The silence was suffocating.
As if every sound in the universe had bowed in respect for this moment.
In the middle of the battlefield, on cracked ground of blood and fire, stood Orestos, staring into the shadow that emerged from between the smoke, his clothes drenched in blood.
That shadow was not merely an enemy… it was a ghost from the past that had returned, unfinished.
Darkis.
The name alone was enough to awaken memories that still scratched Orestos' sleep from years ago.
The man before him had changed.
Half his face covered by a metallic mask, his eyes like one who had lived a thousand betrayals.
His black sword dangling at his side, every step making the earth seem to breathe.
Darkis said coldly:
> "I did not think you would remain standing, Orestos."
"I expected you would die on that mission… just like us."
Orestos should not have been here now. He muttered, as if shaking dust off his memory:
> "The mission… in the valley, do you recall? You opened the gate there."
Darkis smiled:
> "The gate was meant to be opened. To end the lie we were protecting."
Orestos' voice was low, piercing:
> "We were there to save the city from destruction. Instead… you delivered it."
Darkis laughed, broken and mocking:
> "The city was already dead before our blades reached it. We only drew the curtain down."
Then he paused a little, before continuing:
> "Do you remember, Orestos, how we were five knights dreaming of a cleaner world? The world did not change… we did. One died, one vanished, two were deceived by the dream… and me."
Orestos stepped forward, his steps sounding over rubble like farewell steps.
> "Darkis… you were my brother. We fought side by side, sharing bread, insults, blood. But today… you stand before me wearing the color of the blood you were meant to protect."
Darkis turned his head slowly, his voice like a whisper of evil:
> "No… today I must face the truth. That you knew it before me."
He raised his eyes, as if deciding fate:
> "You were the king they protected, who built his throne upon corpses, whose feet the earth kept wiping so they would not get dirty. And you? You never slipped?"
Orestos' lips trembled, his fist tightening, but he said:
> "I do not agree with everything. But your betrayal does not justify itself with wisdom."
Darkis spread his arms, as if welcoming death:
> "Call it betrayal if you want… I only dared to choose the end."
A heavy silence fell between them, two swords still sheathed, but the real war had now begun… inside their eyes before the ground.
From afar, Elios was watching the scene. His sword shook in his hand, sweat and ash on his grip. He did not know why… but he heard every word.
His father's voice, always firm, now seemed hesitant, confused… layers of hidden history suddenly revealed.
Elios thought: "Who is this man, who speaks in words that sound like my father's, but not his tone?"
Orestos stood between ruins, always known as a symbol of justice and honor. He had never shouted, never raised his sword in a struggle of words… but now he was.
Darkis' voice came quiet, calm, carrying not hate but a layer of deep sorrow:
> "I am not your enemy, Orestos… but the mirror you refused to look into for years."
Elios clenched his grip. Does Father mean something he hides? Does he deny it? Why the silence?
Orestos, who never trembled before death, earthquakes, or traps, now looked as if wrestling a ghost he knew too well.
Darkis, hoarse, lifted his eyes to him and said:
> "You are the knife that speaks the truth."
He smiled faintly, but pale, like a man long dead:
> "The hammer we always wanted to break injustice with… it was always a tool to build ruin. And you, Orestos… were broken before you could strike with it. You only hung it on the wall, bowed to a throne, and promised safety."
At this moment Elios moved a step forward among the exhausted soldiers, but they stopped him.
He wanted to scream, to ask, to demand the truth — but the air around him grew heavy, suffocating, each breath measured as if deadly.
Orestos breathed deeply, his eyes never leaving his old enemy:
> "We were all wrong. But my fault… was that I tried to fix what was broken without showing anyone the shards."
Darkis answered:
> "And I gathered the shards, Orestos… and planted them in the chests of those who forgot."
He then added in a low voice:
> "Not every traitor is without a homeland. Sometimes betrayal… is only another way to stay honest."
The silence was like a layer of ice over fire.
Elios did not know where to stand. Was his father hiding something? Was Darkis telling truth? Who was the criminal? Who was the innocent?
Chaos filled his heart… but the decision was clear. Only one of them would remain.
Either admit what he saw in the mirror… or break it.
For a moment, even the wind seemed to refuse to intervene. Two men, who knew each other more than themselves, faced each other.
Darkis stepped forward, rubble scattering under his feet, as if the earth prepared itself for testimony at the end.
His eyes were always like two nights without moonlight… but now they wavered, trembled, as if the truth demanded its price.
Across from him, Orestos stood like a statue, silent stone filled with resolve, his sword raised like an old banner swearing his history would not be stolen.
Finally Darkis spoke, voice carrying more reproach than threat:
> "Perhaps… but you were the king who slept while the kingdom burned."
The words cracked like lightning striking a monument of honor itself.
In that moment, it seemed even time had stopped, as if a third heart was watching their encounter, the old wounds reopening but without blood.
Orestos raised his head, as if hearing truth itself, not afraid anymore:
> "Perhaps… but I awoke."
Then suddenly, a distant explosion thundered.
The earth shook as if a new battle had begun behind them.
From the horizon, a third side approached the battlefield without invitation.
Neither of the two turned. What lay between them now did not mean the changing front…
This was no longer a war of armies… but the conclusion of a story written in ink of betrayal and regret.
Orestos stepped forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the man before him — whether he saved or betrayed him long ago, distorted or redeemed.
He raised his sword, and the wind clapped as if applauding his decision.
> "Today… no escape.
Today the tale that began in secrecy… ends."