The night sky draped the fortress in a cloak of silver and shadow, its beauty untouched by the turmoil below. Yet within the walls, the minds of Henry and Solomon were anything but serene. Thoughts of Damian's supposed actions gnawed at them, twisting their disbelief into a tangible weight. They could not fathom their brother acting with such recklessness.
Henry paced the edge of the training yard, fists clenching and unclenching. "I… I just can't believe it," he muttered, voice low and sharp. "Damian him, of all people would strike Reina? Hurt her… his own fiancée? It doesn't make sense."
Solomon leaned against the stone wall, arms folded, eyes dark with unease. "I know," he said, slow and measured. "Every instinct in me rebels at the thought. Damian has always been careful, controlled… never one to let anger or impulse take the wheel."
Henry ran a hand through his hair, frustration boiling over. "Then why? There has to be something we're missing. He wouldn't… I can't imagine him doing that without reason."
Solomon's jaw tightened. "Perhaps that's the danger. Sometimes those closest to us can act in ways we cannot comprehend—especially when shadows whisper in ears we cannot hear."
Henry shook his head, gaze dropping to the ground. "It's just… hard to swallow. I can't, won't, believe he'd truly… hurt her."
"Belief is one thing," Solomon murmured, voice heavy. "Reality is another. We need to see clearly, even when the truth strikes like a blade."
Unable to reconcile the image with the Damian they knew, they pushed away their meal, taking only water to quench the thirst left from a day of grueling training. Unbeknownst to them, that small act was all Reina needed. Her scheme had already begun to take root.
The Black Grace, a poison whispered of only in fearful tones lurched unseen through the cups they sipped. Its deadly name was known to but a handful in the world, for those who discovered it rarely lived to speak of it. Thirteen years of Reina's life had been devoted to its creation: endless experiments woven with dark enchantments and shadow-forged energy. Only she possessed the antidote, and that same venom now coursed silently within the bodies of four.
The Dark Lord, ever perceptive, had anticipated the outcome long before it unfurled. Stepping forward, he approached his students with measured calm, observing them with eyes that missed nothing. He lingered in silence for a moment, letting the weight of the night and the unseen danger press upon them before speaking.
"The price has been paid. Now you must embrace the reality of what is to come. My work here with you is done; the next awaits my attention," the Dark Lord's voice rolled through the night like a gathering storm, resonating against the cold stone of the fortress.
The twins struggled to grasp the weight of his words, their minds clouded with confusion and dread. Before they could utter a single question, the shadow that carried his presence dissipated, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.
"Who's there?" Damian called, his voice weaker than he intended. Bound and weary, every muscle trembling, he sensed a force pressing against the edges of the room a presence that made the hairs on his neck rise.
From the darkness, a figure coalesced, immense and commanding. "It is time for you to fulfill your destiny," the voice intoned, low and absolute. "You are to be the next ruler of Emberhaven."
Damian's heart leapt at the sight, and despite his exhaustion, relief and reverence flowed through him. "Lord Pyro," he breathed, awe and joy threading his words.
The shadows shifted around them, curling like smoke, as if the night itself acknowledged the magnitude of the moment. And there, in the cold hush of the fortress, destiny began to stir.