“Poke~”

  Zethir flinched, looking up in a startle.

  The sky was stuffed with gray clouds, not letting even one ray of sunshine through. On a balcony of a mansion, Zethir was sitting on the ground, hugging his knees, his eyes puffy red with tears.

  Standing in front of him was a boy at the age of eight—the same as him.

  The boy had short, wavy black hair and pale blue eyes. At first glance, you'd think he was blind.

  “What are you sitting here? It's going to rain,” the boy said, sitting next to Zethir right after.

  Both of them were wearing white pyjamas made of cotton, though Zethir's clothes look baggy on his thin body. On the other hand, the other boy was half a head taller than him, even though they were the same age.

  Seeing the boy sitting next to him, Zethir lowered his head, choking out his sniffles.

  He knew the boy—he had known him for four years.

  Four years ago, he was sold away as a slave. He was supposed to be trained as a gladiator, or a soldier if he got lucky. However, the stars shone upon him on a certain day, and a wealthy merchant's son took a fancy to him.

  Since then, the merchant bought him from the slave house, before adopting him as his son.

  It would've been happy, Zethir thought so as well. But… every day, each night, he'd had a dream.

  No, it was a nightmare.

  “I’m fine, Daixi,” Zethir said, his voice stuffy. Hearing his own voice, Zethir's face scrunched up.

  “Pfft. You're crying again,” Daixi giggled. “Why are you crying this time?”

  Zethir didn't know. He'd been having the same nightmare every night, so he should be used to it.

  But… he couldn't help it.

  “Let's go, dad will get mad if we catch a cold,” Daixi said, tugging at Zethir's sleeves. Zethir stayed still for a moment, before complying with the boy.

  They both shared a room, but had separate beds. The room was split into two, with both of them having the identical items. From their cabinets and lamps to their diaries and pens—their father made sure they had the same things.

  “Goodnight, Zethir,” Daixi said, turning off his lamp.

  “Night,” Zethir replied, looking at Daixi, who buried himself in his blanket. Then, he looked to his side, reaching out for the lamp.

  CLICK—

  The room turned pitch black. Neither of them had the habit of keeping the windows open, and their father forbade them to do so. Even the door had three locks and was made of wood thicker than a person.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Even if a burglar entered the house, they'd be unlikely to break into their bedrooms, given how secure it was.

  And yet, Zethir didn't feel safe at all.

  Laying down, he closed his eyes, awaiting his next nightmare.

  {=|=}{=|=}{=|=}

  “GASP!” Zethir shot up from his bed, panting for air.

  Surrounded by darkness, he panicked for a moment, but as he touched the lamp, he stopped.

  “Ha… ha…” Gritting his teeth, he withdrew his hand, deciding against turning on the lamp.

  Moments later, he laid back down, though he kept his eyes open.

  ‘It’s that dream again… is it real?’

  He wondered, just as he had for four years.

  Every dream was the same. Iovano, Daixi’s father and his adoptive father, was a wealthy merchant. But in his dreams, he was also a serial killer for hire.

  In his dreams, Iovano killed thousands; children, adults, and elderly alike. He didn't care if they were innocent, nor if they had a family. As long as he was given enough money, his knife would be on another person's neck.

  Such a person, Zethir refused to believe. In his eyes, Iovano was the exact opposite of the one in his dream.

  Iovano treated him like he was his blood and flesh, never once making him feel different from Daixi. It wasn't like Iovano was absent in their lives either—their family were almost glued to each other every day.

  ‘It’s just a dream…’ He sighed. ‘How could dad kill people if he was with us?’

  It was impossible. He told himself that every day in the mirror, but his dreams persisted.

  And he was just as stubborn—rebelling against his own instincts.

  That was, until one day.

  Iovano was out discussing a business deal in the capital city of Targia. Both he and Daixi were staying at a hotel known for… newlyweds, but the security was the best in the entire capital. Iovano refused to leave them somewhere less secure, so the hotel had no choice but to let the two of them rent a room for a while.

