The fight began the instant they moved.

  Stone shattered beneath their feet as Reid and Lucius crashed together. Genusrosa locked against Lucius’ staff—metal screaming, sparks exploding outward. The shockwave ripped through the ruined street.

  They were nose to nose.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Lucius.”

  Reid’s voice shook—not from fear, but from grief held too long.

  Lucius’ fingers twitched.

  A black beam formed.

  Reid slid back just in time. The beam tore through the space where his chest had been, scorching stone and dust into the air.

  Lucius lowered his gaze.

  “Hehehe.”

  The laugh was small at first. Almost shy.

  Then it grew.

  His shoulders trembled. The sound twisted, warping into something wrong. Lucius lifted his head, eyes wide, grin stretched too far.

  “Hurt me?” he sneered.

  “I’m not the same person you remember, Reid.”

  His eyes gleamed.

  “Or should I say—the Red Rose?”

  The name lingered.

  The Red Rose.

  The knight who outran fear.

  Red armor. Blurred motion.

  Kind hands. Precise strikes.

  A savior.

  Reid smiled.

  Soft. Gentle. Completely out of place.

  “No,” he said quietly.

  “You’re the same Lucius I remember.”

  Lucius’ grin broke.

  Hatred flooded his face. He raised his wand and fired.

  Reid dropped low, sliding beneath the beam as heat scorched the air above him. He surged forward. Another beam. Then another.

  Reid cut through them.

  White arcs carved the air as Genusrosa dispersed cursed magic like smoke. Each clash rang through the ruins.

  He closed the distance.

  Lucius parried desperately, staff glowing as he was driven back—step by step. Reid was faster. Stronger. Cleaner.

  Lucius slammed his staff down.

  The ground exploded.

  Both were thrown back, skidding across broken stone.

  Reid was up first.

  He ran.

  Genusrosa blurred—left, right, relentless. Lucius leapt—

  And stepped on nothing.

  A black platform formed beneath his foot.

  Then another.

  Then another.

  He ran through the air.

  From above, cursed beams rained down.

  Reid blocked what he could.

  One burned his cheek.

  Another tore across his arm.

  A third slammed into his side.

  Pain flared.

  Reid didn’t stop.

  He watched.

  Waited.

  Lucius overreached.

  Reid lunged.

  Genusrosa flew.

  Lucius dodged—smiling—

  The chain snapped tight.

  The second blade carved upward.

  Blood burst beneath Lucius’ eye.

  They landed apart.

  Lucius touched his face.

  Stared at the blood.

  Something inside him shattered.

  His gaze snapped—

  To Arttu.

  A cursed beam formed.

  Reid moved before thought.

  Beast Eye.

  The world slowed.

  Reid cleaved the beam in half and drove a punch into Lucius’ stomach. White energy detonated. Lucius crashed through rubble, coughing blood.

  He tried to rise. Began chanting—

  “Stop it, Lucius.”

  The voice echoed inside his head.

  “You can’t win.”

  Lucius snarled.

  “Shut up. I can win.”

  “Stop it,” the voice commanded.

  “That’s an order.”

  Lucius froze.

  A black cloud swallowed his feet.

  He looked at Reid—smiling, furious, amused.

  “You’re strong,” he said.

  “As always.”

  His eyes darkened.

  “But life is full of surprises.”

  “Wait for me.”

  Reid smiled.

  “I will.”

  Both of them stared at each other until Lucius left Reid’s sight.

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  Silence fell.

  Reid turned.

  Arttu lay still. Feverish. Breathing.

  Reid lifted him onto his back.

  “…Let’s leave this place.”

  And walked away.

  Reid didn’t walk away from Priscilla.

  He ran.

  The road blurred beneath his feet as he pushed his body beyond exhaustion, Genusrosa rattling softly at his side with every step. Arttu’s weight on his back felt heavier than it ever had—not because of his body, but because of the heat burning through it.

  Too hot.

  Far too hot.

  “Just hold on,” Reid whispered, breath breaking as he ran. “Please… just hold on.”

  The nearest village—Hephista—came into view like a promise carved into stone. Smoke rose gently from chimneys. People moved about their day.

  And then they saw him.

  A bloodstained knight sprinting through their streets. Armor chipped and cracked. Red smeared across his clothes. A small, unconscious child clinging to his back.

  Whispers spread instantly.

  Steps halted. Doors half-closed. Eyes widened with fear and uncertainty.

  Reid slowed just enough to shout, his voice hoarse and desperate.

  “Please—where’s the healer? The doctor—anyone!”

  People flinched when he spoke. Some stepped back. Others froze in place, unsure whether to run or pray. Reid felt it—the way fear curled in their gazes—but he didn’t have the strength to care.

  Arttu shifted weakly against his back.

  Reid’s heart lurched.

  “Please,” he begged again, quieter now. “My brother has a fever. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  For a moment, no one answered.

