Althurd's eyes snapped open to the gray wash of morning light bleeding through his curtains. His head throbbed, his body felt as if it had been wrung out and left to dry. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a fever dream—the voice, the mirror, the agony that had swallowed him whole. He sat up, pressing a trembling hand against his chest.
Then the voice spoke again, smooth and dry as silk over stone.
"Awake at last. I was beginning to wonder if you'd decided to die after all."
Althurd jolted, eyes darting around the chamber. "No—no… this can't—" He swallowed, breath ragged. "Who are you? What are you?"
A chuckle curled inside his mind. "Names mean very little. I am what you called, what answered. Some would say parasite. Others, dweller. I prefer… ally."
Althurd grit his teeth. "Ally? You made me— you forced yourself inside me!"
"Forced?" The voice hummed, low and amused. "No. You opened the door. You begged for strength. I merely gave it."
His hands clenched into fists. "Then what do you want? What's your goal? Why me?"
A pause. Then the voice shifted—lower, colder, almost clinical. "Because I saw a boy on the edge of breaking. A prince ridiculed, pitied, dismissed. Worthless in the eyes of those who should have cherished him. I wanted to see what you would do if someone finally gave you the weapon to strike back."
Althurd's breath trembled. He hated the sting in his eyes, hated how true those words rang. "You… you'll give me power? Enough to stand above them?"
"Not only power," the dweller purred. "I will give you the right to claim what your blood was meant to inherit—the throne. I will make them kneel, even your Father. But in return, you will obey me when I command it. Not always. Not often. Only when I decide my voice must be heeded."
Althurd sat in silence, the echo of the Emperor's words—disown him—still stabbing through his skull. His nails dug into his palms until they nearly broke skin. Recognition. All he wanted was his Father's eyes to look at him with pride, not shame.
He exhaled, a sharp, broken sound. "…Fine. I'll do it. Whatever it takes. I'll follow your damn commands. Just—give me strength. Make me worthy. Make him see me."
The dweller laughed softly, pleased, and its voice dripped with satisfaction. "Then we are bound, little prince. You and I—one body, one path. Together, we will carve your name into the marrow of this empire."
Althurd closed his eyes, chest heaving. For the first time in years, the burning pit of helplessness inside him flickered—not with despair, but with something darker, sharper. Hope twisted into hunger.
And in the quiet, the parasite coiled tighter into his soul, whispering like a patient serpent. "Good. Very good."
The throne hall was crowded with nobles that day, each one of them buzzing with whispers. Althurd stood in the center, his palms clammy, his throat dry. He could feel their stares—mocking, measuring, already writing him off as the "defect" of the Revazkerio line.
The parasite's voice hissed steady and firm in his skull. "Do not falter. Raise your hand. I will take care of the rest."
Althurd exhaled, forcing his trembling arm upward. A spark flared—orange, bright, alive. In an instant, fire leapt across his palm, curling and dancing like a serpent. It was not his own… but no one could tell. The warmth licked his skin, the light reflected in his widened eyes.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The Emperor, who had sat cold and stony for years whenever Althurd entered, suddenly leaned forward. His stern face broke into something Althurd had not seen since he was a child: a smile.
"…Flame." His Father's voice rang with pride. "My son, you have inherited the power of this empire's bloodline."
The nobles bowed their heads, murmurs shifting from ridicule to reverence. Althurd's chest seized; his heart hammered so loud he could hardly breathe.
"F-Father…" he whispered, the fire still dancing above his hand. "I—I finally…"
The Emperor stood from his throne, descending the steps with heavy, deliberate strides. He placed a firm hand on Althurd's shoulder, the weight of it grounding him.
"Well done, Althurd. I knew you would not shame our name forever," the Emperor declared. "You are truly my son."
Those words—my son—cut through Althurd like a blade and yet filled him with molten heat. His breath broke into a laugh, strangled with relief.
