The village appeared as a shadow before the mountains,
its rooftops blackened, streets empty-or so it seemed.
I should have felt relief at the sight of life,
but all I saw were eyes staring from darkened windows,
and every gaze was heavy with fear.
I stepped forward, boots crunching on gravel,
feeling the weight of silence pressing against my chest.
A little girl ran toward me, her small hand holding a single flower-
a bright, rare bloom that seemed impossible in this place.
Before she could reach me, her mother pulled her back,
shoving her inside with a look that burned with terror.
I frowned.
Something about this village was wrong.
Why were they afraid of me?
I had never seen them before, yet their fear... it cut deeper than any sword.
An old man emerged from the shadows,
his eyes scanning me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
"Strange how the wound vanished from your face..."
he muttered, almost to himself.
I blinked.
The scar I'd carried for years... gone?
Was this real, or just madness creeping into the minds of these villagers?
Before I could question further, a man stepped forward,
clutching the front of his robe with shaking hands.
"The black suits you better than the white," he said.
I grabbed him by the collar, voice low and sharp:
"Who are you? What is this village? Why are you afraid?"
He stared at me with unblinking eyes, voice calm, almost taunting:
"Are you afraid of the grave... or the blood?"
My grip faltered.
Memories surged.
Father's stories.
The whispers of my mother's past.
The message I had found earlier.
Alone.
The note had said, come alone if you want the truth.
As I walked toward the river, another memory hit me like a blade to the chest.
Veylan Kaelith-my teacher, the one I had thought dead-
had tried to kill her, Elara.
And Lucian... my own brother, my mirror...
had appeared from the shadows and struck with ruthless precision.
The blade had found its mark, silencing the teacher forever.
It was the first time I understood what Lucian was capable of.
Not just skill, but cold calculation, decisiveness...
and a willingness to cross any line to protect-or punish.
And then... he appeared.
No sound, no warning.
Only a shadow, and then a figure stepped forward from the trees.
It was him.
My mirror, my other half.
"It's like looking in the mirror... well, not quite," he said, voice calm, hand tracing the scar beneath his eye.
Every movement was deliberate, a prelude to violence.
I froze.
"Lucian? You... my brother? How? Why? Where-"
He raised his sword before I could finish.
"Answers are given in blood and steel," he said.
"My language is the sword... and the river remembers everything."
I gritted my teeth, heart hammering.
The River of Red flowed at our feet.
And history...
was about to repeat itself in fire.