  Then—an older man stepped forward, hands raised slightly, voice shaking but kind.

  “T-the building at the end of the street,” he said, pointing. “That’s the healer’s chamber.”

  Relief struck Reid so hard his knees nearly buckled.

  “Thank you,” he said—already running again.

  He burst through the door of the healer’s chamber with a force that rattled the walls.

  People inside gasped. Chairs scraped. Bottles clinked.

  “Please!” Reid shouted, voice cracking. “I need the healer—my brother has a high fever. I don’t know what to do!”

  For the first time since leaving Priscilla, Reid sounded truly lost.

  A man stepped forward from the back room—older, calm, eyes sharp but gentle. He took one look at Arttu and then at Reid’s state.

  “Bring him here,” the man said firmly. “Sir Corvane, I presume.”

  Reid didn’t question how the healer knew his name.

  He rushed forward, laying Arttu gently onto the bed inside the chamber, hands trembling as if he might shatter the boy if he wasn’t careful.

  “Please,” Reid said again, softer now. “Please help him.”

  “Sit,” the healer said, gesturing to a chair nearby. “Right there.”

  Reid hesitated.

  “I—I don’t need—please, just look at Arttu—”

  “Sir Reid.”

  The healer’s voice cut through the panic—not harsh, but absolute.

  “You are a professional knight,” he said calmly. “And I am a professional healer. I know who needs treatment.”

  His eyes flicked to Reid’s bloodied armor, torn skin, burns still faintly smoking.

  “And you,” he added, “very clearly need it too.”

  Reid swallowed.

  Reluctantly, he sat.

  “Someone,” the healer called out, “come tend to his wounds.”

  A woman entered moments later, carrying a kit. She knelt beside Reid, soaking cotton with alcohol.

  When she pressed it against his injuries, Reid hissed sharply, fingers digging into the arms of the chair—but he didn’t pull away.

  His eyes never left Arttu.

  Green light bloomed from the healer’s hands as he examined the boy. Soft. Steady. Reassuring.

  Arttu shifted weakly on the bed, his breathing uneven.

  Reid’s chest tightened.

  “Please…” he whispered, so quietly no one but himself could hear it.

  The woman paused briefly, glancing up at Reid.

  “I’m a big fan of yours, Sir Reid,” she said gently, trying to ease the tension.

  Reid blinked, surprised.

  “…You are?” he asked, forcing a small laugh as he scratched the back of his head. “I’m glad.”

  The pride flickered briefly.

  Then vanished.

  His gaze drifted back to Arttu—watching the boy turn restlessly, sweat clinging to his hair.

  The woman followed his eyes and softened her voice.

  “Don’t worry, Sir Corvane,” she said. “Mr. Laurent is one of the finest healers in Aquilonis. If anyone can help your brother—it’s him.”

  Reid exhaled slowly.

  “I hope so,” he murmured.

  Minutes passed like hours.

  Arttu’s movements slowed.

  Then stilled.

  Reid stood halfway out of his chair before Laurent turned toward him, raising a hand.

  “You don’t need to worry,” Laurent said with a small, reassuring smile. “Your brother is healthy. No illness.”

  Reid’s breath caught.

  “…Then why?” he asked, fear still clinging stubbornly to his voice. “What happened to him?”

  Laurent folded his hands.

  “A panic response,” he explained. “His body was overwhelmed. Fear, shock—too much all at once.”

  Reid’s shoulders sagged.

  “Is there… anything I should do?”

  Laurent shook his head gently.

  “Just this,” he said. “Keep him calm. Don’t let him be frightened or overexcited for a while.”

  Then, more softly:

  “He’s safe.”

  The words finally reached Reid.

  Truly reached him.

  “We’ll leave you alone with him now,” Laurent added, motioning toward the door.

  Reid nodded.

  As the room emptied, he stood and moved to Arttu’s bedside, sitting down slowly.

  Only then—when the danger had passed—did his hands begin to shake.

  He reached out and brushed Arttu’s hair gently.

  “…I’m here,” Reid whispered. “You’re safe.”

  And for the first time since Priscilla—

  He believed it.

  Reid’s chest finally felt light.

  For the first time since Priscilla, he could breathe without pain tightening around his ribs. Arttu lay peacefully on the bed, his breathing slow and even, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The fever was gone. The tension had drained from his small body.

  Reid reached out and gently played with Arttu’s hair, his fingers moving almost absentmindedly, as if afraid the moment would break if he thought too hard about it.

  Then he leaned forward.

  Rested his forehead against Arttu’s chest.

  The warmth beneath him was real. Alive.

  That was when it became too much.

  A soundless sob escaped Reid’s throat, his shoulders trembling as tears soaked silently into the sheets. It hadn’t just been too much for Arttu.

  It had been too much for him, too.