"Father… I won't ever let you down again," he said, his voice shaking, almost childlike.
Behind the flame, inside his mind, the parasite chuckled low. "Look at his eyes, little prince. All it took was fire. His pride is shallow, but it is yours to claim now."
Althurd ignored the voice, basking in the rare glow of his father's recognition. For the first time in years, no one dared mock him. No whispers of shame touched his ears.
The night was cold, but Althurd's chamber felt suffocating. He sat before the mirror, staring at the faint glow of flame still dancing over his palm. His lips curled faintly into a smile—Father finally acknowledged me. For once, he mattered.
Then the voice broke the silence, low and venomous.
"Now then, child. You've enjoyed your taste of power. It is time you repay me."
Althurd stiffened. "R-Repay you? For what? You said you'd give me strength if I followed your commands, but—"
"And so you will. Your first command is simple." The voice lingered in his skull, each word like silk binding around him. "Kill your mother."
Althurd's eyes went wide. "W-What? That's absurd! She's… she's the only one who—" His voice cracked. "She's the only one who never left me!"
The parasite's chuckle was soft, almost indulgent. "Is that what you think? That she protected you? Oh, little prince… you are more naïve than I thought."
Althurd slammed his palms on the desk. "Shut up! She always tried to defend me against Father. She never stopped—"
"Defend you?" The laugh was cruel now. "She humiliated you. Do you not remember how she begged your father to let you stay, as if you were some weakling charity case? Do you not remember her pitying eyes when she stroked your cheek and told you to 'try harder'? You were never her equal. You were her burden."
Althurd swallowed hard. His fists trembled. "…That's not… that's not true."
"Oh, but it is. And worse—do you know what law she tried to pass? A law to grant the commoners rights, to make them equal to you. To us. Do you understand what that means? She was ready to throw away your birthright. To make your crown nothing more than a trinket."
Althurd's chest tightened, a cold sweat breaking across his skin. "She… she would never…"
"Wouldn't she?" The voice hissed. "Think, Althurd. Every time she looked at the people, she smiled brighter than she ever did at you. Every time she spoke of the Empire's future, she spoke of them. Not you. Not your throne. Them. You were never her legacy—you were her mistake."
Althurd pressed his hands over his ears, shaking his head. "Stop it! Stop it!"
"No. You will listen. She is dangerous, not just to you, but to the Empire itself. If she lives, the nobles will fall, the commoners will rise, and the Revazkerio bloodline will be dirt beneath their feet. Is that the future you want? To be ruled by peasants?"
Althurd's breathing grew ragged. His heart pounded with rage. "No… no, I'll never let that happen."
"Then you know what must be done." The parasite's tone softened again, like a whispering confidant. "Your father already despises her for her ideals. Your brothers will never stop her. Only you, Althurd, can save the Empire. Only you can protect your rightful throne."
Althurd's reflection stared back at him, pale, trembling, eyes wide and unblinking. Slowly, his lips curved into a broken, desperate smile.
"…If it's for the Empire… if it's for my throne… then yes. I'll do it. I'll kill her."
"Good boy."
.....
The throne hall was in ruins. The marble floor was cracked from the clash of magic, the walls scorched and splintered with sword marks. Althurd lay sprawled on the cold stone, his chest heaving, blood spilling freely from the corner of his lips. His body was failing—no strength left, only bitterness.
Zejidiah stood above him, calm but cold, his blade dripping with the remnants of battle. His mismatched eyes burned with restrained fury, yet his face betrayed no satisfaction.
Althurd choked out a laugh, sharp and bitter, even as his ribs screamed with pain. "Hah… look at you. Standing there with that self-righteous glare. Don't think for a moment you've won, Zeji."
Zejidiah's grip tightened on his sword. His silence was louder than words.
Althurd coughed, blood flecking his lips. "You think this is the end? You fool. My death is only the beginning. This Empire will rot, it will burn, and you—you'll drown in the ashes before you ever wear that crown."
