The grand hall was alive with warmth and laughter. A fire roared in the hearth, long shadows dancing across the stone walls, while the family dined at the massive oak table. At the head sat the lord of the house, his wife at his left, their young son at his right, and beside the boy his older cousin. Wine flowed, food steamed, and the sound of joy filled the chamber—until the heavy doors burst open.
A guard stumbled in, armor dented, his tunic drenched in blood.
"My lord… your brother is here!" he gasped.
Even before his words had finished, the ground shook with a thunderous rumble outside the hall. The lord and his wife exchanged a quick, fearful glance, then both turned toward the young man sitting beside their son. Without words, they gave him a look heavy with meaning.
"Take him," the lord commanded.
"Brother—" the young man began, but the lord's glare cut him short. He scooped the boy into his arms and fled through a back passage just as the doors of the hall groaned open once more.
A tall figure entered, staff in hand, his eyes glinting with malice.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "A fine gathering indeed."
"Damon," the lord growled, rising to his feet, hand tightening into a fist. "What do you want?"
"What's mine." Damon's smile was sharp as he slammed his staff to the ground. Blue light flared, crackling toward the head of the table.
The lord moved swiftly, summoning a sword in a flash of violet fire. Steel met magic in a shower of sparks as he struck back. His wife clasped her hands, a surge of crimson energy erupting and streaking toward Damon—but he halted it with a lazy flick, his laughter filling the hall.
"Together, and still not enough," he mocked. With a sweep of his staff, a shockwave blasted across the chamber, hurling the lord into the wall with bone-shaking force. Damon turned his gaze on the lady, lips curling into a smile too cruel to be anything but predatory.
"This time," he said, advancing, "you will be mine."
But the lord staggered to his feet, sword in hand. "Not while I live!" he roared, launching a flurry of strikes. Damon danced aside, chuckling at his brother's desperation.
"Yes, yes—use it all," Damon sneered. "Burn your strength until there is nothing left."
And so it was. The lord's swings grew weaker, the glow of his blade dimmer, until at last his knees buckled and he collapsed.
"Husband!" his wife cried, rushing forward—but Damon seized her arm, dragging her back against him. She struggled, fury in her eyes, but his grip was iron.
"You've grown weak," he whispered at her ear, "ever since bearing that child."
"Let me go!" she spat, thrashing against him.
"Never," Damon hissed, holding her tighter. "You were always meant for me."
On the floor, the lord's voice rasped, broken and faint. "Leave her, Damon… take me instead. Spare her. Spare the boy."
"Spare them?" Damon's laughter was jagged, bitter. "You knew I loved her first. You knew—and you took her anyway. You had the gall to wed her, to sire a child with her, while I was left with nothing. And now, now you beg?" His fury lit the staff in a brilliant blaze.
The lord, summoning the last of his strength, rose once more, sword trembling in his grasp. "Then I will atone—with my life!" he bellowed, charging forward.
Damon's face twisted with disdain. He shoved the woman aside and unleashed a ball of searing light that engulfed his brother. The blast shattered the wall behind him, burying the lord beneath the rubble.
"Husband!" The woman scrambled to the ruins, pulling stone from stone until she found him—his eyes wide open, unblinking, chest unmoving.
"There's no need to check," Damon said, smiling coldly. "He's dead. And now, you will finally be mine."
But she only scoffed. Rising to her feet, she drew a slender pin from her hair and, with one swift thrust, drove it deep into her own heart. Blood bloomed scarlet across her gown.
"I will never belong to you," she whispered, voice trembling but defiant.
"Damn you!" Damon lunged forward, but too late. She collapsed beside her husband, her blood mingling with his, and with a trembling hand found his own, clasping it tightly. Her fading gaze found the boy—her son—standing frozen in the shadows of the hall.
"My child…" she breathed, smiling faintly, before her eyes closed forever.
"Mother!" the boy screamed, running to her side. He fell to his knees, shaking her limp body. "Mother! Father! Please—wake up!"
But Damon's voice cut through his sobs, sharp and merciless.
"Do you see, boy? Their deaths are your fault. Your cursed birth drained her power, left her fragile. You were the poison in her veins."
The boy pressed his face into his mother's bloodstained dress, refusing to listen, desperate for her to stir.
"No matter," Damon said darkly, raising his staff. "I'll reunite you with them." A black light gathered in his palm, writhing, ready to strike—
But before it could reach the child, another figure stepped between them. The young man—the boy's cousin—hands spread wide, his own power blazing.
"Alex, go!" he shouted. With a surge, he tore open a rift in space and hurled the boy inside. For the child, the world slowed, time stretching into an unbearable crawl. Through the shimmering veil, he saw his cousin engulfed in Damon's blast, body shattering under its force.
"Don't… forget us…" the cousin mouthed before his head dissolved into light.
"Uncle!" the boy screamed, reaching through the rift with a trembling hand.
And then—the darkness swallowed everything.