  Seeing Lucius again—just for a moment, Reid had thought it was a dream. A cruel illusion born from grief and exhaustion. Because the instant he’d recognized him, his heart had leapt with something dangerously close to happiness.

  Lucius had been his brother in everything but blood.

  His best friend. His childhood. His past.

  And then the memories came.

  —

  Nine years earlier.

  It had been a soft April day.

  Sunlight filtered through the forest canopy, scattering gold across moss and fallen leaves. Reid and Lucius ran through the trees, laughter echoing between trunks as they chased each other through the undergrowth.

  They collapsed near a stream, breathless.

  “Hey, Lucius,” Reid said suddenly, staring up at the sky.

  “Who’s your favorite knight? Mine is—”

  “Baranor,” Lucius cut in immediately. “You say that every time.”

  Reid laughed, rolling onto his side and slinging an arm around Lucius’ shoulder.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Hehehe.”

  Lucius thought for a moment, eyes narrowing in concentration.

  “Mine’s probably Pius,” he said. “They say he can freeze an entire kingdom with one spell.”

  “But Baranor is stronger,” Reid insisted.

  Lucius sighed. “Okay…”

  Reid grinned—mischievous, sharp.

  “And cooler.”

  Lucius froze.

  Then he snapped.

  He lunged at Reid, fingers digging mercilessly into his sides as he tickled him without mercy. Reid burst into laughter, flailing uselessly as he begged for mercy between gasps.

  Not long after, their laughter faded.

  They found a rabbit lying still near the roots of an old tree.

  Reid crouched down, frowning.

  “Poor thing,” he murmured.

  Lucius didn’t say anything.

  Instead, he knelt and began whispering under his breath. Dark energy gathered around his hand—thin, crawling threads of black light. His left eye shimmered faintly.

  The Angel Eye.

  The rabbit twitched.

  Then it stood.

  Reid’s breath caught.

  Before he could think, he grabbed Lucius’ wrist.

  “Lucius—stop,” Reid said, panic edging his voice. “You shouldn’t use curses.”

  Lucius looked at him, confused.

  “But why?” he asked. “I tried so hard to learn this. Look—he’s alive.”

  They both stared at the rabbit.

  It felt to the ground, unalive.

  Its eyes were dull. Its body stiff.

  The realization struck Lucius all at once.

  The glow in his eye vanished.

  His face crumpled.

  He started to cry.

  —

  Reid jolted awake.

  His breath was sharp, uneven. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The healer’s chamber slowly came back into focus.

  “…There’s no way,” he whispered to himself.

  “There’s no way he’s thinking about that now.”

  He shook his head, rejecting the thought entirely.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Reid stood quietly and opened it.

  A man stood outside, holding a folded paper.

  “Hello, Sir Corvane. I was sent from Promia—”

  Reid raised a hand.

  The man stopped instantly as Reid closed the door halfway.

  “…Sorry,” Reid said softly. “Please continue.”

  The man cleared his throat.

  “I was sent to document your encounter with a member of the Cult of Hatred. I’ll need your report.”

  They sat together as Reid spoke.

  He told him everything.

  Priscilla.

  Lucius’ appearance.

  Arttu fainting.

  The fight.

  Who Lucius truly was.

  The man’s expression shifted constantly—shock, sorrow, awe—until finally he stood.

  “Thank you, Sir Reid,” he said. “This will be reported to Aquilonis immediately.”

  Reid nodded.

  Hours passed quietly.

  Then—

  Arttu stirred.

  His eyes opened slowly, unfocused, taking in unfamiliar walls. He turned his head—

  And found Reid watching him, smiling wide.

  “Good morning, sleeper,” Reid said softly. “Have a good rest?”

  Arttu nodded, smiling faintly.

  His memory of Priscilla was hazy—fragments, shadows—but nothing sharp enough to hurt.

  “You got scared a little,” Reid said gently. “But don’t worry.”

  He flexed his arm dramatically.

  “I beat him.”

  Arttu’s eyes lit up.

  He reached out and poked Reid’s bicep, grinning. Reid laughed.

  At that moment, the door opened.

  Mr. Laurent stepped inside, beaming.

  “I see you’re doing wonderfully,” he said, looking at Arttu.

  “He’s healthier than ever. Far healthier than me,” he added, patting his own chest.

  Arttu laughed—then quickly covered his mouth, worried he’d been rude.

  Reid and Laurent exchanged a glance.

  And laughed.

  After farewells and thanks, they left the healer’s chamber and stepped outside the village.

  As they walked, Laurent’s words echoed in Reid’s mind.

  Keep him calm. Don’t let him be frightened or overexcited.

  Reid slowed.

  Thought.

  Arttu looked up at him, eyes full of quiet trust.

  Then—an idea formed.

  A small, gentle smile curved Reid’s lips.

  “Hey, Arttu,” he said.

  Arttu tilted his head.

  “…Wanna build a home together?”