The storm had not eased by the time Ezagone pulled Martha into the alley behind their home. Rain poured in sheets, drenching them both. The widow clutched at him like a drowning woman, eyes wide with terror.
"Ezagone," she gasped, "what's happening? What is your brother? What are you?"
Ezagone didn't answer right away. His chest heaved, his mind a whirlwind. He wanted to tell her everything, but how could he? How could he explain the glowing eyes, the wings of shadow, the voices in the dark? The truth was… He didn't know
"Martha," he said finally, his voice low, "we're not… like the others. We never were."
Her lips trembled. "I raised you as my own. I don't care what you are. You're my boys—"
The wall beside them exploded.
Martha screamed as a figure crashed through, a hunter pinned to the stone by his own spear. Ezagone shielded her instinctively, his heart hammering.
Then Zethra stepped out of the wreckage, his wings half-furled, black feathers dripping rain and blood.His body was riddled with ghastly wounds that were slowly knitting themselves up. And he was drenched in blood, some of them his, both most of them from his enemies, his crimson eyes blazed with fury, but when they found Ezagone, the fire softened.
"You still here?" he called over the storm. "What part of 'run' did you not understand?"
Ezagone huffed. "The part where you think I'd actually leave you behind."
Zethra's grin split his bloodied face. "Good answer."
Behind him, more hunters spilled into the street, their weapons glowing faintly even in the rain. The leader raised his blade, voice carrying over the thunder.
"Devil spawn! Hand yourself over. Spare the world from your corruption!"
They surged forward in unison, blades flashing.
Zethra shoved Ezagone and Martha behind him. "Stay back." His wings spread wide, darkness swirling like living armor.
Ezagone clenched his fists. "No. We fight together."
Zethra shot him a sharp look. Rain ran down his face, mixing with blood. "Eza… you don't even have wings."
"Doesn't matter," Ezagone said. "I'm your brother. You fight, I fight."
For a moment, silence hung between them. The hunters charged.
And then Zethra laughed, a wild, reckless sound. "Fine! But don't blame me if you get skewered. Just remember—first one to scream buys the other dinner."
Ezagone smirked. "Then get your coin purse ready, because you scream louder than a goat giving birth."
"HOW WOULD YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT SOUNDS LIKE?!" Zethra bellowed as he met the first hunter head-on.
The clash was deafening. Shadows and light collided in bursts of sparks and smoke. Zethra moved like a storm given flesh, his wings lashing out, feathers slicing through steel. But the hunters were disciplined, their blades weaving prayers into every strike.
Ezagone grabbed a broken piece of wood from the alley floor—hardly a weapon, but it was all he had. He lunged at the nearest hunter, swinging with every ounce of strength. The impact rang up his arm, but the hunter staggered back, surprised.
"Stay away from my brother!" Ezagone snarled.
The hunter sneered. "A mortal protecting a devil? Pathetic."
Ezagone's grip tightened. "Guess I'll just have to be a pathetic mortal with good aim." He swung again, this time catching the man square across the mask. The wood snapped, but the hunter stumbled, dazed.
"Nice hit!" Zethra called over his shoulder.
"Thanks," Ezagone panted, "I'll sign your forehead with it next!"
Together, they pushed back, the storm itself roaring around them. Martha wept against the wall, her hands clasped as if praying.
And then, as suddenly as it began, the hunters withdrew. The leader raised a hand, signaling retreat.
"This is not over," she hissed. Her masked gaze fixed on Zethra. "Devil-blood cannot hide forever. We will find you again."
With that, they vanished into the rain, their glowing weapons fading into the night.
Ezagone dropped the shattered wood, his chest heaving. "What… what was that? Why leave?"
Zethra shook his head. His wings folded back, feathers falling loose onto the wet street. "Doesn't matter. They'll be back."
Martha stepped forward then, tears streaming down her face. "You… you can't stay here."
Both brothers froze.
"Martha…" Ezagone whispered.
She pressed trembling hands to their cheeks, first Zethra's, then Ezagone's. "I love you. You're my boys, no matter what blood runs in your veins. But if you stay, the hunters will keep coming. They'll burn this house. They'll kill everyone in this town to root you out."
Her voice cracked. "You must go."
Ezagone's heart twisted. "We can't leave you."
"You must." Martha pulled him close, holding him as if for the last time. "You're not safe here. And neither am I, if they know I protect you. But if you run… maybe they'll forget me."
Zethra's jaw clenched. His crimson eyes burned, but not from rage this time. "I don't want to leave."
Martha smiled through her tears. "You'll always be my sons. But you were never mine to keep. You have a greater road ahead of you. Walk it. Together."
Silence. Rain. Thunder.
Ezagone buried his face in her shoulder, his tears lost in the storm. Zethra turned away, wings trembling.
Finally, Zethra spoke. His voice was low, breaking. "Then it's decided." He turned to Ezagone. "We run. From here on, it's just us."
Ezagone nodded. His chest ached, but his resolve was firm. "Together."
Martha pressed a small bundle into Ezagone's hands. Food. A little money. A locket with her picture. "Go before they return."
Ezagone kissed her cheek. Zethra gave her one last, fierce hug, his wings folding protectively around her for just a heartbeat.
And then, without another word, the brothers stepped into the storm.
They didn't look back.
The streets of Rynwold stretched before them, black and glistening. Beyond lay roads unknown, dangers untold, and a world that would never welcome them.
But they had each other.
And for the Draveth brothers, that was enough.
Ezagone glanced at Zethra, forcing a grin. "So… where to, oh winged disaster?"
Zethra smirked. "Anywhere with food. Preferably someplace without angry zealots trying to stab me."
"Ah, so nowhere," Ezagone deadpanned.
Zethra laughed. The sound carried through the storm like defiance itself.
Two brothers. One path.
And the beginning of an adventure that would shake heaven, hell, and everything in between.