...Naithan's horrified gaze dropped to the stack of parchments Seraphina had handed him. The letters. He took them, his hands shaking, his heart a frantic drumbeat in his chest. Each crisp edge, each folded crease, held the unspoken truths of the six months he had been rotting in this hell. He unfolded the first. It was from his father.
My son, if you are reading this, please do not come to our home. This isn't a place for a person like you. You are a disgrace to me.
The words burned hotter than any fire, colder than any ice. Disgrace. After everything. After surviving, after fighting their wars. A raw, howling anguish tore through him, silent, tearing at the fabric of his soul. He barely registered the second letter, from Elyra, but his eyes tracked the familiar, gentle script, then froze on the damning sentences.
Naithan, I know we have been together for long enough, but after hearing that you were taken to the Penal Blade, I was devastated. I didn't know what to do. At times, it was Alric, he helped me. I think we are going to get married, so please don't come to see me.
The world shattered. The last fragments of the boy he had been, the ideals, the memories of warmth and love, crumbled into dust. Not just abandonment, but a betrayal so profound, so absolute, it ripped through his very core. His father, calling him a disgrace. His love, his gentle Elyra, now with Alric, his brother, the golden heir who was supposed to care. Six months. Six months of fighting to survive, only to find this.
His mind screamed, a prolonged, soundless howl of agony and rage. The letters fluttered from his numb fingers. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. All he felt was a cold, alien presence rising within him, silencing the pain, replacing it with a grim, unstoppable purpose.
He walked. He didn't know how long, or how far. The once-homely mansion of House Verralt, a place of sunlit courtyards and whispered laughter, now loomed before him like a shadowed, forgotten tomb. It was terribly raining, the sky weeping tears of fury, and thunder cracked overhead, mirroring the storm that raged within his own fractured soul. The familiar stone, the grand entrance, felt alien, dark, not because of the churning clouds, but because his own feelings had draped it in an oppressive gloom.
He pushed the heavy, oak doors open. The interior was shrouded in twilight, despite the early hour. A low murmur. Voices. He followed the sound, his heavy, blood-stained armor clanking softly with each determined step. He entered the main sitting room. His parents. His father was holding his mother close, their faces etched with a fear Naithan couldn't immediately decipher. Perhaps they saw the broken, murderous glint in his eyes, or the fresh blood smeared across his armor.
"Mom... Dad," Naithan whispered, his voice hoarse, unrecognizable even to himself.
His father tensed, his grip on his mother tightening. A primal fear flickered in his eyes.
Naithan lunged. He didn't shout. He didn't hesitate. The longsword, chipped and resolute from a hundred Penal Blade battles, plunged deep into his mother's abdomen. A choked gasp, a spray of hot, arterial blood. Her eyes widened in shock, then went blank.
"NAITHAN!" his father bellowed, a roar of pure, paternal horror.
Naithan yanked his blade free, the wet tearing sound lost in the thunderclap. He spun, the sword blurring. One swift, practiced movement. The blade tore across his father's throat, severing flesh, bone, and life in a single, efficient strike. His father gurgled, a fountain of blood erupting, before collapsing beside his mother. They both lay still, dead on the cold marble floor.
The thud of their bodies had barely registered when Seraphina Stonehide burst into the room, alerted by the sudden, guttural scream. Her cat-like eyes swept across the scene – Naithan standing over the corpses, his face a mask of chilling detachment, the blood steaming in the chill air. Seraphina, the strongest, the unbreakable Ember Blade, felt the strength leave her legs. She stumbled back, a low, keening sound escaping her throat. Tears, hot and raw, welled in her eyes and streamed down her scarred cheeks. She cried, openly, uncontrollably, for the horror before her.
Naithan merely looked at her, his expression disturbingly calm. "This isn't over yet." He walked out of his childhood home, no longer his home, stepping over the threshold that now felt like a grave.
He walked through the driving rain, Seraphina following, her sobs muffled by the downpour. He didn't stop until he reached his brother's house. The light spilling from its windows seemed a mockery.
He turned to Seraphina, his eyes empty of warmth, filled only with a cold, terrifying resolve. "Sera, whatever happens, do not enter."
He pushed open the door. The sight hit him like a physical blow, shattering the last, fragile pieces of the boy he had once been. In the warmth of the sitting room, Alric, his golden brother, was holding Elyra, his love, in a tender embrace. They were safe. They were happy. They were together.
Naithan's lips pulled back into a grotesque semblance of a smile. "Wow, sooo romantic..."
Alric's head snapped up, his face paling as he recognized his brother, the figure covered in blood and madness. "Naithan! Listen to me—"
Naithan ignored him, his gaze fixed on Elyra. A chilling calm settled over him. "I loved you," he whispered, a twisted parody of affection. He lunged, faster than the eye could follow. His sword pierced Elyra's heart. Her body convulsed once, a silent scream, and then she crumpled to the floor.
"Naithan! You don't know anything!" Alric screamed, pure horror on his face.
Naithan slowly turned to his brother, the blood dripping from his blade. The grotesque smile widened. "So what? Not that you can complain to Mom and Dad, little baby. They are long gone."
Alric's face went ashen, his jaw slack with shock.
"Meet them," Naithan growled, his voice guttural, laced with a deranged satisfaction. He attacked, a brutal, merciless flurry of strikes. Alric, caught off guard, overwhelmed by grief and terror, fell quickly. Naithan killed his brother, a chilling finality to his rampage.
Outside, the rain still poured, washing away the blood from the streets, but not from Naithan's hands or his soul. Seraphina's desperate sobs continued, a raw, painful sound in the desolate night.
"Let's go, Sera," Naithan said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He turned and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of his entire world, the bodies of his family, his past consumed by his own bitter hand.
Seraphina, her face stained with tears, still trembling, came to his side. She held a fresh stack of letters. Naithan looked into each of them, his eyes now cold and unwavering. And with each word, he was
shocked by the brutal truth.