They left Promia without ceremony and turned south.

  The road thinned quickly, stone giving way to packed earth, the city’s noise fading until only wind and footsteps remained. Reid walked a little slower than before. Not because he was tired—but because he was thinking.

  Arttu stayed close.

  Reid noticed the way the boy’s hand tightened around his sleeve whenever the land opened too wide, whenever the trees grew too tall or the road grew too quiet. Arttu had never been here before. He had never seen the south of Aquilonis.

  And his body knew it.

  The southern lands were dangerous—not always in obvious ways. The monsters were fewer than in the deep wilds, but the silence itself could unsettle even grown men. Aquilonis lay to the north of Calanoid, safer, colder, more restrained. The south was warmer. Wilder. Less forgiving.

  Reid felt Arttu tremble.

  Just a little.

  He squeezed the boy’s hand gently, wordless reassurance. Reid wasn’t afraid. He knew his strength now. More than that—he knew this land.

  This was where he was born.

  “I grew up this way,” Reid said quietly, not looking down. “You’ll be fine.”

  Arttu nodded, though his eyes remained wide.

  Priscilla wasn’t far from Promia. Not really. Yet distance wasn’t measured in steps alone.

  As they walked, Reid’s memories began to surface—uninvited, but calm.

  He remembered running.

  Not walking.

  Running through this land with fire behind him and smoke above him. His lungs burning, legs screaming, heart pounding so hard he thought it might break his ribs. Arttu had been in his arms then—so small, shaking from cold and terror, fingers clutching desperately at Reid’s coat.

  Priscilla had been burning.

  The forest had watched in silence.

  That day, the road had been nothing but escape.

  Now, the road was quiet.

  They passed lakes first—wide, still mirrors reflecting the sky so clearly it felt wrong to disturb them. Birds skimmed the water’s surface. The air smelled clean. Reid remembered skipping stones here as a child, remembered how big the world had felt back then.

  They walked through forests next. Sunlight filtered through leaves, painting slow-moving patterns across the ground. The trees were older here, their trunks thick, roots twisting like veins through the soil. Reid remembered hiding among these trees once, holding his breath as soldiers passed nearby.

  Now, only insects and birds moved.

  They passed farms after that—small ones, scattered, stubborn. Crops grew in uneven rows. Fences leaned with age. Farmers glanced up as they passed, cautious but not fearful. Life endured here. It always had.

  They didn’t rush.

  They could have taken the caravan route—the safer road Sir Duston had once guided them through. Reid remembered that journey too. Wheels creaking, birds chirping…

  Time stretched. Not long. Not short. Just enough.

  By the time the land began to feel familiar in a deeper way—when Reid’s chest tightened for no clear reason—he knew they were close.

  Priscilla lay ahead.

  What remained of it, at least.

  Reid slowed.

  This place had once been everything to him. Home. Noise. Warmth. Life.

  Now, it waited silently.

  He looked down at Arttu.

  “This is where I was born,” he said.

  Arttu looked up, eyes wide—not afraid this time, but curious.

  Reid felt something strange then.

  Not sorrow.

  Not anger.

  Just the quiet weight of time passing.

  The houses were… destroyed.

  Not burned to ash.

  Not erased completely.

  Just broken—walls collapsed inward, roofs torn apart, doors hanging open as if waiting for people who would never return.

  At least there were no corpses.

  Reid told himself that as he walked through what remained of Priscilla. As if that single thought could soften the weight pressing against his chest. The land was quiet. Too quiet. Even the wind seemed hesitant to pass through, as though afraid of disturbing the dead.

  He moved slowly.

  Every step stirred memories.

  There—what was left of the witch’s house. The stones were blackened, the windows shattered. This was where Lucius had lived with Frigg. Reid used to come here almost every day, knocking far too loudly, calling Lucius’ name until Frigg yelled at them to stop shaking the walls.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He remembered dragging Lucius out to play beyond the village, remembered the way Lucius would always challenge him to fight—confident, loud, reckless—and then cry every time he lost.

  Reid smiled faintly at the thought.

  They used to celebrate everything back then. Big feasts for small victories. Fresh bread, laughter spilling into the streets, plates too full. Life had been loud, warm, and kind.

  It had been beautiful.

  They walked deeper into the village.

  Reid stopped.

  “This was our home, Arttu.”

  Arttu looked down.

  Only rubble remained. Broken beams. Cracked stone. The skeleton of a house that had once held voices, warmth, and love. Arttu’s expression wavered between sadness and curiosity—too young to fully understand, old enough to feel it anyway.

  “What happened?” he asked softly.

  Reid’s face tightened.

  The words sat heavy in his throat—heavier than any blade, heavier than any wound he had ever taken. He didn’t want to open that door. Not yet.

  He rested his hand on Arttu’s head and gently patted his hair.

  “Don’t worry,” Reid said quietly.

  “I’ll tell you sometime else.”

  They stepped closer to the remains.

  And then Reid saw it.

  A painting.

  His breath caught.

  It lay half-buried beneath debris, the frame cracked, the canvas torn at the edges. Dust coated its surface. Time had not been kind to it—but even broken, it was unmistakable.

  Before Arttu was born… before everything shattered… Reid and his parents had traveled west, to the land of Vitus. They had visited a famous painter there. Reid remembered being annoyed at having to sit still. Remembered his mother laughing softly, telling him to behave.

  It had been one of the most precious days of his life.

  Reid knelt and lifted the painting carefully, as though it might crumble if he wasn’t gentle enough. The image was damaged, but in his heart, it felt complete. His family—captured in a moment that would never exist again.

  Then something slipped free.

  A small piece of paper fell from behind the frame and landed softly on the ground.

  Reid froze.

  Slowly, he set the painting down and reached for the note. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it.

