The sun beat down mercilessly on the dusty road, but Kael barely felt the heat. A bright, unburdened smile was plastered on his face as he hopped along, the coins in his pocket jingling a merry tune with every step. The weight of the past two months—the hunger, the shame of begging, the cold nights in the derelict building—felt a little lighter today. He clutched the small pouch of coins tighter. I can't wait to show big brother how much I made today, he thought, his heart swelling with a rare feeling of pride. Maybe we can even get some meat for Myra. Something to help her get stronger. The hopeful fantasy carried him the entire journey toward the only place that could be called home.
When the outline of the unfinished building came into view, about one-third of a kilometer away, his cheerful pace faltered. His eyes, squinting against the sun's glare, focused on a detail that sent an immediate, cold jolt down his spine. The front door—the piece of scrap wood they carefully propped closed every night—was hanging wide open, a dark maw against the pale concrete. Suddenly, his expression changed. The smile vanished, wiped away as if it had never been, replaced by a cold, creeping dread that tightened his chest.
"I have a bad feeling about this," he murmured to the oppressive silence around him. The cheerful hop became a sprint, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, drowning out the sound of his own frantic footsteps.
He skidded to a halt in the doorway, his lungs burning for air he couldn't seem to draw. The scene inside refused to make sense. His brain tried to reject the horrific image, to force it into the shape of something, anything, else. But it was undeniable. The sight of his sister's small body, cruelly split in half, was etched into his mind with the permanence of a brand. The pouch of coins slipped from his numb fingers, hitting the dirt with a soft, pathetic thud. Tears, hot and immediate, streamed down his cheeks, carving clean paths through the day's grime. In his shock, he remained frozen in the threshold, his presence yet unnoticed by the figures within.
Michael was on his knees before Myra's ravaged body, his shoulders shaking with silent, gut-wrenching sobs. His hands were covered in dirt and blood, clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.
Suddenly, a voice, light and almost melodic, cut through the thick air. "Tell me now where the last of you is," it said, "and I'll grant you a painless death." A girl who seemed to be in her late teens stood there, her head tilted with a mockery of curiosity.
Michael's reply was a raw, guttural scrape of sound. "Like I said before," he choked out, lifting his head to glare at her with pure, undiluted hatred, "I won't tell you—no matter what you do to me."
Kael, still shielded by the shadows of the doorway, felt his mind fracture into a thousand panicked pieces. What's going on again? It's just like last time with Mother and Father. A different house, the same nightmare. Did they come looking for me? Is this my fault? What if I give myself up? Will Michael be safe? Will they just leave him alone? The questions were a torrent, a cyclone of fear and guilt that left him paralyzed.
His frantic eyes, previously locked on his brother and sister, now darted around the room. He hadn't noticed them earlier, but now he saw them: two more figures standing behind the girl, lurking in the deeper shadows of the room like patient vultures. Their stillness was more terrifying than any threat.
One of them, a young man with a bored expression, finally spoke. "What are you doing, Vesper?" he said, addressing the girl. "Finish him off so we can go look for the last one. We're on a schedule."
Vesper didn't even glance back at him. Her reply was icy, dripping with contempt. "Don't tell me what to do, Jasper." Her attention returned to Michael. In a movement both grotesque and practiced, she brought her own hand to her mouth and bit deep into her palm. Instead of crying out, she watched dispassionately as blood welled up and began to flow. Then, she held her hand out, and the blood coalesced, twisting and solidifying in mid-air until it formed a long, wicked, crimson sword. She raised the glistening blade, pointing it at Michael's throat with a cold, murderous glare.
Michael, still clutching a piece of his sister's torn dress, closed his eyes. He had resigned himself to his fate.
Just as the blood-made sword began its lethal arc, something in Kael shattered. The paralysis broke. "STOP!" The scream was torn from the depths of his soul, raw and deafening in the tense silence. He stumbled forward, falling to his knees in the dirt. "If you came for me, then take me! Just let him go!" he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.
Vesper's head snapped toward him. A slow, cruel chuckle escaped her lips. "Look who's here," she purred, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "We didn't even have to go looking for him—he came to us himself. How lucky."
"Run, Kael! Run away now!" Michael's shout was a mixture of command and pure terror.
Tears welled in Kael's eyes, blurring the monstrous scene before him. "It's me they want! Let them take me and spa—"
Vesper cut him off with a dismissive wave of her blood-red blade. "Who said it's only you we want? Don't flatter yourself, little lamb. We were sent to kill all three of you. No witnesses. No loose ends."
