Luciens POV:
In the grim shadows of our once-grand estate, time seemed to warp and distort, each passing moment marked by the silent agony of my mother and the suffocating weight of my father's tyranny. Behind closed doors, his demeanour shifted, revealing a darkness that even I, his own son, could scarcely comprehend.
The beatings were relentless, a cacophony of screams and shattered dreams echoing through the halls of our mansion. I watched helplessly as my mother's spirit withered beneath the weight of his cruelty, her once-bright eyes now dulled by despair.
Pathetic, I thought bitterly, as I stood by, a silent witness to her suffering. Though she bore the brunt of his rage, she still carried his children within her, a testament to her resilience and her enduring love for her unborn children. But even that love seemed tainted by the shadows that enveloped us, a flickering flame struggling to survive amidst the darkness.
Whenever I dared to approach her, she would recoil in horror, her screams of anguish ringing in my ears. "It's all your fault," she would wail, her voice filled with bitterness and resentment. "If only your cries hadn't shattered our happiness that day, we might still have been a complete family." Her eyes, once filled with warmth and tenderness, now gleamed with madness, a chilling reflection of the torment that consumed her.
As the days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, the inevitable moment of birth drew near. When it finally arrived, it brought with it both joy and sorrow, hope and despair. The two twins, both boys, entered the world amidst a storm of pain and turmoil. Yet, even in their moment of arrival, one of them seemed to struggle, his frail form a stark reminder of the fragility of life.
As the servants departed, leaving us alone in the suffocating silence of our home, my father's irritation was palpable. With a dismissive gesture, he scooped up the struggling infant, his lip curled in disgust. "Here," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt, "I've packed your bags. You'll be taking a vacation with this... this pathetic excuse for a child." His words were a cruel twist of the knife, a reminder of the twisted reality we were forced to endure.
As I stood there, witnessing the heart-wrenching scene of my mother being dragged away by the cold, uncaring hands of the servants, her cries pierced the silence of the mansion. But it wasn't me she called out to in her desperation; it was Alex, my younger brother, her pleas for him to come with her echoing in my ears.
In her arms, she cradled my other brother, yet to be given a name, his presence seemingly forgotten amidst the chaos of her departure. It was a stark reminder of where I stood in her eyes, relegated to the sidelines as she focused all her attention on Alex.
As the servants whisked her away, I couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of sadness that washed over me. It wasn't just the loss of my mother that weighed heavily on my heart, but the realisation that even in her final moments here, she couldn't spare a thought for me, her eldest son.
My father's words only served to solidify the truth of our family dynamic. With a dismissive gesture, he made it clear that I was nothing more than an afterthought, an inconvenience to be dealt with as he saw fit. There was no love, no concern for my well-being, only the expectation that I would shoulder the burden of caring for my brother in her absence.
And so, as I watched my mother disappear from view, her cries fading into the distance, I knew that I was truly alone in this world, left to navigate the treacherous waters of our family's dysfunction on my own.
As the years stretched on since my mother's departure, the burden of responsibility for my younger brother, Alex, weighed heavily on my shoulders. Each day brought new challenges and struggles, but I persevered, determined to protect him from the harsh realities of our world.
Now, as we prepared to attend our father's ceremony, I found myself faced with Alex's innocent curiosity about our impending relocation. With a heavy heart, I dressed us both in the clothes provided, silently steeling myself for the events to come.
"Why do we have to move to a different city, brother?" Alex's voice was filled with genuine confusion, his eyes searching mine for answers.
I adjusted his tie, a small gesture to distract myself from the weight of his question, and replied, "Because our father's new position requires us to live there, Alex."
"But do we have to live with him too? We don't even talk to him," Alex pressed, his brow furrowed in concern.
"He's our father, Alex. It's our duty," I answered, my tone tinged with resignation.
"I've never spoken to father. What is he like? Is he as great as the people say he is?" Alex's curiosity was relentless, probing for truths I was not yet ready to confront.
I sighed heavily, my heart heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. "Maybe," was all I could muster in response, a vague acknowledgment of the complexities of our relationship with our father.
