Chapter 1: Ashes and Warmth
The sound of a kettle whistling gently cut through the cozy silence of the Rox household. Ken Rox sat at the table, absentmindedly swirling his spoon in a cup of tea that had long gone cold. The dim morning sun cast soft shadows across the worn kitchen tiles, and the smell of toast lingered faintly in the air.
His mother, Airi Rox, hummed a soft tune as she placed fresh toast on the table. She kissed Ken's head lightly and ruffled his messy hair.
"Eat before it gets cold, sweetheart. Your father will be back soon."
Ken smiled, watching her move gently through the small kitchen. He glanced toward the doorway, where framed pictures of their family hung. Most had his brother in them—Aiden Rox, the older son, the golden child. The one who always smiled wide. The one who never failed.
"He's better than me in every way," Ken muttered with a smirk, half-joking.
His father, Gale Rox—a retired police constable—chuckled as he stepped in through the door, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Don't say that," Gale said. "You're not like him. You don't have to be. And that's a good thing."
Ken blinked, startled by the comment. But his father just gave him a firm pat on the back and sat down beside him.
Airi glanced at both of them with warmth in her eyes. "You boys… I love you both so much. I just want you to be happy. Whatever path you take."
It was peaceful. Safe. And it would all be gone within the hour.
That Evening
Ken was walking home from school when it happened. Smoke curled into the sky above his neighborhood, distant sirens growing louder. He ran, his legs heavy, his chest tighter with every step.
Flames danced along the edges of his home. Neighbors shouted. Someone tried to pull him back, but Ken tore free and bolted through the fire.
His mother's body was found by the kitchen. The toast had burned.
His father held her, blood and ash coating his hands, his face twisted in a scream.
A detective—Jason—stood nearby, watching. Quiet. Too quiet.
Later That Night
Ken sat in silence. Police officers whispered in the hallway. His father hadn't spoken since they pulled him out of the wreckage. But when he finally did, his voice was ice.
"They said… they said you were seen near the gang hideouts. With them."
Ken's eyes widened. "What? No—Dad, I—"
"Don't." Gale stood slowly. "You were always angry, always quiet, hiding things. And now… this."
Jason's voice cut in softly from the corner. "There's more, Mr. Rox. We found your older son's body earlier today. It appears he was killed while out of town. The body was badly mutilated—burned beyond recognition. Only his ID remained intact, found in a bag near the scene. I… I'm sorry."
Gale staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief. Jason stepped forward, placing a sealed evidence bag containing Aiden's ID and a bloodied bracelet on the table.
"There's something else," Jason continued, his tone darker. "We have reports that Ken was seen participating in a cult ritual. The same cult responsible for your wife's death—a group that worships an unknown god. He may have been... an offering. Or worse. A believer."
Ken gasped. "That's a lie! I don't know anything about that!"
But Gale's face twisted in rage and confusion. His world had collapsed. And the only one left standing in the ashes was the son he couldn't recognize anymore.
There was no mention of Aiden's past.
No suspicion. No doubt.
To his father, Aiden had died a saint.
And Ken?
Ken was the only one left to blame.
That night, Ken was taken into custody. For arson. For conspiracy. For everything he didn't do.