6 Years Ago
July 27th, 2020
The small apartment at the edge of Cremont City smelled faintly of old wood, rain-damp walls, and the cheap coffee had brewed hours earlier.
Outside, the city hummed with the usual discord, motorbikes whining down cracked roads, a distant shout from a street vendor, the echo of laughter from children playing soccer with a worn ball. For the Castellan family, though, the world felt heavier that morning.
Rio Castellan stood at the narrow doorway, his duffel bag slung over one broad shoulder. At eighteen years old, he carried himself with the vigor of youth, though hardship had already begun to carve its mark upon him.
He was tall, handsome, lean from years of work and responsibility, his muscles toned not from luxury gyms but from carrying crates, climbing ladders, and the kind of everyday survival that came with growing up in Cremont's poorer districts.
His black hair, medium in length, brushed against his brows in messy strands, and his storm-gray eyes, unusual, striking, and haunting, gleamed with resolve. A faint smile curved his lips, but it did little to hide the tension in his jaw.
In the dim light of the apartment, his mother clung to him as though he were about to vanish forever.
"Rio… please, no," Isabela whispered, her voice trembling. Her arms, slim but strong, wrapped tightly around his torso, her face pressed against his chest.
She was beautiful, impossibly so, even in her plain home attire. Isabela Castellan was in her early forties, yet she carried herself with the grace of a queen, her posture regal even when broken by sobs. Her long silver hair, thick and silky, spilled over her shoulders. Her ivory skin bore only the faintest lines of age, softened by her Mediterranean warmth. And her storm-gray eyes, the same piercing shade Rio had inherited, were red-rimmed from weeping.
Isabela had always been the heart of the Castellan family, though her love for Rio burned brightest, sharper, almost feverish compared to the love she showed her husband and daughters. And in this moment, that love cracked through the thin mask of composure she had tried to wear.
"You don't have to do this," she pleaded, her fingers digging into his coat as though she could anchor him to the spot. "We are fine. We have food. We have a roof. Why do you insist on leaving me?"
Rio gave a small laugh, though his heart twisted at the sound of her desperation. "Come on, Mama, don't say it like I'm running away forever. I'm not disappearing. I'll call, I'll text, I'll write, hell, you won't have a moment of peace without me bothering you from a thousand miles away."
Isabela pulled back just enough to look at him. Tears streaked her cheeks, and her lips quivered as she tried to form words. "You don't understand. You are my son. My Rio. My favorite…" She caught herself, biting down hard on the last word, but the truth had already slipped.
Rio tilted his head, smirking in a boyish way that masked the sting of her confession. "Favorite, huh? Better not let Alessandra, Marcella, or Selene hear you say that. They'll kill me before the military does."
It was a joke, but it landed flat. The apartment was too heavy with sorrow for laughter to bloom.
His sisters weren't there. They hadn't come to the doorway, hadn't offered him even a bitter farewell. The three of them, Alessandra, the eldest, regal and elegant; Marcella, the bold and sensual middle sister; Selene, the youngest, sharp and distant, had locked themselves in their rooms. They hadn't spoken to him since he'd announced his decision. To them, his leaving wasn't sacrifice, it was betrayal.
Rio's smile faded a little as he glanced up the stairs, where shadows lingered just beyond the thin curtains of their small rooms. He lowered his voice when he spoke to his mother.
"Mama… when I'm gone, talk to them for me, okay? Tell them I didn't leave because I wanted to. I'm doing this for all of you. So maybe… maybe they'll forgive me someday."
Isabela's fingers trembled as they brushed his cheek, lingering longer than a mother's touch should. Her eyes softened, but beneath that softness burned something deeper, possessive, aching, unspoken.
"They don't understand you like I do," she whispered. "But I will tell them. I will make them see. Even if I don't want you to go, even if I would chain you to this home if I could, I will not let them hate you."
Rio chuckled again, though this time the sound was low, weary. He kissed her forehead gently, trying to lighten the mood. "That's my mother. Always dramatic. You should've been a poet, Mama."
Isabela half-laughed, half-sobbed, clinging to his arm. "And you… you should've been anything but a soldier."
