The destruction of Shelb

Snow whipped around the battlements of Valenhart Castle, the sky dim with thick, iron-gray clouds. Micheal von Shelb remained where he was—seated high atop the outer rampart, the same cup of tea now lukewarm in his hand. Lysander had gone, his aura vanishing like a candle snuffed out. And yet Micheal hadn't moved.

The war was beginning. The beasts were rising. But so was something else.

A quiet pull tugged at Micheal's chest.

He exhaled and reached inward—into the place no one else could touch.

His repository.

He hadn't meant to delve too deeply, only to skim over the content of the novel again—The Fake Rose Better Than the Real. One more reread, just to find the clue he might have missed. One more flicker of knowledge that could explain why today, of all days, was marked as Ethan's death.

But instead of printed words, the world twisted.

His vision tunneled.

And he was no longer on the battlement.

---

He found himself seated in a wheelchair, his body thin and frail, head tilted forward under the weight of exhaustion. His long platinum hair had been cut brutally short. His skin looked almost translucent, veins visible beneath the surface. He looked like a man who had lost everything and was slowly being erased from existence.

He recognized this. It was the annex. The place his family had banished him to.

The vision was a continuation of the one he had seen before—Magda's death, the tragic demise of their unborn twins. Their father had laced Magda's prenatal pills with mana diffusers, murdering them under the guise of protection. Now, all that remained of Micheal was this breathing husk.

Beside him sat Adrian, his twin brother's mirror and yet nothing like Ethan.

Adrian's hand moved through Micheal's cropped hair with mechanical slowness, as if the act itself kept him grounded. He wasn't really seeing Micheal. His eyes were glassy, voice dull when he finally spoke.

"Ethan's gone. Been four months now," he murmured, as if reporting someone else's tragedy.

"I met Fredrick in the capital to claim what little remained. He said it was a dragon. Fredrick had been in the vanguard during the beast tide. Ethan threw himself into the fight to protect him. Fought until there was nothing left."

Micheal's throat tightened.

Adrian continued, fingers still stroking his brother's hair absently. "Fredrick said he fought valiantly. Then he asked me to let Vivian live."

A flicker of life returned to Adrian's eyes, sharp and haunted.

"He told me Vivian was pregnant. With Ethan's child. Said she had no claim to Shelb anymore. That her child wouldn't inherit. But he asked me not to harm her. To let her be."

Micheal's fingers curled over the armrest.

"I rushed to you the moment I knew," Adrian whispered. "Because you're the only one I know who can protect them."

Adrian's lips trembled for the first time. "Ethan loved her, you know? Not Flora. Never Flora. It was always Vivian. But when he was sober, she loathed him. She thought he was Flora's pathetic knight. He never told her. Never even tried."

A lump rose in Micheal's throat. 

"Fredrick said, though Ethan saved him, he didn't really do it for Fredrick. Ethan charged into the impossible fight because he saw Vivian in front of the dragon."

Adrian laughed, but his eyes were wet. "Since childhood he beat up anyone who bullied her. Seems like even a dragon couldn't escape his wrath if it dared to so much as to look at her wrong."

Michael could feel it, Adrian wanted to cry or at least scream.

They both had grievances, but their own sorrows made them too numb to spare their feelings for others.

But Ethan wasn't anyone, he was their elder brother, their father figure when their own father was held up in court battles. 

He had never been selfish.

No. He was never allowed to be selfish. 

He died the way he lived, loving Vivian secretly, but bringing honor to Shelb.

He lived and breathed for Shelb, if only he had been a little bit more selfish. If only he had been more human, his brothers could have at least moved on. 

Micheal exhaled shakily. "We protect it. The child. At all costs. From Father. From the court. From the world."

Adrian gave a bitter chuckle. "Protect it? We couldn't even protect our own."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead on Micheal's.

Adrian's eyes looked haunted, two men, two brothers, more dead than alive. 

"You lost your twins and your Magda. I lost Greta. We both lost everything. And now Ethan's gone. You think we can save this one child?"

Micheal's lips curled into a sinister smile. He had plot again for one last time. 

"Then let's destroy it all. Let's take down Father. The Shelb elders. Their faction. Burn the legacy to the ground."

Adrian sat back slowly. "You mean it?"

Micheal nodded. "How far are you willing to fall?"

Adrian stared into the middle distance. "Far enough. I used to be the polite son. Loyal, clean. But after what he did to Greta…"

Adrian's voice broke.

"She was eight months pregnant. He didn't even send assassins—he sent thugs. They cornered her, violated her. They stripped her of her dignity before they stripped her life away. And all she had done wrong was carry my child."

Adrian laughed hollowly. "None of us got to hold our children. You. Me. Ethan. Fate has cursed us all the same."

Micheal slowly reached for his pendant—a simple, elegant token of love between the emperor and the late empress. He removed it from his neck and pressed it into Adrian's palm.

"Give this to Fredrick. Tell him to pass it to the child. This pendant was a wedding gift from Magda. It bears the imperial seal. It can pardon one sin deemed treasonous."

Adrian looked down at it.

Micheal's voice was sharp. "If they accuse Shelb of treason, that child will be spared. It can still inherit."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Micheal whispered, "Start planting the evidence. Let them find rot where our father built his power."

Adrian smiled faintly. "Already started."

Micheal leaned back in his chair. "You're still seeing that noble lady? What's her name again?"

"Lady Clarette of House Ilsen," Adrian muttered, disgust curling in his tone. "Father wants me to produce an heir now that Ethan's gone."

"And?"

"My child died with Greta. Ethan's child is Shelb's heir now. Even if its mother is a royalist, it doesn't matter."

He paused. "Clarette said she's better than Greta. She said she'd give me strong sons. She was the first one to find and identify Greta's body. She is one of them Micheal."

Micheal watched him carefully.

"And what did you say?"

Adrian's voice was cold, a menacing aura that didn't belong to Adrian flashed across his eyes. But he quickly calmed himself. "That there was no one better than Greta."

He stared down at the floor for a moment, then looked back at Micheal. "Would it be wrong if I left a trail? Something convenient. Something that Lady Halvora could stumble upon?"

Micheal arched an eyebrow. "You want her to find proof of Father's treason?"

Adrian nodded. "She deserves justice for Greta, even if she doesn't know the whole truth."

Micheal's expression hardened. "Then do as you please. I don't care who finds it. As long as Shelb falls."

Then with a gentle smile he added. "Maybe as a gift to lady Clarette, you have her accompanying as you both drag the shackles to the gallows."

"Oh yes! I've no intention of going down alone."

---

Micheal jolted awake, sweat dampening his collar. His breathing came shallow and rapid. The cold wind of the real world now felt far warmer than the chill in his chest.

The book had warned him.

In The Fake Rose Better Than the Real, the Shelb family falls—not due to enemies, but betrayal from within.

He had just witnessed the beginning of that fall.

Himself.

And Adrian.

…Adrian and Greta?

Adrian's classmate?