Zejidiah finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "You talk of beginnings, yet all I see is the end of a coward. Even with power, even with corruption in your veins, you remained weak."
Althurd's eyes flared with rage, his teeth bared as he forced out another laugh, manic and broken. "Weak!? You think I'm weak!? I've done what none of you dared to do! I killed the woman you all worshipped like a saint. I defied Father's indifference. I carved my own throne with my hands!"
Zejidiah's jaw went slack for the barest instant — not from awe, but from a cold, terrible clarity. He did not step forward or claim the throne; he stepped closer as if closing the distance between a wound and its closure. His voice was low, iron-tempered, without the slightest trace of triumph.
"You think this issome achievement," he said slowly. "You boast about murder, and you call it victory. I don't want your crown, Althurd. I want what you stole from us."
Althurd blinked, baffled by the lack of fear. "You—what do you mean?"
"You killed Mother. You took her life for your petty hunger. You call it carving a throne; I call it slaughter." His eyes were flat, and the calm in them was far worse than rage. "I will not let her death be a convenience for you to crow over. I will make you pay for every breath you stole from her."
Althurd's laughter faltered, a wet, uncertain sound. "You—how dare—"
"How dare?" Zejidiah echoed, every syllable a blade. "You took her from us. You made the world cruel for the sake of your pride. I don't care about crowns. I care about her face, the way she used to stand for what was right. You will answer for that."
Althurd laughed crazily, "You think Matthew will allow you to do that?"
The chamber doors creaked open, slowly, deliberately.
Both brothers turned.
A man entered—draped in white, his cloak dragging across the blood-stained floor. His face was veiled by a strip of black blindfold, yet he moved as though he saw everything. In his right hand, he carried something grotesque.
He stepped into the hall, the silence thick and oppressive. His voice rang clear, sharp, and disturbingly polite.
"Your Highness…" The blindfolded man bowed his head faintly, then lifted what he carried. "…a delivery."
With a casual flick of his wrist, he threw it forward.
The object hit the floor with a sickening thud, then rolled slowly across the marble until it came to rest between the brothers.
A head.
The head of Crown Prince Matthew. His once-proud features were slack in death, his eyes still wide open in shock.
Althurd's pupils shrank, his breath hitching. For the first time, his manic grin faltered. "No… no, that's… that's impossible…"
The blindfolded man tilted his head. "Oh, it is quite possible, Second Prince. The firstborn fell easily. His flame—" he gave a small, almost amused chuckle, "—burned out far quicker than expected."
Althurd shook his head, trembling, trying to laugh but failing. "You… you lie. You're lying!"
The man stepped closer, boots clicking against the marble, calm and unhurried. "Why would I lie? The proof is before you. The Crown Prince of Feltogora is no more. His head lies at your feet. His body—well…" he lifted his free hand as though dismissing it, "let us say it will not be found whole."
Althurd looked at Zejidiah, fury twisting across his battered face.
"You… crazy lunatic, you really plan on killing our bloodline?"
Zejidiah tilted his head, his expression unreadable as his sword gleamed in the dim light. "So what if I do?"
"MOTHERFUCKE—"
The word never finished. Zejidiah's blade cut through the space between them in a swift, decisive arc. Steel met flesh, and Althurd's voice was silenced forever.
His body fell to the marble with a dull thud, blood spilling out in uneven streams that crawled across the floor. His eyes, wide in shock, stared blankly at the ceiling. For the first time, the parasite's whispers inside him went quiet—snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
The chamber fell into silence, save for the faint drip of blood from Zejidiah's sword.
The Hans gave a low whistle, amused. He nudged the severed head of Matthew with his boot, letting it roll until it bumped Althurd's lifeless arm.
"Two brothers down. The empire is already beginning to collapse."
Zejidiah didn't respond. He stood over his brother's corpse, his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing—not with triumph, but with a grief that carved deeper than any blade.