The Castle of Sorriso smelled of iron, burned herbs, and healing wax. The columns were stained with dried blood, and the cracked stones reflected the golden light of dusk like shattered mirrors. The war was over — but its silence still weighed heavily through the corridors.
Lukas Fernandes walked slowly through the halls. His body wrapped in bandages, his left arm bound in layers of cloth, his gaze calm and distant. Each step echoed heavy, yet firm.
Through the corridors, soldiers and Gath auxiliaries still moved, carrying the wounded, reinforcing structures, clearing debris. Victory had been won on the battlefield — but sustained here, step by step.
Soldiers stopped, saluted, and some whispered as if afraid to invoke a myth:
— The Invincible Skinny One…
— The South’s chocolatinho…
César murmured inside Lukas’s mind, pride restrained:
— They see you as a hero, boy.
Morgana replied lightly, teasing:
— Hero? Please. He can barely walk. More like a walking miracle.
Lukas smiled faintly.
— Both of you, stop. I just wish no one had died.
César answered calmly:
— Then you achieved what even gods often fail to do.
Turning the main corridor, Lukas found Luiz Fernandes lying on an improvised stretcher. His arm bandaged, his chest bound with splints — but the smile was the same.
— Look who finally decided to wake up, — he said hoarsely. — Thought you’d turned into a statue, Skinny.
— Almost did, — Lukas replied.
Luiz raised his good fist and struck his chest.
— You did well, brother. The South breathes because of you.
Lukas nodded.
— We don’t die easily. We just fall with style.
Further ahead, Valkyrie sat on a stone block, her hair tied in a messy bun, Freya’s emerald aura floating behind her.
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— The hero woke up, — she said, arms crossed. — Thought you’d need a few more wars to build muscle.
— With a sister who destroys Disasters, I make up for it with stubbornness.
She laughed.
— Then you were born with the right mold. The South thanks you, brother.
From the shadows, Selene Fernandes watched, wrapped in dark veils.
— I underestimated you, Lukas, — she said coldly, but honestly. — Not in strength. In patience.
— And what do you see now? — he asked.
— A new blind spot for the Empire. Power likes to hide merit… when it cannot control it.
She vanished as she had appeared, leaving only the scent of burned lilac.
On the main staircase, Helena Fernandes waited for him, dressed in golden silk, posture impeccable.
— Messages from Bragan?a have already arrived, — she said, measuring every word. — The Emperor wants the name of the strategist who kept the borders intact.
Lukas stopped.
— And who is that strategist?
Helena adjusted the House brooch.
— Officially, Patriarch Kyros coordinated the defenses. Catarina and Draken merely executed the orders.
César murmured:
— As planned.
Morgana chuckled softly:
— But it wasn’t the father. It was the brilliant little son who kept quiet.
Lukas answered calmly:
— Better that way. The name doesn’t matter. The people are alive.
Leli came running down the steps, her arm in a cast, her face glowing.
— Lukas! — she shouted. — Did you see? Not a single civilian died! The Defense held everything! It looked like a giant shell covering the entire Empire!
He knelt and ran a hand through her hair.
— You were incredible. You evacuated everyone with mastery. The Python fell. I never doubted you.
She nodded, emotional, not even noticing the pain in her own arm.
The corridors were almost empty when Maycon and Lyncon Fernandes, the Mirror Twins, appeared leaning against the columns.
— Well, look at that… the useless one became a hero, — Lyncon said, forcing a smile.
— Must’ve been luck, — Maycon added, but his voice was tense.
Lukas stopped.
He looked at them without haste, without anger. His golden and purple eyes shone in harmony. The pressure of his aura made the air vibrate.
Both felt their bodies go cold. Their smiles vanished.
César commented dryly:
— Felt it, didn’t you? Legionary presence.
Morgana teased:
— Wow, chocolatinho… seeing you intimidate like that really gets me—
— Silence, witch, — César snapped.
— Both of you, quiet, — Lukas ordered inwardly.
Outwardly, he smiled. A wide, confident smile.
— Don’t start with that… you’re my brothers. It’s fine.
He turned and walked away.
— Just don’t call me useless again.
His footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Maycon swallowed hard.
— He’s… different.
Lyncon replied softly:
— No. He just finally woke up.
Further ahead, Alex Fernandes appeared alongside Marcos, the Wandering Wolf.
— A general who saves cities without following orders, — Alex said. — Sounds like family heritage.
Marcos slapped Lukas on the shoulder.
— Tell me the secret, Skinny. How do you bring down a Disaster without aura?
— Stubbornness, calculation… and a bit of luck.
— Luck is an excuse, — Marcos laughed. — You had vision. And that’s worth more than strength.
At last, Kyros José Fernandes waited at the entrance of the main hall. The Sun of the South leaned on the Thunder Sword. His face was weary, his eyes serene with the weight of one who had seen hell.
— Son… no one here knows the truth. And perhaps that’s for the best.
Lukas simply nodded.
— The victory that isn’t sung is the purest of all, — Kyros continued. — You didn’t save the South with power. You saved it with purpose. And that, Lukas… no seal can measure.
Morgana whispered emotionally:
— Ah… father of the year.
César replied reverently:
— He speaks like an emperor.
Meanwhile, at the far end of the corridor, Dariam Fernandes watched from the shadows. His smile was crooked, cold.
— The failure became a symbol… — he murmured. — And I fought, bled, commanded… and no one remembers.
His eyes narrowed.
— Glory belongs to those who write history.
He turned and disappeared into the corridors, already calculating his next move.
Outside, bells rang. Torn banners fluttered.
While the people celebrated survival, the castle held two truths:
the victory of a boy who only wanted to save the South —
and the seed of a lie planted by the pride of a brother.
End of Chapter 18