For a long moment, they stood in silence, only the ticking of the old wall clock filling the air. Then Rio gently pried her arms away, adjusting the strap of his duffel.
"Time to go," he said softly.
As he stepped forward, his eyes caught movement from inside the living room. His father, Janus Castellan, sat slouched in a worn armchair. Once a tall, proud man, Janus now seemed shrunken, his broad shoulders hunched, his thinning dark hair streaked with gray. His face was gaunt, skin sallow, and his eyes, once alive with quiet wit, were hollow, dulled by years of disappointment and silent burdens.
"Dad," Rio called, forcing cheer into his voice. "I'm heading out. Wish me luck, yeah?"
Janus looked up slowly. His lips curved into something that tried to be a smile but collapsed into melancholy. "Good luck, son," he murmured, his voice dry and tired.
Rio frowned faintly, noticing the emptiness in his father's gaze. For a second, he wondered if Janus was angry with him, if this sadness was disappointment. But then he brushed it off. His father had worked himself to the bone all his life. He was probably just tired.
"Take care of Mama for me," Rio added, forcing a grin.
Janus only nodded, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between them.
Finally, with a deep breath, Rio opened the apartment door. The humid air of Cremont City rushed in, carrying the smell of rain-soaked concrete and fried food from the market stalls below. He stepped out onto the cracked pavement, his boots heavy with the knowledge of what he was leaving behind.
Behind him, Isabela clutched the doorframe, tears streaming down her face. "Rio! Promise me!" she cried out suddenly.
He turned, eyebrows raised. "Promise what?"
"Promise me you'll come back. No matter what. Promise me you won't leave me forever."
Rio gave her his most confident smile, though his chest ached at the sight of her breaking. "I promise, Mama. I'll be back before you know it. Stronger, richer, and ready to drive you crazy again."
Isabela's sobs followed him as he walked down the street, his figure growing smaller against the dull skyline of Cremont.
From the windows of the apartment above, three figures stood half-hidden behind curtains. Alessandra, her platinum hair and storm-gray eyes catching the faint sunlight, bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Marcella's hazel-gray eyes brimmed with tears of rage, with her dark gray hair. Selene, expression cold, with her white long hair covering her red eyes, clutched the window frame so tightly her knuckles whitened.
They were furious.
They were heartbroken.
And as they watched Rio disappear, they wept, not because he was gone, but because he had chosen to leave them.
The door closed behind him.
The chapter of their childhood ended.
And none of them, not Rio, not Isabela, not his sisters, not even Janus, could have known how different Cremont City would be when he returned.
1 Year Later
August 4th, 2021
In another country.
One year had passed since Rio Castellan had stepped out of the crumbling apartment in Cremont City, promising his mother that he would return.
One year since his sisters had glared at him through tear-streaked windows, cursing his choice to leave them.
One year since he had watched his father sit silently in that armchair, a shadow of a man.
Now, he was in another world altogether.
The barracks smelled of polish, paper, and iron. Military discipline turned every hallway into a reflection of authority, boots clattering against concrete floors, clipped commands cutting through the air like steel. Yet inside his office, Major Rio Castellan allowed himself a rare moment of calm.
His desk was neat, papers stacked in precise order. His black coat hung on the back of his chair, while his shirt clung to his frame, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His storm - gray eyes scanned the reports before him: training schedules, requisitions, evaluations.
At nineteen years old, Rio had done what many called impossible. Through grit, charisma, and sheer ability, he had climbed from an anonymous recruit to the rank of Major. Soldiers respected him, officers envied him, and commanders trusted him. He was young, yes, but he was a leader.
Still, even as medals and titles accumulated, Rio never forgot Cremont.
Every day, without fail, he called his mother. Her voice on the other end of the line soothed him, warmed him, anchored him to home. She always asked after his health, begged him not to work too hard, reminded him to eat properly. And Rio laughed, teased, promised.
He sent money every week, enough to cover rent, food, even little luxuries. He sent gifts too: a new necklace for his mother, expensive cosmetics for Alessandra, Marcella, and Selene. Shoes for his father, though Janus never wrote to thank him. His sisters never called. Not once.
