The river flowed red beneath our feet,
carrying whispers of the past that refused to die.
Lucian's eyes never left mine.
I could see everything in them—hatred, pain, and a history I was only beginning to understand.
"You… you knew everything," I said, voice barely a whisper.
"All these years… my friends, the missions… the lies… why?"
He didn't flinch.
"I saw everything. I was there when the world took your innocence, Draven.
I watched you suffer because of your father's silence,
because of a kingdom that used our mother's blood as its currency."
My mind spun.
Mother…
Father…
The whispers I had tried to ignore all my life… now forming a grotesque picture of betrayal and death.
"You mean… all of this… the Academy, the missions, the River… it's because of them?" I asked, my hands trembling on my sword.
Lucian's blade sliced the air near my shoulder—a warning.
"They were weak. They chose comfort over truth.
Your mother… she wasn't from this kingdom. She was born of the other kingdom, a princess.
And your father… loved her, yes… but silence became his weapon.
And because of his cowardice, you, I, and everyone we loved… suffered."
The memories flooded me—the forge, the first missions, the blood of Merlik and Melken, the teacher Veylan.
Every scar, every loss, every betrayal… now had a reason.
But it was a reason I hated to hear.
"And the village… the River of Red?" I asked.
Lucian's eyes darkened.
"The village was once called the Village of Crimson Blooms.
A child once held a rare flower there… a symbol of hope.
But your father's war, his silence, his greed for peace… it turned hope into blood.
The River of Spring… your childhood playground… now a River of Red."
My sword slipped slightly in my grip.
The weight of the truth… heavier than any blade.
"You… you are not my enemy…?" I whispered.
He shook his head, eyes burning.
"I am your brother. I am what the world made me.
And I fight only for the truth.
Every strike I made, every mission I undertook, every secret revealed…
was to bring the world to face itself.
Even if it means facing you."
Time slowed.
Memories collided with reality.
Every friend I lost… every lie I lived… every lesson from Father…
all pointing to this moment.
I realized then…
I was not alone in my grief.
I was not alone in my rage.
I was not alone in my fight.
Two brothers.
One river.
A legacy of blood and swords.
And a world that demanded answers… no matter the cost.
The river reflected our faces—mirror images torn by life, forged in steel, and bound by blood.
And in that reflection, I understood one thing:
The fight wasn't over.
It had only begun.