The sound of rushing blood did not fade, instead it kept on getting louder, filling Aethon's skull until his breath became ragged and sharp. He turned his head first and then his body slowly towards the sound. He was abit hesitant because some part of him already knew what he would see.
As he fully turned around, a single figure stood before him. The figure was taller than him by only a breath. Silver hair cascaded down her shoulders like streams of moonlight, and her eyes, dark blue, endless as the ocean were fixed on him with an expression that screamed both tender and distant.
"Mo...ther…" Aethon whispered, the word breaking like fragile glass. His throat ached, dry and raw, but the word still shot out.
She didn't move. Didn't blink. The pale shimmer of her form seemed almost translucent, like a memory given flesh. Aethon blinked once, his heart started hammering. Has he opened his eyes, she was dissappeared, and now, in her place stood another figure.
It was Clint.
Aethon staggered back. His friend's face was drained of warmth,his pupils were drowned in a haze of black that bled outward into the whites of his eyes. His hair, black and lifeless against his face. Clint's lips parted slightly, but no sound came, instead it was just a breath that was shallow and broken.
Aethon's own breathing quickened. His pulse began to thunder in his ears. "Clint… no. Notyou." Has he said this he started to hyperventilate before he blinked for a second time.
He blinked again, sweat dripping cold down his temple.
Clint was gone. Just like his mother. Now someone else had replaced Clint, someone he knew quite well.
It was his brother.
But it was not the brother he remembered. His brother's eyes blazed emerald red, fierce and almost inhuman, casting a ghastly glow across his face. From his forehead, he had horns that protruded outwards, they were much longer than before, they looked jagged and cruel, as if they were carved from obsidian itself. In each hand, he gripped a blade that were a dark red color, similar to the color of blood. Their forms shifted and pulsed, almost like they were alive.
Aethon's chest suddenly got tight, and he found it hard to breath, he was beginning to breath heavily.
Then, has he blinked for the third time, he was no longer on the silent streets of the capital. He had been transported to a place he had been a thousand times before.
It was the training hall. But it was a version of the old training hall, before it was upgraded.
The familiar stretch of sanded floors, the high vaulted ceiling, the rows of weapons hanging like old friends and old enemies all around him. The air smelled faintly of steel and sweat, the scent of countless hours spent in repetition and discipline. His brother stood across from him, eyes burning, body poised with effortless menace.
"Fight."
The word came out in a low and deep voice. The words felt heavy, as if they were stripped of all warmth. Upon hearing these words Aethon knew it was not a request, it was a command. And before Aethon could breathe, his brother hurled one of his blood-forged swords through the air at him.
Aethon's reflexes saved him. His hand shot out, catching the hilt. The blade felt hot, like it was alive, it pulsed faintly against his palm. The moment he wrapped his fingers around it, his brother lunged forward to attack him.
Steel clashed against steel.
The impact rang out, sharp and merciless. Sparks erupted as the two blades ground against each other. Aethon's teeth clenched as he pushed back, but his brother's strength was monstrous. He was forced to give ground, his feet skidding across the floor.
"Tooslow," his brother hissed.
Another strike came, swift as lightning. Aethon barely raised his blade in timeto stop it. The sound of the clash echoed again, reverberating in his bones. He staggered. His muscles began to scream from the force of it.
"Weak."
The word spat across his face, each syllable like venom. Aethon roared back, surging forward, his blade arcing toward his brother's side. But his brother simply parried it with ease, the impact reverberating up Aethon's arms, numbing his fingers.
Their faces drew close for a moment, Aethon's eyes were wide while his brother's burned an emerald red color. His brother began to scream the same word again. This time, Aethon heard it much more louder as the onky thing that was between his face and his brother's were the blood swords.
"WEAK!"
Aethon flinched,his jaw tightened, but forced himself forward. Strike after strike, parry after parry, his blade danced, fueled by desperation rather than precision. Each swing was met with flawless defense, each thrust swatted aside as though he were nothing more than a child playing soldier.