  Of course, Zethir guessed that money, a lot of money, was involved.

  “Hey, let's go play outside!” Daixi grinned, jumping up and down in front of the doors.

  “Daixi, dad said to not go outside,” Zethir groaned, standing up from the bed.

  True to its reputation, the room was full of questionable equipment. Fortunately, the staff had cleaned the room prior, removing any items meant for adults. All that was left behind were the things that were attached to the room itself.

  “Ehhh, come on. You know that dad's always like that, it's nothing!” Daixi pouted, crossing his arms.

  “I don't want to get scolded,” Zethir said, turning around and walking to the small kitchen. Opening the pantry, he took out a loaf of bread.

  “Are you hungry?” He asked, turning around to face Daixi.

  But then, the door slammed open, shoving Daixi to the side in the process.

  “Ah!” Daixi groaned, falling to his buttocks on the floor. Rubbing his back, he looked up. Only to freeze at the sight of a burly man nearly as tall as the ceiling staring back at him.

  “Are you Iovano’s son?!” The burly man spat, reaching for Daixi's head. Daixi tried to crawl back, but the man was already lifting him up by the hair.

  “L-let me go!” Daixi thrashed around in vain.

  “Hmph, you look like him,” the man snorted, before turning around to leave.

  “Stop! Let him go!” Zethir yelled from behind, holding a knife. He glared at the man, but his hands and knees were trembling.

  “Ha?” The man glanced at Zethir, before laughing. “Kid, shoo away. I ain't interested in killing kids,” he said, ignoring Zethir.

  Zethir yelled back, walking toward the man with shaky steps. He waved the knife around, and finally, the man stopped.

  “Fuck, so annoying!” He groaned. Seeing a mug nearby, he threw it at Zethir, hitting him in the forehead.

  “Zethir!” Daixi yelled, furrowing his brows at the sight of blood on Zethir's head.

  “You!!!” Looking at the man, who was dragging him by the shoulder, he threw a punch. The man happened to turn to him, and was greeted by a fist to the eye.

  “ARGH—Fuck!” The man roared and swung his fist, hitting Daixi straight in the face.

  A sickening crunch followed right after, and then Daixi's body collapsed on the floor, convulsing with his head twisted impossibly back.

  “Urgh,” the man painfully opened his eyes, seeing Daixi's body twitching on the floor.

  “Fuck, did that kill him?!” He knelt down, examining Daixi's body.

  He didn't know what happened after—all he remembered was Daixi's body lying on the floor, cold and abandoned, covered in blood.

  Later, when Iovano returned, he saw Zethir standing over his son's bloody corpse.

  Later, after everything was done and dusted, he found that Iovano was working as a hitman. He made countless enemies, which made him paranoid, wanting to lock up his son in a bunker.

  In the end, he lost his son, and he kicked Zethir out as well.

  ‘I should've killed him. And that man, too. I should've killed them as soon as I saw them,’ Zethir thought.

  But alas, it was too late. He lost his brother. All because he was too scared to move against someone stronger than him.

  “Fuck, wait for me!” Augustin yelled, chasing after Zethir, who jumped straight into battle. “Fuck me,” he cursed, taking a deep breath when he saw the dozen elite spearmen glance at him

  And then, they swarmed Zethir like a froup of hornets.

  Zethir didn't speak, nor did he waste any time. His sword clashed with spears, each strike precise and heavy.

  But the spears were heavier.

  “Damn it, this goddamn idiot,” Augustin hurriedly raised his hands, gathering arcane energy around his hands.

  A pinkish glow surrounded his palm, which started to crackle.

  “[Chain of Lightning]!” He yelled, channeling the spell toward the spearmen dozens of feet away.

  But the lightning just left his hands when he saw several arrows raining down on him.

  “Shit—” He rolled back, only to slam into a tree. “Oh…”

  He paled, but the arrows didn't care.

  The arrows tore through the air, and as Augustin stared wide-eyed like a chicken, a pale, green energy started to surround him in a dome.

  “[Protection].”