Valen sat at the bar, a half-empty mug of ale in his hand, his emerald-green eyes reflecting the flickering lanterns swaying overhead. The tavern buzzed with noise—boisterous laughter, clinking glasses, drunken chatter—but Valen sat still, composed, and dark.
"Hah! Another round!" he called, slamming the mug down. His voice sliced through the din like a whip. The crowd hesitated; laughter thinned into silence. Some stared; others looked away. No one dared ignore him.
As the bartender froze, uncertain, a commotion stirred at the far end of the bar. A wiry man with darting eyes and trembling hands reached into the coat of an unconscious patron.
Valen stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor. Silence fell. His emerald gaze locked onto the thief, sharp as a blade.
"Drop it," he said, his voice low and deadly. "Or I'll blow your head clean off."
The thief froze. Sweat beaded on his brow. The air thickened, oppressive, the weight of Valen's presence suffocating. Every eye in the room turned, wide with tension.
"Ah... Valen, I didn't mean—" the thief stammered, lifting a hand in protest.
Valen stepped forward. A sharp crack rang out. The thief screamed as his hand shattered under Valen's grip—a wet, guttural sound escaping him.
"Brother..." Rigor murmured absently from his slumped seat at the bar.
He saw himself in the thief's desperation. That's why he crushed the hand so quickly. He hated the resemblance.
"Just get out." Valen's voice carried finality. The thief bolted, leaving the stolen coin purse behind.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Valen turned, patting Rigor's back. Rigor barely stirred, eyes half-closed.
"Wake up, brother. You need sleep," Valen muttered, shaking him lightly.
Rigor groaned and blinked awake. His hand grazed a half-filled cup of beer, and with a flick, he ignited it—watching the flame hiss and vanish.
"I can still stand on my own, you know," Rigor muttered, weakly protesting.
"Show-off," Valen smirked. "You're drunk. Manifesting in public like that?" He hauled Rigor to his feet and steadied him.
The patrons remained still, eyes following them as they walked out. No one resumed their conversations.
Outside, the night was cool. The sky shimmered with stars half-veiled by the radiant glow of the Eras. Their brightness cast long, slanted shadows across the cobbled street. The brothers walked toward the town's gate, their towering silhouettes striking even in silence.
From behind, Aether emerged—stepping out of Rigor's shadow like a ghost. He wavered slightly, caught between substance and memory, struggling to keep up.
"This is so strange," Aether muttered. He tried to move freely but felt tethered. He glanced up at the brothers beside him, dwarfed by their size. "This must be how it feels to be in a memory. Great. Stuck like a child between two giants."
Ahead, the town's gates loomed—iron frames etched with intricate carvings. Beyond them, the forest waited, dark and murmuring, branches shifting in the wind.
Valen halted. His hand rested firmly on Rigor's shoulder.
"Rigor… I always thought of Dad as a strong man," he said. His voice softened, but bitterness lingered beneath.
Rigor nodded distantly. "Me too."
"He was a Rank 3 Amplifier… but I don't think I liked the man," Valen said. His tone darkened. "He never even told us his exact story skill."
Valen's face twisted. His emerald eyes darkened to near black. The very air thickened. Even the candlelight in nearby homes dimmed, shrinking from the heat of his growing fury.
Rigor looked down at his hands—burn scars etched like old script. He touched the marks at his waist, the ones that never quite healed.
"I don't know if I should be grateful that demon killed him…" Valen muttered, voice low. "Or disgusted that it took away my first kill."
His aura erupted, violent and oppressive, rolling outward like fire spilling across the ground. The town glowed red under his power. Inside homes, people trembled. Shelves rattled. Guards dropped to their knees, choking, weapons clattering to the stones. In the tavern, mugs shattered in shaking hands. No one moved.
At the forest's edge, demons flinched. Their glowing eyes vanished one by one, retreating from the suffocating pressure that clung to every stone and shadow.
Outside the gates, silence hung thick. The wind carried only leaves and fear. No demon dared step closer. Those who did found the air itself turned against them.
Rigor sat in the grass. His body was still, but his mind raced. He traced idle circles in the dirt, lighting small tufts of grass into harmless flame.
"So. What's the plan?" he asked quietly. "We stand here until the demons disappear for good?"
