They entered like they owned the world.
The armory doors finished their slow, theatrical groan and slammed to a halt, and there they were, framed by shadow and dust and memory, my two brothers stepping forward in perfect, infuriating symmetry.
Shoulder-length white hair, the exact same shade as mine, tied loosely back as if effort itself was beneath them.
Blue eyes, cold and sharp and empty, the kind that never looked at people so much as through them. They were tall—obscenely so.
Both well over six feet, broad shouldered, thick necked, built like war golems rather than princes, their bodies honed not by battle but by excess, indulgence, and the luxury of time.
Even standing still, they took up space, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked stone floor and swallowed my feet whole.
I didn't even reach their shoulders.
Not in this body.
Not as I was now.
