After two hours, Mathew entered his grandfather's room, a space heavy with secrets—a tapestry woven from threads of sorrow and betrayal. Griffin Lionheart, his grandfather, sat with a book in hand, its pages a refuge from the weight of truth. Mathew's voice trembled as he confronted the past—the gaping wound that had festered for years.
"Tell me," Mathew demanded, "who killed my parents? Why did they die? You promised me." His anger, a tempest, clashed with the sadness etched into his features. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting revelation.
Griffin, with ancient eyes fixed on the book, sighed—a lifetime of regret etched into his soul. "Sit," he said, gesturing to a chair. Mathew complied, his heart pounding. The truth, like a blade unsheathed, awaited him.
"It's a secret," Griffin began, his voice a whisper. "A tale that feels like bedtime lore, but it's as real as the blood in our veins." He paused, gathering memories like fallen leaves. "Your father, my son, fell in love with a woman—a love that defied reason. But love, Mathew, is a force beyond our control. It was a fact that your father, my son, disliked me, obviously because of my work."
Mathew clenched his fists. "Why did he dislike you? What was your work?"
Griffin's gaze met Mathew's. "My work," he said, "was a dance with shadows. The underworld whispered my name—Griffin Lionheart, a kingpin of secrets. Your father couldn't reconcile my darkness with his love for your mother."
The room held its breath as Griffin continued. "They married, and for a time, happiness bloomed. You were born—a beacon of hope. But one fateful day, time itself fractured. Only your parents, you, and I remained unaffected." Suddenly, your mother shouted 'Dark Angels' with fear in her voice.
Mathew leaned forward, eyes wide. "Dark angels," he whispered.
"Harbingers of cosmic balance," Griffin replied. "Ten figures, their wings forged from black metal, their armor a testament to eternity. They descended upon the restaurant—a celestial vendetta. Your mother sensed their presence."
"And my parents?" Mathew's voice cracked.
"In the chaos," Griffin said, his voice heavy, "they fought. The dark angels—unyielding, unfeeling—struck down your father and mother. I was spared, a survivor. They spoke to me in voices that echoed through realms. 'You are lucky,' they said. 'Our masters commanded us to spare you.'"
Mathew's anger dissolved into grief. "Why? Why did they kill them?"
Griffin's eyes held galaxies. "Your parents," he said, "were star-crossed—a union forbidden by cosmic laws. Their love threatened the balance. The dark angels, agents of fate, executed judgment. I failed to protect my son, your father. Forgive me, Mathew."
In that dim room, Mathew Lionheart grappled with the truth—the celestial tapestry torn, its threads stained with blood. Forgiveness hovered, fragile as a moth's wing, as the weight of cosmic secrets settled upon them both.
**Mathew**, the bearer of celestial lineage, sat there—a tapestry of blood and destiny woven into his very being. The room, once a sanctuary, now echoed with cosmic truths—a symphony of forbidden unions and celestial vendettas.
**Griffin Lionheart**, his grandfather, met Mathew's gaze—a mirror reflecting eons. "Cosmic law," Griffin began, "is a blade that cuts both ways—a dance of justice and sorrow."
He continued:
-"The Lionheart family—its veins a blend of starlight and shadow—held secrets etched in constellations. Demonic blood coursed through our veins, a pact with ancient forces. This is the reason why every Lionheart is so intelligent."a
"Mathew's mother, a demigod, bore the legacy of Olympus—a lineage of gods and mortals intertwined. Her eyes held storms, her laughter echoed through realms. She was both celestial and earthly—a bridge between worlds."
-"Mathew's father, however, carried a darker legacy. Devil's blood flowed through his veins—an infernal covenant.
This relationship broke cosmic law, so The dark Angels were sent to kill your parents.