Valen's eyes narrowed. "Disappear? No. They're not leaving. They're waiting. Waiting for me to turn my back."
Rigor exhaled, leaning into the earth. "And what then? You fight them all alone? Even if you could... it doesn't bring him back."
Valen stiffened. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade.
"It's not about bringing him back," he growled. "It's about making them understand. That they don't get to take from me. Do you really think I'll lose?"
"No," Rigor said, barely above a whisper.
At the forest's edge, a shadow stirred. A demon stepped forward—small, hunched, cloaked in writhing dark. Its eyes gleamed with hunger.
"I come because… they lied to us too," it rasped, voice broken. But before it could say more, Valen's aura surged again.
"Speak without my permission," Valen said coldly, "and I'll kill you."
To the demon, Valen was no longer a man. He was a predator.
Valen stepped forward. The ground cracked beneath him. His shadow stretched, flames licking the dirt toward the demon. Its grin faltered. Whatever courage it had vanished.
"I come because of your spec—" it began.
It never finished.
The weight of Valen's presence crushed its body. Bones cracked. Flesh split. It collapsed, twitching.
Its hand reached for something unseen. Was it praying? Begging? Cursing?
"Valen…" Rigor's voice was low, pleading. He watched the glowing eyes in the forest vanish. "You didn't even let it finish."
Aether stood frozen. Sweat soaked his body. The pressure from Valen's aura was unbearable.
"They're the real monsters," he muttered, voice trembling. "I take back what I said. Rigor and I... we have nothing in common, do we?"
Before he could finish, the pressure intensified. Even within the memory, Valen's rage twisted reality. Aether dropped to his knees, gasping. The world buckled under it.
Valen turned slightly. Somehow, his gaze found Aether through time and space. Aether recoiled, eyes shut tight, hugging himself, whispering names under his breath.
The memory fractured.
The scene reformed—inside a dimly lit tent. Blood splattered the canvas walls. A mutilated corpse sprawled across the floor. The smell of death was thick and metallic.
Valen stood at the entrance, armor soaked in gore. His sword dripped red.
"If we kill everything without certainty, we become arbiters—not soldiers!" Rigor stepped forward, trying to stop him.
"You really think I don't ask myself that every night?" Valen said. His voice was low, rough. A growl of pain barely held back.
"Was this how it really happened?" Aether wondered aloud. "Or how Rigor chose to remember it?"
Rigor gripped Valen's shoulder. "Wait for the Mysticals! They'll be here soon!"
"It's been too long," Valen said coldly. His hand twitched near his blade.
"I know. But with their help, the demon—"
Valen whirled, eyes blazing. "Have you completely lost your mind?! You want me to wait for them?! After everything they've done? After they ripped Alisha's life apart like parchment? After I picked pieces of her spine off the floor?!"
His voice cracked. The words slammed into Rigor like a blow.
"Do you even remember what it did? Do you even care?! And now you stand here—helping it? Defending it?! WHY?!"
Valen's voice rose into a roar. His aura exploded. The tent trembled; the air itself quivered.
"Why are you doing this?! It doesn't deserve forgiveness. It doesn't deserve understanding. It deserves to suffer for every scream, every drop of blood, every life it stole! And you're standing there—acting like none of that matters!"
Valen's breathing grew ragged. His fists shook, knuckles bloodless. His rage spilled outward, uncontrollable.
"You're no better than it!" he spat. "You're siding with it! I can't take this anymore! It doesn't deserve mercy. It deserves to burn."
Rigor staggered, knees buckling beneath the weight. The air shimmered with heat. The ground cracked.
"Last time I rushed in," Rigor choked out, "a girl died thinking we were saviors."
Aether collapsed again, still caught in the memory, chest heaving. "Even in memories… his aura…"
Outside, Valen's voice rang like a war drum.
"Soldiers of Ghent! Get ready for war!"
A trickle of blood ran from Valen's nose. He wiped it away without breaking stride. The camp fell silent, every soul trembling under the weight of his command.
"What if your skill didn't scare people—would you still be respected?" Rigor asked, watching his brother's massive figure billow in the dark.
Valen didn't hear—but somewhere deep, his voice responded.
"I didn't want to become him. But now I wonder… if that's the only way to survive."