The night was quiet. Too quiet.
Valen stood alone on the rooftop of a ruined building, overlooking the city that had once been his home. The slums stretched beneath him in winding alleys and broken streets, shrouded in shadows. Beyond them, the cathedral rose like a monument to a lie, its golden spires gleaming under the moonlight.
Marek was coming. He knew it.
But it wasn't Marek's face he saw when he closed his eyes.
It was another time. Another life.
And the past had sharp edges.
---
Twelve Years Ago – The Radiant Order's Hall of Blades
The training yard of the Radiant Order smelled of sweat and steel. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows over the marble floors. Young recruits stood in rigid formation, their hands wrapped around wooden practice swords, their breathing steady.
Among them, Valen.
He was sixteen then, a boy with fire in his eyes and the weight of purpose on his shoulders. He had come from nothing—a nameless orphan plucked from the streets, given a new life under the banner of the Light.
And he was not alone.
Marek stood beside him, taller, stronger, already chosen as one of the elite. His golden hair was tied back, his posture perfect. Where Valen was reckless, Marek was precise. Where Valen fought with raw instinct, Marek wielded control like a weapon.
They were brothers in arms.
Or so Valen had believed.
The instructor, a grizzled knight named Master Oris, paced before them. His voice was calm but unyielding.
"Strength alone does not make a knight," Oris said. "Loyalty. Discipline. These are the pillars of the Radiant Order."
He stopped in front of Valen and Marek. His sharp gaze flickered between them. "You two are the best we have. Show me."
A single nod. A signal.
Marek and Valen stepped forward, practice swords raised.
The duel began.
Marek struck first, his form flawless. Valen barely had time to parry before the next attack came—a swift feint, a downward cut. He dodged, rolling to the side, but Marek was already there, pressing the assault.
Valen grinned. "Getting slow, Marek?"
Marek smirked. "You talk too much."
Their swords clashed in rapid succession, the force of each strike ringing through the hall. The other recruits watched in silence.
Marek was strong. Valen was fast.
But Marek had something Valen lacked.
Restraint.
Valen fought to win. Marek fought to control.
A misstep. A flicker of hesitation.
Marek's sword struck Valen's side, knocking him to the ground.
The room exhaled.
Marek offered a hand. Valen took it, grinning despite the bruise forming on his ribs. "One of these days, I'll beat you."
Marek chuckled. "We'll see."
Master Oris nodded approvingly. "A fine duel." He turned to Valen. "Your skill is undeniable. But skill without discipline is a blade without a hilt."
Valen bowed his head. "Yes, Master."
"Again."
And so they fought. Again. And again. Until the lessons of the Order were etched into their bones.
Until Valen believed in the Light as fiercely as he believed in himself.
---
Nine Years Ago – The Trial of Faith
The grand hall of the cathedral was filled with the scent of burning incense. Golden banners lined the marble pillars, and the High Cleric himself sat upon the elevated throne, his white robes immaculate.
Valen knelt before him, his heart pounding.
He was nineteen. His final trial had come.
To ascend as a knight of the Radiant Order, one had to prove their devotion—not only through skill but through faith.
Before him, a prisoner knelt in chains. A man accused of heresy, his face bruised, his body thin from starvation.
Master Oris stood beside Valen, his expression unreadable.
"The Light must be defended," Oris said. "Even against those who would defile it."
The meaning was clear.
Valen had to execute the man.
The sword in his hand felt heavier than any blade he had ever wielded.
Marek stood behind him, silent. Watching. Waiting.
Valen swallowed. He had taken lives before—on the battlefield, against those who raised their swords against him.
But this was different.
The man was defenseless. Afraid.
A test of faith.
A test Valen wasn't sure he could pass.
The High Cleric's voice echoed through the hall. "Strike, and prove your devotion."
Valen raised the sword.
The man did not beg. He only stared at Valen with hollow eyes, waiting for the end.
Valen hesitated.
Doubt crawled into his mind, whispering in a voice he had never allowed himself to hear. This isn't justice.
His grip tightened.
And then—
A soft sigh. Marek stepped forward.
Without hesitation, he took the sword from Valen's hands.
And killed the man.
The blade cut clean. A final gasp. A body crumpling to the marble floor.
Silence.
Valen stared, breath caught in his throat.
The High Cleric smiled. "Well done."
Valen looked at Marek.
Marek met his gaze. And in his eyes, there was no hesitation. No regret.
Only certainty.
And for the first time, Valen feared him.
---
Five Years Ago – The Fall of a Knight
Eldermire burned.
The streets ran red with blood as the Radiant Order carried out its "purification." Homes were torched. Families dragged from their beds. Those who resisted were slaughtered in the name of the Light.
Valen had seen war. But never like this.
Never against those who could not fight back.
He had begged Master Oris to stop it. He had pleaded with Marek.
But their answers had been the same.
"This is the will of the Light."
And when Valen spoke against it—
He became the enemy.
The Order hunted him like a rabid dog, the same way they hunted all who opposed them. His brothers-in-arms turned their blades against him. The city he had sworn to protect cast him out.
And Marek…
Marek had been the one to stand over him, sword poised for the final strike.
"You were my brother, Valen."
Valen had looked up at him, bleeding, broken, but unbowed.
"And you were mine."
A pause. A flicker of hesitation.
And then, Marek sheathed his sword.
"Run."
Valen did.
And the knight of the Light became a ghost in the dark.
---
The Present –
Valen opened his eyes. The memories faded, but their weight remained.
Marek was coming.
And this time, there would be no hesitation.
Serra's voice broke the silence. "You're awake."
Valen turned. She stood at the edge of the rooftop, arms crossed.
"You were dreaming," she said.
"Remembering."
She hesitated. "Marek?"
Valen nodded.
Serra sighed. "You know it has to end, right? Him or you."
"I know."
She watched him for a long moment. "And if he hesitates again?"
Valen didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
This time, there would be no mercy.
This time, the past would burn.