2025-02-26 21:29:14Eleven years ago.
"Helio, do you want a sibling?" I don’t turn to her. More accurately, I refuse to. I’m still upset that she didn’t come to my room last night to read me bedtime stories. She never believes me when I tell her how many times Demario and Zenthio sneak in, tormenting me with ghost stories. "Helio..." "Why would I want a sibling, Mother?" I snap. "Am I not enough of a punching bag for Zenthio and Demario?" She sighs. "But aren’t you close with Lavinia?" "Of course. But Lavinia is only my half-sister." "So you still don’t want a sibling?" "Give me one good reason why I should," I demand. "Aren’t you afraid they might be born blind like me?" She lets out a soft laugh. It infuriates me so much that I reach for my white cane and push myself up. I want to leave my room, though I have no idea where to go. I just don’t want to run into Zenthio or Demario and face whatever torment they have planned for me today. My fingers find the door handle when she speaks again. "I’m not afraid, Helio. Your birth was a blessing to me. And because of that, I want you to feel the same when you have a sibling one day." I huff, already tired of this conversation about a future that hasn’t happened yet. "I don’t know. We’ll see." ⚔️ It feels like just yesterday when I heard Actavio cry for the first time. Cold, unfamiliar with the world. Now, he cries for the same reason—tasting the cruelty Zenthio has crafted for me. "Let him go, Zenthio," I growl. "You know this isn’t fair." Zenthio laughs, light and amused. "And what is fair, Helio?" he counters. "Everything about you—your very existence in my home—is unfair. You took everything from me. Every. Single. Thing. And now, I’ll take it back—all that should have been mine." I should have known. When I agreed to fulfill Father’s last wish, I should have known this would happen. I should have known Actavio would be Zenthio’s next target. "Ah, taking your time thinking, Helio?" Zenthio mocks. "Demario." The moment his name is spoken, Actavio screams in terror. "Please, don’t hurt me!" he sobs. "Helio, help me! They killed Mother! I can’t take it anymore! I want to go home! Please—" My fists clench, shaking with the rage boiling inside me. "What did you do to my mother, Zenthio?" My voice shakes, thunders. Actavio sobs again. "She and my little brother have nothing to do with this. Why did you involve them?" "Look at you," Zenthio chuckles. "Father’s faith in you has really gone to your head, hasn’t it?" "Enough, Zenthio. What do you want from me?" My voice is a whisper, exhausted. "Oh, come on. What could you possibly give me now, Helio? You have nothing left. Nothing but that useless life of yours." I try moving my hands, feeling the ropes biting into my wrists. But then—I still feel it. Father’s Marquess ring, snug around my middle finger. I swallow hard. This ring is sacred, bound by ancient magic. It refuses to leave its owner unless the owner wills it. Just as it once chose me. "So," Zenthio hums. "Are you ready to trade, Helio?" I want to shake my head. I don’t want to disappoint Father. His request was simple: protect our family in his absence. But I have failed. I have led my mother and my little brother straight into danger. "Come on, Helio," Demario coaxes. "You know something just as valuable as your little brother, don’t you?" I lower my head. There was a time when I didn’t want Actavio to be born. But now... I can’t imagine a world without him. My life has split into two: before and after Actavio. If he dies... I clear my throat. "Take my ring, Zenthio," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I know you want this more than your own family’s lives." Zenthio doesn’t answer immediately. I can’t see his face, but I hope—just for a second—that he feels even the slightest shame for what he’s done to us. I don’t want to part with my father’s ring. It’s the only thing of his I still have. But I let it slip from my finger, dropping it onto the dirt. I hear the faint clang of Zenthio’s sword as he picks it up. Then, his laughter. "Seriously, Helio," he muses. "I’ve always wondered why Father favored you. He called you brilliant. A strategist. But something like this? You never even saw it coming—" The sound comes suddenly. A sharp whistle of air. A sword swinging. Something light hitting the ground. Zenthio laughs again. "I said I wanted to trade for your little brother, Helio. But I never said I’d trade him alive, did I?" I wait for the rage to explode inside me, like a long-dormant volcano finally ready to erupt. But I feel nothing. Nothing but an overwhelming, crushing sorrow. Actavio... Mother... Our father... Maybe, from the very beginning, Zenthio was right. I was never going to win against him. Because I always saw him as part of my family. Someone I believed would never be this cruel. But I was wrong. And the price is unbearable. "Zenthio," I cut through his laughter. Something inside me shifts. My anger no longer burns—it takes form, fusing with my dark, sightless world. I feel it stirring the wind, rustling the leaves, making the roots tremble beneath the earth. It moves with my emotions. "I gave you seventeen years to be my brother, Zenthio," I say, my voice steady. "But now I realize—we were never part of the same family. You drowned yourself in the delusion that Father hated you. And I... I let myself believe that no matter how cruel you were to me, we still shared the same father." I smile. There is no joy left in it. No peace. "BUT NOW THERE IS NOTHING LEFT OF HIM. AND I HAVE NO REASON TO CALL YOU BROTHER ANYMORE." The illusion’s power seeps into my skin, twisting its way into my chest. It craves destruction. It wants to consume everything in its path—every last one of my betrayers. I should control it. I know I should. But just like Zenthio... I surrender to my hatred. I want to burn this world down.
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My name is Helio Hawthorn. I know. You think that name doesn’t suit me, but I am indeed part of the Hawthorn family. I am the third son of Marquess Alessio. Even if I’m the illegitimate child of a servant. Even if I was born blind. Even if I—well, the point is, I never chose to be born a Hawthorn under these circumstances.Today is Tuesday. The day I turned eighteen. The day I finally meet the Sacred Tome.The sun blazes at the edge of rain-bearing clouds, its heat pressing against my skin. The wind blows from the west, carrying the scent of roses from the mansion’s garden. As I walk toward the canopy where the Sacred Tome awaits me, I hear every guest whispering about me."Look at his bright red hair, just like a commoner’s. So different from his silver-haired, elegant siblings.""Why are we even here? He’s just the third son, and he’s blind. He won’t play a role in noble society.""Let’s hope the Sacred Tome is wise enough. A half-mortal like him shouldn’t receive the same magic as
