At the Caulem training ground, under a blazing sun, young Lucian and young Leonhardt traded blows with wooden swords clashing.
Around them, soldiers, workers, and the stern-faced instructor watched, their cheers loud but all for Lucian.
"Go on, young master Lucian!"
"You can finish this up!" they shouted, fists raised, eyes locked on the younger boy.
The fight continues even when sweat drips, breaths ragged.
Then Lucian saw his chance. He darted in, fast and fierce, slamming his sword against Leonhardt's. The older boy's weapon flew free, spinning through the air, and he crashed backward into the dust, sprawled and gasping.
Lucian stood tall, wooden sword aimed at his brother's chest, his face filled with triumph.
"Lucian's the victor!" the instructor bellowed, voice cutting through the cheers.
The crowd swarmed Lucian instantly—soldiers clapping his shoulders, the instructor grinning wide, words spilling out.
"Perfect form, young master!"
"You've got it all—speed, strength, smarts!"
Their praise drowned the air, a storm of admiration.
Leonhardt stayed down, everyone ignored him, his chest heaving as he stared at the sky. No one moved to help, no one even looked his way.
He dragged himself up, swatting dust off his pants with short, furious strokes, his eyes flicking to the mob fawning over Lucian. Jaw tight, he turned and trudged off, boots scuffing the ground. Behind him, murmurs slithered through the onlookers.
"First son's really a disgrace."
"Lucian's should be the future of Caulem ."
"Weakling doesn't belong Caulem."
Their voices sharp, biting into his back like thorns.
Lucian broke free of the crowd, spotting his brother's retreating figure. Ignoring the hands still patting his back, he sprinted after him, voice bright and urgent. "Big brother! Hold up!" The call rang down the stone hallway as Leonhardt's steps faltered, then stopped.
Lucian caught up, breathless but beaming. "You were amazing out there! I swear, I almost lost—you pushed me so hard, it was close!"
"Shut it," Leonhardt snarled, the words a sudden, icy slash. Lucian's grin vanished, his eyes widening in confusion as he stumbled to a halt.
Leonhardt whipped around, his face a mask of pure fury—eyes blazing like twin fires, lips pulled back in a snarl that bared his teeth. Lucian shrank back, voice trembling. "Big brother, what's wrong?"
"Stop calling me that!" Leonhardt thundered, his shout echoing off the walls, raw and rugged with rage. Lucian flinched hard, hands falling limp, his breath catching.
He stared up at his brother, and what he saw hit like a blow—Leonhardt's eyes, dark and bottomless, burned with a hatred so fierce it seemed to swallow the light.
He stepped closer, towering over Lucian, voice dropping. "You're nothing but a concubine's whelp. I loathe you—every damn piece of you. You don't get to call me 'brother,' you miserable bastard." The last word struck like a hammer, heavy with disgust, before Leonhardt spun on his heel, storming off down the hall, his footsteps a drumbeat of anger.
Lucian stood frozen, alone in the dim corridor, the warmth of his admiration snuffed out by the cold, gaping wound left between them.
—
Lucian broke free from that old, painful memory, letting out a sigh, he was in the academy's quiet hallway. He stood right outside the infirmary door, his stomach tight with worry and hope—he was here for his brother.
Behind him, his butler—a thin man with neat gray hair and a black suit—held a basket full of bright fruit, which Lucian bought for his brother.
Lucian's mind raced about yesterday's fight. Leonhardt's different now—stronger, faster, like a new person. His hand brushed the doorknob as those angry words from long ago—his brother's hate—cut through him. Is he still that way inside? he thought, hoping hard. Please be better now.
He started to turn the knob, thena soft voice called. "Young Master Lucian?" He turned fast, and there was Liana, holding some folded clothes, her brown eyes shining bright.
She gave a quick bow, then smiled big. "How was your journey? Is everyone okay?" Her voice was warm, full of life.
Her grin stretched wider, eyes sparkling like she'd heard the best news. "He'll be delighted! Come in!" She nudged the door open with her hip, motioning him inside with an eager wave.
Lucian froze, doubt creeping in. "Maybe it's a bad idea," he murmured, voice low. "Leonhardt hates seeing me."
Liana's head tilted, her smile softening but firm. "He won't," she said, her words steady and sure. Lucian blinked, confusion tightening his brow. She stepped closer, her gaze earnest. "Trust me, Young Master Leo's changed—more than you'd believe. I promise he'll be happy to see you."
Even the butler chimed in, his voice calm and measured. "It'd be good to see him, my lord. Might clear the air."
She pushed the door open with her hip, waving him inside.
Lucian was confused. The Liana he knew was always sad—quiet, with tired eyes, like serving Leonhardt wore her down. Now she looked alive, happy, almost bouncing. What's going on? he wondered, following her with his butler behind as she opened the door wide.
"Young Master Leo, I'm back!" Liana called, her voice loud and glad. Lucian stepped inside—and stopped cold, his breath gone.
There was Leonhardt, doing pull-ups using the curtain rod, no shirt, all muscle and sweat. He pulled himself up slow and strong, his body perfect—hard abs, arms like steel, shining in the light. He let go of one hand, lifting himself with just the other, easy and powerful, like a king showing off.
Lucian's heart pounded. No way, he thought, head spinning. Yesterday, he saw his brother hurt badly with bruises that should take days to fix. Now he was up there, moving like nothing happened, bigger and tougher than ever.
"Young Master Leo!" Liana said again, smiling.
"Brought my shirt?" he asked, voice deep and calm, still pulling up.
"Right here, and you've got a visitor," she said, nodding at Lucian with a little grin.
Leo stopped, hanging there like a statue, then looked back. His red eyes—full of fire and strength—met Lucian's, and a slow, big smile spread across his face.
He dropped down, landing soft and sure on his feet. "Hey, little brother," he said, voice warm and strong, filling the room like a quiet thunder.
Lucian couldn't move, his mind a mess. Little brother? The words hit him hard—kind now, not mean like before, coming from a Leonhardt who looked and sounded like an adult, someone.