Grey found himself standing amidst the aftermath of a cataclysmic battle. The ground beneath him was slick with blood, a crimson mire that stretched as far as his eyes could see. Broken weapons jutted out of the earth like accusing fingers, and shattered armor lay scattered among the lifeless bodies of countless soldiers. The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood and the suffocating weight of death, intoxicating and overwhelming.
Grey's chest heaved as he tried to steady his breath, his boots squelching in the blood-soaked ground with every hesitant step. He knew this place. It was not just the scene before him that felt familiar, but something deeper, buried in the recesses of his mind. Flashes of memory flickered like a broken reel: the clash of steel, the screams of the dying, and the ominous stillness that followed. Yet, the most crucial details eluded him, veiled behind a thick shroud of forgetfulness.
"Why does this feel so familiar?" Grey muttered, his voice barely audible over the silence. He pressed a hand to his temple, willing the fragmented memories to align, but they slipped through his grasp like water.
His attention was drawn ahead, to a figure kneeling in the mire. The man's white hair gleamed faintly despite the oppressive gloom, and his shoulders were slumped as though bearing an unbearable weight. Black eyes, pools of sorrow and rage, stared vacantly at the ground. Grey's breath hitched as recognition struck him like a blow.
It was his brother—or at least, he looked like his brother. The boy he had shielded from death, the boy who had clutched at his tunic and sobbed for their parents, was now before him as a man. The resemblance was undeniable, but this version of his brother was older, hardened, and scarred by the passage of time.
Grey took a step closer, his lips parting to call out, but his voice faltered as he noticed another figure standing before the kneeling man. The oppressive aura of death that had accompanied the silver-haired stranger in the training ground was here, amplified and all-encompassing. The man with white hair and black eyes was there again, identical in appearance to the kneeling figure yet vastly different. His posture exuded power and dominance, and his dark eyes burned with an intensity that made Grey's chest tighten.
The two figures spoke, but neither seemed aware of Grey's presence. He stood frozen, an invisible spectator to their exchange.
The kneeling man's face was twisted in anguish, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cradled a lifeless body in his arms. A young woman, her face pale and serene even in death, lay limp against him. Blood stained her dress and matted her hair, and her once-bright eyes were closed forever.
Opposite him stood another figure, cloaked in an aura of absolute dominance. The man was tall, his presence suffocating. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to devour the light around him, and in his hand, a katana gleamed with a deadly sharpness.
Grey watched, a silent observer to the unfolding tragedy. He felt no urge to intervene, no flicker of emotion as he stood in the shadows, unseen by either figure.
His brother's voice broke the heavy silence, trembling and raw. "Why?" he cried, his black eyes red and swollen. His hands gripped the woman's lifeless form tighter. "Why are you doing this? I didn't want the throne, the empire, any of it! All I ever wanted was a quiet life—a life where I could love and be happy. Why couldn't you leave me in peace?"
The man standing before him, the killer, remained unmoved. His katana hung loosely at his side, its polished surface reflecting the crimson mire at his feet.
"I never challenged you," the brother continued, his voice breaking. "Even after you killed Father, I stayed my hand. I wanted no part in your wars. So why are you here? Why are you taking everything from me?"
The man's silence was a weapon, cutting deeper than any blade.
The brother's grief morphed into rage as his trembling hands caressed the bloodied face of the woman he held. "She had nothing to do with this," he whispered, his voice cracking. "She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't a threat. She believed in a world without monsters like you."
His fingers brushed her cold cheek, his tears falling onto her pale skin. "Her smile... it was the only light in my life. She made me believe there was still something worth living for. And now, you've stolen that, too."
Finally, the man spoke, his voice as cold and unfeeling as the steel he wielded. "She perished because she lacked the strength to survive."
"she was weak"
The words hit the brother like a physical blow. His body tensed, and his tear-streaked face twisted with anguish. "Weak?" he spat, his voice rising. "She wasn't weak! She trusted me—trusted us! She didn't belong on this battlefield, and you know it!"
The man's expression didn't waver. His dark eyes bored into the brother's with a detached finality. "If she didn't belong here, then why was she here at all? If you cared for her so much, why did you let her step into a war she couldn't survive?"
His brother let out a strangled cry, his hands trembling as he pulled the woman closer. "Because she believed in me," he said through gritted teeth. "Because she believed there was still a chance to stop you."
"And now she's dead." The man's voice was devoid of sympathy. "Her death means nothing, just like his did."
His brother froze, his face pale as the words sank in. "Father," he whispered, his voice trembling. "He was your father too. How can you say his life meant nothing?"
The man raised his katana slightly, its edge glinting menacingly. "Life is fleeting. Hers, his, yours—it's all insignificant in the end."
His brother's rage boiled over, his body trembling with a mix of despair and fury. "What have you become?" he shouted, his voice raw. "You're no longer the person I once called my brother. You're a monster!"
The man let out a long sigh as he gazed at his brother, who was crying before him. "You know what?" he said, his voice cold and distant.
"You've always been weak," the standing man continued, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor-sharp whisper. "Always clinging to others for strength. Always whining when things don't go your way."
His brother looked up, his face twisted in anguish, unable to meet the man's cold gaze.
The man's voice grew harsher, his words laced with venom. "You cry now, as though I killed you. But let me ask you, who was the one who allied with other nations? Who allowed soldiers from rival empires to march into my city? Who declared war on me?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
"You," the man spat.
His brother's face turned ashen, unable to respond. A wave of anger flooded him, and he finally managed to speak. "Because you killed Father!"
His brother's voice wavered as he gave reasons for his actions, trying to justify the choices he'd made.
His brother's face was pale, the anger on his features morphing into desperation. "I... I did it because you—" He faltered, swallowing hard. "You killed Father, that man! You destroyed everything! You tore apart the family, the empire... all for power!"
He took a shaky breath, his voice growing more frantic. "Father was the only one who truly understood me. He cared about the future, the empire, about us. And you—you turned your back on everything we built together. You abandoned everything that mattered just to climb higher!"
His brother stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides, though his tears were still flowing. "I couldn't stand by while you—while you threw it all away. I couldn't watch you sacrifice everything for your ambitions! You killed him, that man. You killed him, and I couldn't forgive that."
He took a step back, his expression a mix of fury and sorrow. "You... you forced my hand. You left me no choice but to fight back! To defend the empire, to protect what was left of our family! You took everything from me, that man, and now you're blaming me for the mess you've made!"
The man smiled, his lips curling into a cold, almost mocking expression. "Is this what your mother told you?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.