  The handwriting was familiar.

  Too familiar.

  “Hello, Reid.

  If you are reading this, then I have probably already left this world… and gone to the heavens.

  Reid’s vision blurred instantly.

  You are the kindest person I have ever known, my strong little boy. I understood that even when you were still small—before you yourself realized it.

  I am sick, Reid. I am dying.

  Ever since giving birth to Arttu, my body has grown weaker each day. I don’t know why. I don’t know what is wrong with me.

  Your aunt Frigg is searching for medicine. She hasn’t given up. But I know… I know she won’t find it in time.

  Reid’s hands tightened around the paper.

  When I am gone, please live with Frigg. You and Lucius are already like brothers. I trust her more than anyone. She will protect you both.

  And please—this is important—do not hate Arttu.

  My death is not his fault. He did nothing wrong.

  He is just a child.

  I saw it in his eyes the moment he was born. He is kind. Just like you.

  He is your little brother, Reid. Please take care of him.

  Tears slipped down Reid’s cheeks and stained the paper.

  Thank you… for being so kind to me. For being my baby.

  Mama will always love you. Always.

  Have a beautiful life, my love.

  Your forever-loving mother,

  Melan?e”

  The paper trembled violently in Reid’s grasp.

  The world around him faded.

  All that remained was the sound of his own breathing—and the echo of a voice that would never speak again.

  Reid looked at Arttu.

  Not with the eyes he usually had.

  There was something different in them—raw, unguarded, almost unfamiliar. Something that didn’t belong to the swordsman or the survivor, but to the boy he once was.

  Arttu noticed.

  He stiffened.

  For a moment, fear crept into his face. He didn’t understand why Reid was looking at him like that. Slowly, instinctively, he took a step back.

  Then another.

  “Reid…?” he whispered.

  Before Arttu could take a third step—

  Reid moved.

  He crossed the distance in an instant and pulled Arttu into his arms, hugging him tightly. Too tightly. As if letting go even for a second would mean losing him forever.

  Reid’s shoulders shook.

  Quiet sobs escaped him, breaking against Arttu’s hair.

  Arttu froze at first, eyes wide in shock. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know why Reid was crying.

  But his chest hurt.

  And before he understood why—

  He started crying too.

  Soft at first. Then harder. Tears soaked into Reid’s clothes as Arttu clung to him, his small hands gripping fabric like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

  After a while, Reid pulled back just enough to look at him.

  His eyes were red. His voice trembled.

  “I love you, Arttu,” he said.

  “I will always love you. No matter what. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

  Arttu nodded quickly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

  “…Okay.”

  They stood up.

  And began walking toward the edge of Priscilla.

  Then—

  A sound.

  It echoed through the ruins, distant and near at the same time. Like something tearing through the air. Like time itself had slipped.

  Before Reid could react, a figure dropped from above.

  Six meters ahead of them.

  A boy—no older than seventeen—landed lightly on the broken stone. He wore a black robe, darker than the ruins around him, but it wasn’t the clothing that made Reid tense.

  It was the pressure.

  Dense. Heavy. Suffocating.

  Reid’s hand flew to Genusrosa.

  Then a voice spoke.

  “Don’t.”

  Calm. Flat. Almost bored.

  “I came to talk.”

  Reid stopped.

  Slowly, the boy reached up and pulled back his hood revealing his face,

  “It’s been a long time, Reid.” The voice came chillingly.

  Reid’s breath left him.

  “…Lucius?”

  The name escaped his lips before he could stop it.

  How could he not recognize him?

  The voice was different—colder, sharper—but the face… the eyes…

  “I thought you were dead,” Reid said, staring, searching for something familiar. “What happened?”

  Lucius smiled faintly.

  “Nothing much,” he said.

  “Nothing much… except coming back to see our village destroyed.”

  There was something wrong with his smile.

  Something twisted.

  “Do you know why all of this happened, Reid?” Lucius asked.

  Reid shook his head slowly.

  Lucius raised his arm.

  And pointed.

  “At him.”

  Arttu flinched.

  His heart slammed against his ribs. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand anything. He took a step back.

  Then another.

  “You don’t know anything about him,” Lucius continued, voice smooth and cruel. “You think you do. But you don’t.”

  Arttu’s breathing grew uneven.

  The world spun.

  His legs gave out.

  Reid moved instantly, catching Arttu before his head hit the ground. He lowered him gently, laying him down, one hand trembling as he brushed hair from Arttu’s face.

  Lucius watched.

  Amused.

  “What are you talking about?” Reid demanded, standing slowly.

  Lucius’ smile widened—unnatural, unbearable.

  “Arttu isn’t your full brother.”

  Reid’s vision flickered.

  “His father,” Lucius continued, “is not the same as yours.”

  Pause.

  “His father was the previous Lord of Hatred.”

  Reid’s body went cold.

  “…Stuart Laus.”

  The name hit like a blade.

  “But I killed him, hit a beam straight through his body. And rip him in half.”

  Lucius stepped forward slightly.

  “Why are you protecting him?” he asked softly. “The child who destroyed everything you loved. Who destroyed our village. Our home. Who killed your mother.”

  “Come join—”

  Something snapped.

  Reid moved.

  His beast eye activated.

  Genusrosa ignited as he dashed forward, fury tearing through his veins. Lucius barely raised his staff in time, metal colliding with force that split the ground beneath them.

  “Because he is my little brother!”

  The shout echoed through Priscilla.

  They slid apart, landing on opposite ends of the ruined street.

  Lucius laughed.

  “I see,” he said. “So, your answer is no.”

  Reid said nothing.

  His eyes burned.

  Lucius tilted his head, smile returning—sharp and dangerous.

  “Then let’s go back to the old times,” he said softly.

  “Old friend.”