Back to present (3)

"Big brother Sol will kill you!"

The words hung in the air like a curse.

Verya's breath caught. Her fingers twitched toward her sword—not to draw it, but to steady herself. No. No, she doesn't understand. Her eyes darted to the Emperor, searching for any flicker in those hollow depths. He knew her. He must remember.

For a heartbeat, she let herself hope.

Then—

Keal's laugh cut through the silence, jagged and humorless.

"Stupid girl."

He muttered to himself, lips curling.

'If only she knew.'

He smiled. The irony was almost poetic. The man she cried for—the hero she believed would save her—was the same one who had ordered the destruction of her paradise.

It left a bitter taste on his tongue, like cheap wine and ashes.

The Emperor's gaze settled on the child.

At first, he had been... curious. The way she trembled, the defiance in her tiny fists—it was almost fascinating. Like watching a moth batter itself against glass.

But now?

Her screams grated against his skull. Her tears were messy.

Annoying.

The once strange feeling he felt from her... he no longer felt it.

'In fact, I don't feel anything.'

The thought was clinical.

A fact, not a regret.

Currently, if he felt anything, it was one thing:

Annoyance.

The Emperor's fingers twitched. The black katana at his hip seemed to pulse, its dark metal drinking in the fading light. The soldiers nearest him instinctively stepped back, their armor clinking like nervous whispers.

Then—

Steel sang.

Verya's hope shattered the moment his hand moved.

The blade cleared its sheath in one fluid motion, the sound like a dying breath given form. It cut through the thick, smoke-laden air, parting the moment between life and death.

Lily didn't see it coming.

She was still shaking her mother's corpse, tiny hands gripping the stiff fabric of her dress, her sobs raw and guttural. Wake up. Please wake up.

Then—

A shadow fell over her.

The air grew heavier, colder, as if the sun itself had flinched away. She froze. The hairs on her neck stood on end. Slowly, she turned her head.

And looked up.

Tears blurred her vision, but she knew that face. The sharp angles of his jaw, the way his dark hair framed features too perfect to be human. Those eyes—black as the space between stars, endless and cold.

Big brother.

Her breath hitched. For one delirious moment, her heart leapt. You came. You're here to save me—

"Big broth—"

The blade took her in the throat.

A wet, choking gasp. A spray of crimson. Then—silence.

Her body folded like a paper doll, collapsing into the dirt. Her eyes—wide, uncomprehending—stared past him, already glassy. The Emperor watched, detached, as the last flicker of life drained from her small frame.

He withdrew the sword with a slow, deliberate motion. Blood ribboned down the dark steel, pooling at the tip before falling in fat, heavy drops. He tilted the blade, letting the child's own life cleanse it, before sliding it back into its sheath with a final, damning click.

'Perhaps I did feel something for her.'

The thought surfaced, distant. A memory—small hands pressing a crown of wildflowers into his own. Her laughter, bright and unburdened.

But the recollection faded as quickly as it came. If there had ever been warmth in him, it was long dead now. Buried beneath the weight of a thousand corpses.

His gaze swept the soldiers.

Their faces were a tapestry of horror—pale lips pressed into thin lines, knuckles white around weapons, eyes darting anywhere but at the small body in the dirt. Some trembled. Others looked ill.

All of them reeked of fear.

Good.

Slowly, he looked back at the child's lifeless body.

For a moment, he closed his eyes.

When they opened again, he was back in the present.