Then, he looked up again.
There they were—those stupid boots Damon had worn since childhood. Now, Damon hung high above, a distorted ornament.
How could a warrior... end like this?
Arthur froze, his brother's blood dripping down his face, searing his soul with every drop.
Arthur lowered his head and looked to the right—there it was, his brother's sword. The same sword he'd never wanted to carry. But now, it seemed the only answer.
He reached for it.
The guards pounced on him, but Arthur fought like a man possessed. He slaughtered them like lambs to the slaughter. One by one, they fell.
When all the guards lay dead, Arthur turned his gaze to the king and advanced.
For the first time, Julius felt fear.
He drew his sword, and the two of them clashed. Steel against steel, heart against heart. Arthur fought furiously, but Julius held firm. Finally, Arthur fell,
And from his pocket slipped a piece of cloth—his mother's gift.
Julius looked at it and froze in shock.
When he lowered his eyes again, he saw the blade embedded deep in his stomach. But he didn't panic.
He looked at Arthur and asked, "Kid... what is your brother's name?"
"His name is Damon,"
Arthur answered hesitantly.
Julius's voice trembled.
"Is your mother's name... Lyra?"
Arthur said nothing.
Julius fell back, pointing toward Damon's hanging body.
"It's the same cloth."
"And...she said... we will name our second son Damon..."
Tears of blood were falling from his eyes and streaming down his face like a river into the unknown. He pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket, grasped it with his dying hands, and clutched it as his breath trailed off in those final moments.