They called him the Laughing Demon.
A name whispered in fear.
A name that carried legends of battlefields soaked in blood.
But I…
I had only ever known him as my older brother.
The one who ruffled my hair when I was little. The one who sat at the grand piano, his fingers gliding over the keys as he played soft melodies late into the night.
The one who looked at me with amusement, always knowing I despised him.
I could still hear his voice—smooth, teasing, just a little cruel.
"Little sister, are you going to glare at me forever? I think it's starting to become a bad habit."
"You may sit on a golden throne one day, Ana, but never forget—the throne is built on bones."
"Don't look at me like that, sister. You think I don't see the way you watch me? The way you hate me? Good. Hate is powerful. But tell me—do you have the guts to do it?"
He had always known.