Ugly truth

Helios strode through the encampment under the shroud of twilight, his piercing gaze sweeping over the weary soldiers. They straightened instinctively at his presence, murmuring their respects, but he silenced them with a mere flick of his hand. Formalities were a waste of breath when war offered them so little of it. The night swallowed their tired figures as they scurried back to their final duties—some preparing for an elusive moment of sleep, others steeling themselves for the night watch.

The camp was a ghostly maze of flickering lanterns and whispering shadows, but one disturbance cut through the quiet like a blade through silk. Two figures stood locked in a heated exchange beyond the last row of tents, their voices low but sharp, like the hiss of vipers coiled in the dark.

Helios moved closer, his steps near silent. The moment their voices reached his ears, his breath stilled.

"What were you thinking, dragging the Emperor into your childish delusions?" Rudolph's voice was cold, like steel dipped in venom.

Helios exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples.

"He never tires of breaking his sons," he muttered under his breath.

"I had no choice." Octavius's voice did not waver, but there was a storm beneath the surface. "Even if you stopped me a thousand times, I would still have gone."

A sudden, vicious crack split the night air.

Rudolph had struck him. Hard.

"You dare defy me?" Rudolph's voice was a slow, simmering fury. "Do you even grasp the magnitude of your insolence? And what of that alchemist? Do you even comprehend what you've done?"

"I followed Lord Cornelius because I knew," Octavius spat, his glare a smoldering fire. "I knew you were hiring men to slaughter him."

Helios stiffened. This was no mere squabble—this was treason veiled in the robes of ambition.

Rudolph faltered, his usual command wavering for the briefest moment. "Who filled your head with such poison?"

"I heard it myself." Octavius's voice was quiet now, deadened by something deeper than mere anger. "At the imperial princess's engagement banquet."

Rudolph's silence was deafening.

"Why?" Octavius's voice was no longer a question but an accusation. "Why did you do it?"

"You naïve little fool." Rudolph sneered, stepping forward. "You think this is about honor? About loyalty? You were a pawn, Octavius, a piece I moved to secure what was rightfully ours."

Octavius recoiled, a sickness curling in his gut.

"The Empress loved you like a son, but her foolish ideals blinded her," Rudolph continued, voice thick with scorn. "It was Aphrodite who sought a match for the Crown Princess—and she chose that wretched alchemist. And Cornelius? He was always meant for the second princess. But I… I saw the truth. I shaped the board. I pulled the strings."

Octavius's breath came shallow. "You played with lives. You threw away futures. And for what?"

"For power, you simpleton," Rudolph growled. "When I discovered the second princess was the Seal Holder, I knew. She was worth more than that useless, crippled girl you were engaged to. I pushed for the annulment. I whispered in the Emperor's ear. He trusted me, as he always had. And he agreed. But that damned alchemist ruined everything!"

Octavius's hands curled into fists, nails digging into flesh.

"Does Lucerne know?" he whispered, barely containing his revulsion.

"Why burden him?" Rudolph scoffed. "He should think bigger. As should you."

Octavius felt the walls closing in. But Rudolph was not done.

"You and your reckless defiance forced my hand," he hissed. "If you had stayed, I wouldn't have had to send men after you. I wouldn't have needed to break into the Tower for the portal keys. And I wouldn't have made the single mistake that unleashed those monsters upon our land—"

He stopped. Too late.

The confession had slipped from his lips like a fatal wound left unchecked.

Octavius stood frozen. The darkness coiled around him, suffocating, thick with the weight of revelation. The carnage, the destruction, the war—they all led back to the man who stood before him now.

"Oh… that…" Rudolph backpedaled, his voice suddenly uncertain. "It was all for you, son."

Octavius stepped back, his face unreadable. But his voice—his voice carried the edge of a blade.

"You…" he whispered, his fury distilled into something cold, lethal. "You were behind it all."

"Octavius, wait—"

"Don't you dare call me your blood and kin." The words were final. A severance, absolute and irreversible.

Rudolph faltered, a shadow of unease crossing his face. The son he had once commanded like a pawn had shattered his shackles. The boy had become something he could no longer control—a force of his own making, but beyond his grasp.

Helios, who had borne witness to it all, felt the sting of betrayal burn deeper than any blade. The man he had once called brother was nothing more than a festering rot in the heart of the empire. And now, the veil had been lifted.

"Because of you, Father…" Octavius murmured, his voice a whisper laced with venom. "Luciana fell into the hands of that half-demon. That cursed bastard, Erebus…"

As if on cue, Helios stepped forward, his gaze an inferno of righteous fury. His presence commanded the moment, and all fell silent.

Octavius turned to him, meeting his gaze with the same fury, the same despair, the same devastation.

A single greeting passed his lips, dripping with dark finality.

"Greetings… Great Holy Light of Amanécer."