Before Alex could ask another question, I placed a firm hand over his mouth, silencing him with a stern look. "It's time we leave, Alex. No more questions," I declared, my tone leaving no room for argument.
Alex's cheerful compliance was a small comfort as we exited our rooms and made our way to the waiting car, our journey to Vanguard and our father's ceremony looming before us.
Upon our arrival, the streets teemed with people, their banners waving in the breeze as they cheered and thanked our father. It was a scene of adulation and praise, one that I had grown accustomed to witnessing over the years.
As we approached the grand castle, its towering spires and majestic architecture took my breath away. It was a sight to behold, a testament to the wealth and power of our family.
Inside, we were greeted by soldiers clad in futuristic knight armour, their imposing presence guiding us through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle. The interior was a symphony of opulence and grandeur, with art and statues adorning every surface and ancient weapons displayed with pride.
Finally, we arrived at a large room where my father stood, his posture deferential as he knelt before an old blind man. His reverence was palpable, a stark contrast to the aura of power and authority that surrounded him.
As my gaze fell upon the figure of the old blind man standing tall at the far end of the room, I couldn't help but be struck by the commanding presence emanating from him. My attention was immediately drawn to the man's physique as the dim light of the chamber revealed a sight that left me momentarily speechless.
The old man stood with an air of confidence, his torso bare and glistening with perspiration under the ambient glow of the room. Every contour of his muscular frame was defined with precision, a testament to years of dedicated training and unwavering discipline. I could see the ripple of muscles beneath taut, bronzed skin, evidence of the physical strength that resided within him.
What struck me the most was the absence of scars upon the old man's body. Not a single blemish marred his flawless skin, a rarity among warriors who had seen their fair share of battles. It spoke volumes of the old man's prowess and skill, the mark of a true master who had emerged unscathed from the trials of combat.
As the old man shifted, the fabric of a pitch-black mantle draped gracefully over his broad shoulders, cascading down past his ankles in a fluid, ethereal manner. The mantle seemed to absorb the ambient light, casting the old man in an aura of mystery and power. Its dark hue contrasted starkly against the pale backdrop of his skin, emphasising the imposing presence he exuded.
Despite his lack of sight, the old man exuded a sense of strength and authority that was palpable to all who beheld him. His stance was regal, his expression stoic yet resolute as he prepared to preside over the ceremony unfolding before him. He was a figure shrouded in legend, a living embodiment of the ancient traditions and noble virtues that defined his lineage.
The old man's voice resonates with authority as he begins the ceremony. "Today, we are gathered here today, with the Megumi, to bestow a title upon Cassius Agar," he declares, his tone commanding the attention of all present. "I, along with the captains seated above, will bear witness to this ceremony."
Lucien's gaze shifts upward, attempting to discern the identities of the shadowy figures looming above. Though obscured, their formidable presence is unmistakable, hinting at the immense power they wield.
"If anyone dares to challenge this decree, let them voice their dissent now or forever hold their tongues," the old man continues, his words echoing through the grand hall. "If not, let this ceremony proceed."
"After the passing of Lucas Thorne, his position has remained vacant for too long," the old man explains, his voice tinged with solemnity. "For the prosperity of our kind, it is imperative that this vacancy be filled. We have recognised your abilities, Cassius Agar, and now call upon you to assume this mantle."
Cassius's response is firm and resolute. "I will do whatever is necessary to ensure humanity's victory," he asserts, his voice carrying an air of unwavering determination.
"Hmph, very well," the old man acknowledges, his demeanour reflecting a mix of approval and reservation. Drawing a sword out of thin air, he places it ceremoniously upon Cassius's shoulder. With a voice that cuts through the silence like a thunderclap, he proclaims, "We find you worthy of this position, Cassius Agar. Therefore, I, Ryujin Kenshiro, Captain of the 1st Division as well as the head of the Executioners, along with the captains above, hereby declare you as the Captain of the 5th Division."
The announcement reverberates throughout the castle, igniting a cacophony of cheers and applause from both within and outside its walls. The air is charged with excitement and anticipation as Cassius assumes his new role, poised to lead the 5th Division to glory.