swaying.At that moment, lightning flashed, bathing the room in white light. Ulysses bared his teeth and barked fiercely.“…Is it predicting the thunder?”Tristan clicked his tongue softly. Ulysses hesitated and glanced back a couple of times. His wagging tail calmed. When the dog lay down at Tristan’s feet, the secretary finally spoke.“I thought someone had come because it was staring outside. It reacted similarly a few days ago.”“Hasn’t he stopped coming by now?”“Yes.”“He might have given up.”Tristan stroked the dog and added, “He can’t keep coming forever.”“With the weather being what it is, we’ll have to wait and see.”Though he said that, the secretary was ready to bet that once the storm cleared, the pale-faced man would once again push through the forest and knock on the front door. The situation was far from being easily resolved.It was last autumn when Tristan Locke first arrived at the estate. Since then, the winter snow had piled up to the knees, the forest had come alive in the spring, the lake had turned green in the summer, and now it was autumn again. Through a full cycle of seasons, nothing like this had ever happened. The only one who had broken the boundary between inside and out was the black-eyed pianist.***On the first floor of the inn where Doha was staying, there was a pub that filled with village folk only on weekends. The spacious area featured a large wooden bar counter, a few wooden tables, and an old fireplace. The carpet on the floor was stiff and worn to the point where the pattern was no longer visible.On the third day of rain, water began to leak from the ceiling of Doha’s room. Just as Niklas had said. The middle-aged couple who ran the inn brought out a large bucket from the storage room, laughing as they placed it under the leaky ceiling and told him they would empty it when it filled.Having been unable to sleep during the night and only catching a few hours of rest in the morning, Doha checked the time and went down to the pub. It was four in the afternoon, a time when the weather alone would ensure no customers.“Eden.”As Doha opened the wooden door leading into the pub, the innkeeper’s wife, still wearing an apron and cleaning the fireplace, waved a soot-stained glove.“Couldn’t go out because of the weather, huh?”“No. I thought I’d go out when the rain stopped in the afternoon, but it seems impossible today.”“Tomorrow won’t be any good either. Even if the rain stops, the roads will be too slippery. You’ll be better off staying here for a few more days.”She removed her gloves, wiped her hands on her apron, and stepped behind the bar counter. Doha pulled out one of the bar stools and sat down.“Except for chicken pie.”She said. Doha looked up at the chalkboard menu, hastily scribbled with chalk.“I’ll have the fish and chips, please.”“Sit tight.”She twisted her ample frame and disappeared into the kitchen. Doha rested his throbbing head on his wrist and blinked his dry eyes several times. He wasn’t sick, yet his condition had been deteriorating since the previous night.The constant heavy sound of rain hitting the eaves filled the air. It felt as if the sound was drilling into his brain, directly stirring the soft tissue inside. The sky, which had been dark since the morning, was still covered in black clouds, and the pub was dimly lit by the faint glow of yellow lamps. While waiting for his food, Doha scanned the numerous bottles of Scotch behind the bar and eventually focused on breathing slowly to suppress the nausea rising within him.