The chariot rocked gently on the stone path, pulled by two black-plated stallions trained for royal duty. Inside, the walls were polished obsidian, embroidered with the Lactresian crest—an anvil framed by two blades. The interior was cushioned with crimson velvet. A prince's comfort. But at that moment, the warmth of luxury meant nothing.
The Fourth Sword sat with his back straight, eyes shadowed by memory, the echo of his voice still fresh in the air. Fortis didn't interrupt. Not even once. His body leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees. Listening—not as a prince, but as a boy to a man who carried too much.
"For me..." Ervian said quietly, "I was just sad that I couldn't play with my sister anymore. That my father couldn't bring her back. That I couldn't understand the tears in his eyes every time he looked at her empty bed."
He didn't blink as he continued.
"My mother... she wasn't the same. After Elira was taken, she went silent. She would sit for hours and not speak, not eat. Father was scared. Not of the world. But of leaving me alone with her."
He looked down.
"We had no power. No allies. No coin. So he did what he could. Worked every job, every shift, every corner he could find. Not to live. But to buy her back."
His hands clenched.
"It took him a year and a half. One and a half years to collect just two gold coins."
Fortis's breath stilled.
"He went to the slave market. A black tent, vast like a circus, but bright inside—too bright. Mocking, almost. There she was. Elira. Seventeen now. She had been bought and sold so many times..."
His voice caught. Then steadied.
"She wasn't my sister anymore. Not the one I remembered. She was... hollow. Quiet. And still, the man said, 'Used, but still high-quality. We'll start the bidding at ten copper.'"
He scoffed, hollow and bitter.
"Ten copper. For a girl who was my world."
The silence pressed into the chariot.
"We took her home. That same dark-painted house. My mother—who had stabilized, at least a little—cried. Cried so hard I thought her chest would collapse. But Elira... didn't know who we were. Her eyes were empty. Like walls that forgot how to echo."
A pause.
"We laid her to rest in the far room. Father went to buy her a white dress. Just one nice thing. Just one. Me and mother stayed. Still crying. Still hoping."
Then, softly:
"BAM."
The word struck like lightning.
"A sound from her room. We ran in. She'd tried to hang herself."
His voice lowered.
"But Croven's curse wasn't done with her. The roof gave way. A rusted beam fell. It… pierced her through the back."
He swallowed.
"She died crying. Like a child. I don't know how long that cry echoed through my soul. But I still hear it. Every night."
His body stiffened. Eyes glassy but not yet broken.
"It wasn't over. Not even close. My father came home. Holding that dress. White. Clean. Beautiful. When he saw her... he didn't scream. Didn't drop to his knees. He just stood there. Then sat. And I swear I could hear his heart cracking."
Fortis remained frozen. Only his fingers curled tighter.
"Mother... went insane again. Worse. Irreparable. She began laughing at random. Sometimes at the wall. Sometimes at me. I was seven. And I had grown up too fast."
Ervian stared into the shadows.
"I told my father what I remembered. That I saw the young master of Croven looking at Elira the day before she was taken. I still regret saying it. Because that day... he left."
Fortis already knew where this was going.
"He went to the estate. Alone. A bartender. Against a noble house. They executed him. Not cleanly. A foot soldier pierced him with a spear. Then they hanged him from a tower. An example, they said."
He blinked.
"My mother saw it. And she laughed. That day... I knew I had lost everything."
He clenched his jaw.
"She began drinking. Stealing. Selling what we had. Including me, once. To a man who offered her copper for a night. I escaped. Begged for food. Watched her get dragged into an alley one night. She was found dead the next morning. Stabbed."
A sigh. Not of relief. Not sorrow. Something in-between.
"And I felt... peace. I was relieved she was gone. That the pain was done. That I was free."
Fortis closed his eyes for a moment.
"I was eight. Alone. And insane."
A faint light filled his voice.
"And that's when I saw him. Marcus Lactresia. Your father. He came to Croven. A new king. Furious. Righteous. He saw the slave pits, the filth, the corpses. And he burned it all."
A pause.
"He hanged the head of House Croven. With his own hands. He didn't wait for a court."
His voice turned soft, reverent.
"Then he gathered us. Orphans. Slum kids. Street rats. And he said, 'Teach them. Train them. They deserve a future.'"
He gave a faint smile.
"That's when I touched a sword. That's when I learned I was good at something. That I could fight. That I could serve someone who deserved it."
He looked at Fortis, eyes wide but unsure.
"He never knew I was from Croven. No one does. I don't know why I told you. But... I felt like I could."
There was silence.
Then Fortis stood. Not tall. Not grand. Just human.
He sat beside Ervian, shoulder to shoulder, looking out the window.
"You think you don't have anyone, right?" he said calmly. "You think you're alone?"
Ervian said nothing.
"Well, you're not. Not anymore. From this moment onward... you are my big brother."
Ervian turned, stunned.
Fortis didn't look at him. He kept speaking.
"You will always have me. Whether it's sadness or happiness. I'll be there. I'll never abandon you. I'll become strong—so that you'll never lose me too."
His voice was soft but final.
"Don't think you're alone. From this moment on, you are not. Do you understand me?"
Ervian's throat tightened. Tears welled in his eyes.
"...Yes, sir."
Fortis turned and smiled faintly.
"Not 'sir'."
Ervian's voice cracked.
"...Yes, brother."