Wind whipped across the rooftop, tugging at Davina's hair and carrying the distant hum of the city far below. Her eyes reflected the red aviation lights blinking behind Richard, painting him in pulses of warning.
"That's your story?" he asked, voice smooth and amused. "The beginning and end are a bit boring, but the middle…" He let the pause stretch, savoring it. "Well, every good hero needs a tragic origin story, don't they?"
Davina's boots scraped against the gravel as she stepped forward. "That's how you see it?" she said. "It wasn't just my parents that died. it was Ninety‑two other people. Mothers, fathers, grandparents, sons, daughters." Her voice tightened. "Ninety‑two other people."
Richard's expression didn't flicker. "You call him your parent, but he is not your blood."
"And we may be blood," Davina said, her voice cold as the wind, "but you are not my father."
A slow smile crept across his face. "Fight me."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Fight me," he repeated, stepping closer, the rooftop lights catching the sharp angles of his face. "Win, and I'll give you your brother."
The world seemed to tilt.
"My… what?" Davina's voice cracked—not with fear, but with disbelief. Her visor flickered as her focus wavered.
Richard's smile widened, pleased by the fracture in her composure. "Your brother," he said lightly, as if discussing the weather. "You didn't know? Hm. I suppose your mother kept more secrets than I thought."
"My mother knew nothing of your son and even if she did she wouldn't tell me because she never even told me about you" Davina snapped. "Your mother knew everything, how else would she have kept you so well hidden?" He asked.
Davina's heart hammered. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Richard tilted his head. "Your brother is twelve by the way. Smart. Strong. I trained him myself."
Her breath caught. The wind roared around them, but she barely heard it.
Richard stepped back, giving her space only to watch her unravel. "I'm curious," he said, eyes gleaming, "whether the position meant for him should go to you instead."
"I don't want anything from you," she snapped, turning away—because if she didn't, she wasn't sure what she'd do.
The click of a gun being raised cut through the air.
Davina spun just as the shot fired. Her gloves flared blue, sound-wave emitters vibrating with a sharp hum. The bullet hit the barrier and dropped to the rooftop with a metallic ping.
Richard lowered the gun, unbothered. "There she is," he murmured. "Let's see what the firstborn can really do."
Davina's stance shifted—steady, grounded, but her mind raced. Brother. Twelve. Trained. Hidden from her.
"You want a fight?" she said, voice low, trembling not with fear but with fury. "Fine."
The wind howled between the skyscrapers, tugging at Davina's cape as she steadied her stance. Her gloves still hummed faintly from deflecting the bullet, blue light pulsing along the seams. Richard watched her with a calm that felt like mockery.
He moved first.
A blur of motion—too fast for a man his age should be—and his fist cut through the air toward her jaw. Davina ducked, the punch grazing her visor with a sharp crack. She countered with a palm strike, sound-wave emitters flaring as she released a controlled burst.
The shockwave hit him square in the chest, sending him skidding back across the gravel.
Richard laughed.
Not winded. Not shaken. Amused.
"Good," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Again."
Davina's pulse hammered. The rooftop lights flickered against her visor as she sprinted forward. She launched herself into a spinning kick, her boot trailing a faint ripple of blue energy. Richard blocked it with his forearm, the impact echoing across the rooftop like a thunderclap.
Pain shot up her leg. She gritted her teeth.
He grabbed her ankle mid‑spin and yanked.
Davina hit the rooftop hard, gravel biting through the fabric of her suit. The breath punched out of her lungs. She forced herself to roll just as his boot came down where her ribs had been a second earlier, cracking the concrete.
She pushed to her feet, chest burning. "You're lying about the boy."
Richard tilted his head. "You think so?"
She swung at him, fury fueling her momentum. He caught her wrist, twisted, and shoved her back toward the edge of the roof. Her boots scraped dangerously close to open air.
The city yawned beneath her—hundreds of feet of nothing.