But Rio told himself it didn't matter. They were busy, perhaps, still upset. He would make it up to them when he returned.
That afternoon, the sunlight bled through the blinds in thin stripes, painting shadows across his desk. Rio was scribbling notes onto a requisition form when a sharp knock echoed against his door.
"Enter," Rio called.
The door swung open, and a young soldier stepped in, his boots clicking against the floor. He stood straight, saluted crisply.
"Major Castellan," the soldier said firmly.
Rio rose slightly from his seat, returned the salute. "At ease. What is it, Private?"
The soldier stepped forward, extending an envelope. "A letter for you, sir. Directly from Cremont City."
Rio frowned, curiosity stirring. "From who?"
"Janus Castellan, sir. Your father."
The name struck him like a bullet. For one year, his father had said nothing, sent nothing. And now, suddenly, a letter? Rio's brow furrowed as he reached forward, snatching the envelope with an eagerness he didn't show.
"Thank you, Private. Dismissed."
The soldier saluted once more and left, shutting the door with a clean click. Silence settled again.
Rio stared at the envelope for a long moment, his pulse quickening. The handwriting was unmistakably his father's, narrow strokes, neat yet shaky. He tore it open with careful fingers, unfolding the paper.
The words inside made his eyes widen, his breath catch in his throat.
"My son,
If this letter finds you, then perhaps you will understand what has happened here. I have no one else to turn to.
Your mother… Isabela… is not the woman you believed her to be. I discovered, not long ago, that she is having an affair. With another man. Not a stranger, Rio. Someone she kept hidden, someone she thought I would never know of. She betrayed me, betrayed our vows, betrayed everything we built.
And worse… your sisters knew. Alessandra, Marcella, Selene. They knew, Rio. They hid it from me. They sided with her. When I confronted Isabela, they stood by her. They turned their backs on me.
She wants a divorce. She fights me at every turn, stripping me of what little I have left. She is cruel in her silence, sharper in her words. And my daughters, our daughters, no longer call me father. They call me nothing.
Do you know what it feels like, Rio, to be abandoned by your own blood? To look at the faces you raised and see only strangers?
I am alone now. I am forgotten. And perhaps… so are you.
For they do not speak of you either. They erased you, as they erased me.
Be careful, my son. The mother you adored is not who you think she is. And your sisters, once your companions, are gone.
I do not know what future awaits us. But as for me, I am finished.
Janus Castellan."
The letter trembled in Rio's hand as he read and reread the words, as though they would change if he searched hard enough. But they did not.
Affair.
Divorce.
Betrayal.
Abandonment.
His storm-gray eyes widened, then narrowed. Disbelief, denial, heartbreak, all surged at once, a storm tearing through his chest.
"No…" Rio whispered. His voice cracked. He read again, his pulse pounding in his ears. "No. Mama wouldn't… she couldn't…"
But Janus's words echoed like gunfire in his skull.
His sisters. Alessandra, Marcella, Selene. They knew. They sided with her. They cut him off.
Rio dropped the letter onto his desk. His hands dug into the wood as if he could tear it apart. His breath came shallow, uneven, and he forced himself to steady it. Six months of military training, discipline drilled into his bones, kept him from breaking apart completely.
But inside, he was crumbling.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face. Memories came unbidden: Isabela clinging to him at the doorway, promising he was her favorite; her storm-gray eyes glowing with tears. Alessandra's elegance, Marcella's bold laugh, Selene's sharp wit. His family, his anchor, his reason.
And now? Lies. Affairs. Betrayal.
He laughed once, bitterly. The sound was hollow. "All this time… I thought I was helping. I thought I was saving us."
His eyes fell back to the letter. He picked it up again, then slowly, deliberately, crumpled it into a tight ball. The paper crackled, suffocated. He tossed it into the metal bin at his side, where it landed with a dull thud.
For a long time, Rio sat in silence, staring at nothing. His storm-gray eyes no longer burned with hope but with something colder.
A piece of him had died with that letter.
A piece that would never return.