Their blades collided again, sparks flying, the horns on his brother's foreheads nearly touched his forehead. The word came again, louder, this time shattering the air.
"WEEEAAAK!"
Aethon's breath tore in his throat. He screamed and drove his blade forward, his muscles burning with fury. The hall rang with the relentless chorus of steel, clang, crash, shatter of sparks raining to the ground. Every strike pushed Aethon to the edge of collapse, but still his brother pressed on, relentless, untouchable.
"You can't protect them," his brother growled between strikes. "Not Clint. Not Luna. Not anyone."
"SHUT UP!" Aethon roared, slamming his blade upward, forcing his brother back by half a step. He seized the opening, attacking in a whirlwind of desperation and anger. His blade blurred, his arms screamed and yet his brother matched him, parrying every desperate blow, expression untouched.
Their blades clashed again, close enough for Aethon to smell the iron tang of blood dripping from his brother's weapons. Their eyes locked, and once more, his brother's voice thundered.
"WEEEAAK!"
The word rattled Aethon's skull, reverberated through the marrow of his bones. His chest heaved, rage boiling, but fear crept behind it like poison. He wasn't winning. He couldn't win. His brother was toying with him, stretching out the fight only to crush him when it pleased him.
With a surge, his brother swept his blade upward. Aethon barely dodged, the edge grazing his cheek, leaving a hot sting and the trickle of blood down his jaw. He stumbled, dropped to one knee, his grip faltering.
"On your knees," his brother spat. "Like the failure youare."
Aethon gritted his teeth, forced his legs to stand, blade trembling but still raised. "Screw you!"
His brother's lips twisted into something between a sneer and a grin. He lunged again, and their blades met in another violent explosion of sparks. The hall itself seemed to tremble with the force, walls shuddering, whilst the torches flickered.
Again, their faces drew close. Again, the scream.
"WEEEEEAAAK!"
The word seemed to split reality itself, and then suddenly, reality shifted.
The hall dissolved.
Aethon staggered, blinking against the sudden change. He stood not on sanded floors but in the town square of Riviria. The stench hit him first, blood, rot, the copper tang of slaughter. His feet sank into the slick of crimson staining the cobblestones. All around him lay the dead, bodies piled, eyes open and unseeing.
Aethon's stomach twisted. His chest seized with grief so raw it threatened to crush him. He turned in every direction, faces he had once seen alive now strewn lifeless, twisted in agony. His blade shook in his hands voilently.
"Seethem?" His brother's voice came again, echoing across the bloodied square. "You couldn't savethemeither."
Aethon's throat tightened, words strangling on his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them, Riviria was gone.
The capital stood before him, ruined, corpses littering the grand avenues, the once-proud towers crumbling in silence. The scent of smoke and death suffused the air, choking him. Again, bodies. Men, women, children. Faces pale, eyes empty.
"No... Ahhh... No no no no…" Aethon whispered. His voice broke, fragile. "This isn't real. This isn'treal."
But his brother's voice thundered again, cruel and final. "Itwill be. It alwayswill."
Before Aethon could draw another breath, the scenery shifted once more. In the span of a heartbeat, the capital's ruins dissolved.
He stood in an open field. The grass swayed gently, an unnatural calm after the carnage he had seen. The sky stretched endlessly, painted in muted grays. The air carried no sound. No birds. No wind. Just silence.
And there, just ahead, stood his brother.
Emerald red eyes glowed, horns arching cruelly toward the heavens, his blade still dripping. He stared at Aethon across the quiet field, no sneer, no fury, only an emotionless, hollow face.
Aethon froze, his blade hanging at his side, his chest heaving with ragged breath. His own reflection shimmered in his brother's crimson steel, fragile, broken, trembling.
And then... nothing.
The silence stretched forever as the two of them stared at one another, Aethon bewildered, his brother's gaze unblinking, empty as the void itself.