Davina's heart lurched, but she planted her heel, pivoted, and slammed her other fist into his ribs. The sound-wave burst detonated point‑blank, sending him stumbling.
This time, he didn't laugh.
He wiped a smear of dust from his coat, eyes narrowing. "You're stronger than he is," he said. "But he listens. He obeys."
Davina froze for half a heartbeat—just long enough for Richard to close the distance.
He drove his shoulder into her, forcing her back toward the ledge. She braced her forearms against his chest, gloves crackling with unstable energy.
"Stop—" she gasped, pushing back with everything she had.
The emitters overloaded for a split second, releasing a burst that sent both of them flying apart—Davina skidding across the rooftop, Richard slamming into a ventilation unit with a metallic crash.
Her arms trembled. Her lungs burned. The wind whipped her cape like a frantic flag.
Richard rose slowly, brushing debris from his coat, eyes gleaming with something darker now.
"Good," he said again, voice low. "Now fight like someone who has something to lose."
Davina's breath hitched.
Brother. Twelve. Hidden from her.
Her gloves lit up, brighter than before.
"Fine," she said, stepping forward, voice shaking with fury and fear. "Round two."
The rooftop lights flickered as Davina charged again, her gloves crackling with unstable blue energy. Richard met her halfway, their silhouettes clashing against the night sky. Every strike echoed across the rooftop—boots scraping gravel, metal groaning under the force of their movements, the wind tearing at her cape.
Davina swung a right hook, amplified by a burst from her gloves. Richard blocked it, but the shockwave still sent him stumbling. She didn't let up. She pressed forward, fists flying, each hit fueled by the words still ringing in her skull.
Your brother.
Her breath came in sharp bursts. Her muscles burned. But she kept going.
Richard ducked under her next strike and swept her legs. Davina hit the ground hard, the impact rattling her bones. She rolled just in time to avoid his boot slamming down where her head had been.
She pushed to her feet, chest heaving. "Why tell me now?" she demanded.
Richard smiled, blood at the corner of his mouth. "Because you fight better when you're angry."
She lunged at him, fury exploding through her. Her fist connected with his jaw, sending him spinning. He crashed into a ventilation unit, metal denting under the force.
For the first time, he didn't rise immediately.
Davina approached slowly, gloves humming, breath ragged. Richard looked up at her, eyes bright with something unsettling—anticipation.
"Go on," he said softly. "Finish it."
Her heart lurched. "What?"
"You want answers. You want to protect the boy you didn't know existed." He spread his arms, exposing his chest. "Kill me, and you get everything you want."
The wind roared between them. Davina's gloves glowed brighter, energy building at her palms. She could feel the power gathering, vibrating through her bones, begging to be released.
Richard didn't flinch. "Do it. Prove you're stronger than him. Prove you deserve the throne."
Her breath shook. Her hands trembled. The blue light intensified, casting harsh shadows across his face.
She could end this. End him.
End the threat.
End the man who she knew killed more people than she could even imagine.
Her pulse thundered. Her vision tunneled. The rooftop, the city, the night—all of it narrowed to the man kneeling before her.
"Do it," he whispered.
Davina's fingers curled.
The energy surged.
And then—
She stopped.
The light flickered, then dimmed.
Her breath hitched as a memory surfaced—her father's voice, steady and warm, the one truth he'd drilled into her since childhood:
"It is never your place to decide who deserves to live or die."
Her hands fell to her sides.
Richard's eyes widened—not in fear, but in disappointment.
"No," Davina said, voice shaking but firm. "I'm not you. And I'm not becoming you."
She stepped back, the wind tugging at her hair as the last of the energy faded from her gloves.
Richard slowly rose to his feet, studying her with a new, unreadable expression.
"So that's your choice," he murmured. "Mercy."
"No," Davina corrected. "Principle."
For the first time, Richard didn't have a smile ready.
TO BE CONTINUED