CHAPTER 8- Siblings? No, Rivals

I adjust my attire; the deep black fabric cools against my skin, its silver embroidery catching the faint light like shards of a shattered moon. The fitted tunic clings to my frame, its intricate patterns humming with a quiet, ancient power—protective sigils etched into the fabric, a silent promise of battles fought and those yet to come.

The world around me feels heavy, as if the very air is alive, watching, waiting.

My fingers trace the flowing sleeves, their elegance a veil for the blades hidden within. The leather-wrapped hilts are familiar. The high collar brushes against my neck, shielding me from the chill.

My trousers are loose, gathered neatly at the ankles, designed for swift, silent movements. The wide sash around my waist is more than decoration; it holds the twin daggers at my hips. The layered leather armor I wear is light but unyielding.

I twist my hair up, securing it with silver hairpins. 

Finally, I take my swords in hand, their familiar weight grounding me. Its been a while since I held any other sword other than Slayer.

The blades gleam faintly, reflecting the pale light that filters through the cherry blossoms. Tonight, they will sing, and the world will bleed.

The room I stand in is a relic of a life I once knew, a life I've outgrown.

The high, vaulted ceiling is adorned with intricate geometric patterns, a star-shaped skylight casting golden light that feels almost mocking in its beauty.

The walls are carved with floral and arabesque designs, their metallic embellishments glinting like the eyes of a predator. The bed, with its golden headboard and plush silks, feels like a relic of a time when I believed in comfort and safety.

The Persian rug beneath my feet is rich with color, but its beauty is lost on me now. This room is a gilded cage, a reminder of a life I no longer have the luxury to claim.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. It opens slowly, revealing my older brother, Dain. He's still in the same outfit, his golden hair catching the light, his hazel-green eyes sharp and calculating. He looks at me, his gaze sweeping from head to toe, and frowns.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his voice laced with suspicion.

I don't look up as I tie my black boots, the steel toes gleaming faintly. "Gonna break into Edwin Ronald's house and kidnap his son," I say casually, as if discussing the weather.

Dain's eyes widen, his composure cracking for the briefest of moments. "You're joking, aren't you?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief.

I don't answer. He's never cared before, not truly.

To him, I've always been a rival, a shadow to outshine. Even when I tried to bridge the gap between us, he pushed me away with cold words:

*"We are rivals, Selantia."* Rivals. As if our shared blood meant nothing.

"Selantia, I'm asking you something. You can't be serious, are you?" He grabs my shoulder, his grip firm, almost desperate.

I look up at him, my gaze icy. "Dain Nyxveil, I don't owe you any answers." My words cut through the air like a blade, and he flinches as if struck.

I've always called him *Big Brother*, but what does that title mean when he sees me as nothing more than an obstacle?

I jerk away from his grip and stand, my swords resting easily in my hands. Dain's face is a mask of confusion and anger, his golden eyes narrowing.

He resembles our mother the most; his features are ethereal, almost otherworldly. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the bold red eyeshadow that frames his eyes give him an air of regal authority.

But beneath that beauty lies a coldness, a distance that has always kept us apart.

"Selantia, did something happen?" He asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "You've been behaving strangely since earlier."

I want to lash out, to throw his indifference back in his face, but I don't have time for this. I need to move. Claude's life depends on it.

"Dain Nyxveil, don't worry. You always said we were rivals for Father's position, right?" I step closer, my voice low and steady.

"Be prepared, Dain Nyxveil. Because from now on, I will indeed be coming after Father's position."

His eyes widen, shock flickering across his face. The old me would have denied it and would have shrunk from the idea of power. But the old me is gone, buried beneath the weight of this world's cruelty.

"You're finally showing your true colors, huh?" He scoffs, his voice bitter.

True colors. What a laughable concept. I've been called a chameleon, a shadow, or a ghost. But now I am something entirely different.

"Instead of worrying about my true colors, find a way to win," I say, tilting my head and smirking. "Because you really stand no chance against me, Dain."

His jaw clenches, veins popping in his neck as he struggles to contain his anger. I don't wait for a response. I turn and stride to the window; the cherry blossoms outside are a stark contrast to the darkness within me.

"I'm going to tell Father that you left the mansion without permission!" He shouts after me.

I roll my eyes. Let him. Father already knows I come and go as I please. He doesn't care, as long as I don't bring trouble to his doorstep. But tonight, trouble is exactly what I'm bringing.

I leap from the window, the cool night air rushing past me as I land silently on the ground below.

The cherry blossoms sway in the breeze, their pink petals falling like tears. I pause for a moment, taking in the sight.

When I first thought of retiring, I imagined spending springs like this, basking in the beauty of the world. But that dream is gone now, shattered by the weight of my duty.

"Retirement… It seems like you'll have to wait a few more years," I murmur to myself before turning away.

I move swiftly through the garden, the doghole at the edge of the estate my exit. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, their beauty almost painful in its fragility. I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. There's no time for sentimentality.

My destination is the House of Edwin Ronald, the current master of the magic tower.

A man who sold his soul to the demons of the underworld to bring his wife back from the dead. A man who now prepares his own son, Claude, as a *pious sacrifice. The irony of the term isn't lost on me.

There's nothing pious about this.

I crawl through the doghole, the cold earth beneath my hands a reminder of the world's harshness.

I need to break into Edwin's house, a place guarded by some of the most advanced magical defenses in the realm, and get Claude out.

Time is running out. In my past life, it was Arthur Christian's father who saved Claude, and it cost him his life. I can't let that happen again.

Arthur and Claude's relationship was never good, fraught with anger and resentment. Perhaps Arthur blamed Claude for his father's death. Perhaps he hated him simply for being Edwin's son. The reasons don't matter now. What matters is saving Claude before it's too late.

The night is dark, the moon a sliver in the sky, as I move through the shadows. The magic tower looms in the distance, its spires piercing the heavens. The air is thick with the scent of magic, a metallic tang that sets my teeth on edge. I can feel the wards, the spells woven into the very fabric of the building, but I don't falter. I've faced worse.

I just hope I'm not too late.