The river had always been Anthonio's refuge.
Whenever the weight of the heavens pressed against his chest, he came here. The stream asked nothing of him. It did not remind him of bloodlines or expectations. It flowed, steady and indifferent, and in that steadiness he found calm.
Tonight, something was different.
Anthonio stood by the riverbank, his back to the current, when the air shifted.
Not sound.
Not movement.
Presence.
His senses sharpened instantly—unnaturally so. The river's flow altered, subtle but deliberate. His body reacted before thought. He turned in one smooth motion, steel flashing as his blade cleared its sheath.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The words were calm, but they carried force. The night seemed to pause.
A woman stood at the edge of the clearing, unafraid. Pale light brushed her form. Her posture was composed, ancient confidence held in stillness rather than display.
"I am Isyra," she said evenly. "I was sent to guide you."
Anthonio's eyes narrowed.
"You speak as if you know me."
"I do," she replied. "Anthonio."
The moment his name left her mouth, the river stirred.
His presence pressed outward. He stepped forward, eyes hard, voice low and controlled.
"You know my name," he said. "Then choose your words carefully."
"I have watched you since you first rose from your bed," Isyra answered. "Since the beginning. Your strength has never been hidden from me."
Silence stretched between them.
"Who sent you?" he asked.
"I was cursed with agelessness," she said. "Bound to this world until my task is fulfilled. That curse can only be broken when I guide you."
"Guide me to what?"
"To what you are."
His jaw tightened. "And who decided that?"
"Your father."
The word landed heavily.
"My father?" Anthonio repeated. "You speak as though I know him."
"You don't," Isyra said simply. "Not yet."
A short, disbelieving breath escaped him. "Then you mistake me. I am no god."
"You are no ordinary human either," she replied. "Your strength places you beyond them. Your control. Your awareness. Even now, the world bends toward you."
The water curved faintly at his feet.
"I will guide you," Isyra said. "Before your power chooses its own path."
Anthonio studied her for a long moment. Then he lowered his blade.
"If you guide me," he said firmly, "understand this first. I bow to no man. Not gods. Not fate."
Isyra inclined her head, unshaken.
"And I would not serve one who did."
The river stirred.
Something unseen took notice.
EIGHTEEN YEARS LATER
Eighteen years had passed since the first light of dawn kissed the brothers' cradles.
Azel now stood tall and strong, his face shaped like his father's, his heart bound tightly to his mother's. The sun sat low that morning as he worked beside her in the garden behind their stone house. Dew clung to the petals, and the air carried the scent of wet earth and lilies.
Angela hummed softly as she trimmed the leaves, her movements graceful yet heavy with thought. Azel worked in silence beside her, but his mind was restless. One name lingered between them—never spoken, yet present in every breath.
At last, he broke the silence.
"Mother," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Why do you hate Anthonio so much?"
Her hands froze. The small knife trembled slightly. When she turned, her eyes held something old and bitter.
"From the day you were born," she said quietly, "he took what was meant for you."
"That isn't true," Azel replied.
"Your father's love," she pressed. "His care. He gave it all to Anthonio. You were left behind."
"No," Azel said. "Father loves me too."
Angela studied him closely, and memories rose unbidden.
The upper realm.
The training grounds.
Anthonio returning with praise.
Forgotten birthdays.
Golden footgear for one—plain white for the other.
Azel's voice softened. "He's my brother."
Angela's lips tightened. "One day, you'll see."
She always said that.
For ten years, her words had shaped him.
They returned to their work in silence.
Deep beneath the castle, Anthian and Anthonio descended into the Vault of Veyra.
Blue flames lit the walls. Relics of forgotten wars lined the stone shelves.
"This is where our blood's history sleeps," Anthian said.
At the chamber's center lay a massive box bound in silver cords. With a gesture, the cords loosened. The lid rose.
A sword hovered above a cradle of light.
Silver. Dangerous.
"Can I have it?" Anthonio asked quietly.
"It cannot be held with bare hands," Anthian replied. "Forged from a dying star. Beauty like this destroys the unready.""This sword destroys both mortals and immortal "
A sound echoed.
At the entrance stood Azel. A jar rolled across the floor.They both turned noticing Azel who has been standing their for a while
"son?" Anthian said gently.
"Mother had asked me to get something.."I—I was just leaving."
He ran.
"Why didn't you stop him?" Anthonio asked.
"Angelo has her entire grip on him ," Anthian said.
Above them, Angela watched the sun sink into crimson.
The garden looked peaceful.
But beneath the soil, something dark had already taken root.
And soon, it would bear blood instead of fruit.
Their roots twisted deep into the soil, older than memory, older than grievance. Sunlight filtered through their branches as Angela worked beside her son, her hands steady, her voice gentle—too gentle for the weight it carried.
"Azel," she said at last, not looking at him. "Do you know why your father rarely calls for you?"
He stiffened. "He does," Azel replied quickly. "He just… has duties."
She nodded, as if agreeing. "Yes. Duties."
Then, softly, "Your brother is one of them."
Azel turned to her. "Mother, Anthonio is my brother."
"I know," Angela said. "And a brother would never mean to take what belongs to you." She paused, choosing her words with care. "That is why it is so easy not to notice when he does."
Azel frowned. "He hasn't taken anything."
Angela finally looked at him.
"Has your father remembered your birthday?" she asked.
The question landed too cleanly.
"That doesn't—" Azel stopped. He shrugged. "That doesn't matter."
"It matters to a mother," she said. "It matters when one son is trained beneath the open sky, praised before the realm, while the other grows quietly in the shadows. It matters when love becomes… uneven."
"He doesn't do it on purpose," Azel said, his voice firmer now. "Anthonio would never hurt me."
"I didn't say he would," Angela replied. "I said he is taking your father's time. His care. His attention." Her voice softened further. "And one day, Azel, you will wake and realize there was nothing left for you to lose—because it was all given away long ago."
Azel stepped back.
"I don't want to talk about this," he said.
She didn't stop him as he walked away. She only watched, pain tightening her chest—not because she had lied, but because she had spoken a truth she herself could no longer bear.
Later, deep within the castle, Azel slowed his steps.
Voices echoed from below.
The Vault of Veyra glowed with cold blue flame as he stood unseen at the entrance. His father's voice carried first—steady, reverent.
"This blade was forged to end what should never fall. Mortal or immortal—it makes no distinction."
"And it cannot be touched," Anthonio replied quietly. "Not without consequence."
Azel's breath caught.
Power. Destiny. Weapons meant for legends.
None of them were meant for him.
He turned away before they could see him.
That night, sleep refused him.
His mother's words returned—not loud, not accusing—but patient.
He remembered days that had passed without notice.
Training sessions he had watched from afar.
Praise spoken for Anthonio that never reached him.
He remembered standing beside his brother, smiling, while something unnamed tightened in his chest.
Azel pressed his eyes shut.
Anthonio is good, he told himself.
Father loves me.
Both were true.
And yet, something had been missing.
The thought frightened him—not because it turned him against his brother, but because it refused to leave.
Beneath the ancient trees, beneath the stone halls and vaulted secrets, the first seed of jealousy settled into the soil.
Not hatred.
Not yet.
Just awareness.
And that, perhaps, was far more dangerous.