Jasper stepped forward, finally drawing his own sword—a real one, of polished steel that gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the broken roof. "Enough chatter. Take care of the older brother. I'll handle the younger one."
Vesper frowned, irritation flashing across her features. "I told you not to tell me what to do."
Jasper simply shrugged, a study in nonchalant brutality. "Whatever."
He moved toward Kael with a predator's grace, his sword held loosely at his side. As he swung the blade in a clean, efficient arc aimed at Kael's neck, a tremendous, invisible impact struck Jasper's side. It wasn't a punch or a kick; it was a concussive blast of pure force. It lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing into the far wall with a sickening crunch of breaking plaster. He slid to the floor and did not move.
"Jasper… Jasper! What the hell just happened?" Vesper called out, her cool composure finally broken. Her puzzled, slightly wary eyes were now fixed solely on Michael.
Eight seconds passed in utter silence. Then, Jasper groaned. He stirred, trying to push himself up, but his body failed him. He collapsed back onto one elbow and coughed, a splatter of crimson blood spraying onto the dirt floor. Confused, enraged, and in pain, he glared at Michael. "What the hell did you just do to me?!" he snarled.
Michael stood up, his body trembling not with fear, but with a strange, newfound energy. "Run now, Kael!" he shouted, his voice stronger, more commanding than Kael had ever heard it. "I'll hold them off!"
Kael, still on his knees, could only slam his fists against the hard floor, the pain a dull counterpoint to the agony in his heart. "Where am I supposed to go? What's the point of living when all of you are gone? What's the point of just me?!"
"Why do you think Dad sacrificed himself?" Michael yelled back, his words lashing out like a whip. "He did it so we could live! So you could live! Kael, listen to me!" His voice cracked with emotion. "Do you want his sacrifice—our family's sacrifice—to be for nothing? If we all die here, what was it all for? His life, Mother's, Myra's… will they have just been thrown away? RUN!"
Vesper's eyes narrowed, the pieces clicking into place. "So that's it…" she whispered, a flicker of understanding in her cruel gaze. "He awakened now, of all times, when we're running out of time." She turned her head sharply toward the stirring Jasper. "Forget the plan. Take care of the younger brother. I'll deal with the older one myself. He's more dangerous than we thought."
Jasper climbed to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned, a terrifying sight. "I know that much already."
In an instant, he snatched his sword from the ground and lunged toward Kael with a burst of supernatural speed, the blade aimed straight for his neck in a killing blow.
There was a blur of motion. Just as the steel was about to connect, Michael appeared in front of Kael, moving faster than should have been possible. The air around his right hand shimmered, and water—condensed from the humid air itself—swirled around it, encasing his hand from wrist to fingertip in a glowing, liquid gauntlet. With a grunt of effort, he caught the razor-sharp blade bare-handed. The sound was a shocking clang of metal against solidified water.
He didn't look at his attacker. His eyes, filled with pain, love, and fierce determination, found Kael's. "This is your chance," he said, his voice strained from the effort of holding the blade. "Run, brother!"
Tearfully, Kael whispered, "But—"
"RUN!" Michael screamed, the word a final, desperate command. "Don't look back! Just run!"
Something in the sheer force of his brother's will broke through Kael's despair. He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms, took two shaky steps back, then turned and fled into the blinding sunlight.
Vesper snarled in frustration. She sprinted after him, but seeing the distance growing, she stopped. Her eyes fell on the pool of Myra's blood on the floor. She gestured, and a portion of the blood rose into the air, morphing and solidifying into a sharp, cruel-looking kunai. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled it with deadly accuracy toward Kael's retreating back.
Michael noticed. With a mighty heave, he shoved Jasper's blade aside, spun, and delivered a powerful kick to his abdomen that sent him stumbling back. Then, he bolted, putting every ounce of his strength into one final, desperate sprint. He couldn't reach Kael, but he could reach the projectile's path. He threw himself into the air, intercepting the kunai just in time. The weapon, forged from his sister's blood, plunged deep into his side.
He fell to the ground on one kneel while coughing blood.
Kael heard the sound but kept running, as his brother had ordered. Tears blurred his vision, making the world a watery mess as memories of his family—his father's last words, his mother's smile, Myra's silent tears, Michael's weary strength—flooded his mind with every pounding step he took away from the ruins of his life.