Kindred Shadow

Faithless approached Isaac's chamber and knocked—not like a guest, but with the authority of a sovereign. Then he entered, radiating a quiet, overwhelming presence. Isaac sat, reading from an ancient tome, his voice deep and deliberate:

"Gold… it is a symbol. A mark of one's greatness and power combined."

He closed the book and turned to Faithless, continuing:

"This is why people adore gold—whether in wealth or color—it is a cultural emblem rooted in ancient thought."

Faithless sat on the velvet sofa, crossing one leg over the other with calm precision. A faint smile traced his lips as he spoke in a composed tone:

"Saint Isaac, every word from your mouth feels like a lost riddle, a wisdom hidden in riddles… but I know it will reveal itself at the right time."

He leaned forward, lacing his ten fingers together slowly, and continued:

"I assume you didn't summon me just to lecture about gold. Am I right, Saint?"

Isaac leaned back into his chair, resting his hands on the armrests. His tone was hushed—calm yet unsettling:

"I have a sad story to share. One tied to someone you care for deeply. Someone you would kill for… and who would do the same for you. The first person who made you smile when you arrived in this village."

Faithless's thoughts stirred.

"Is he referring to someone? I get along well with everyone… except Kaidos, who remains a mystery. But the closest possibilities? Lady Marianne… or Julianne."

He remained silent, his gaze sharpening.

"It sounds like a long and sorrowful tale," Faithless said gravely.

Isaac raised a handful of papers with a subtle motion—using the Authority of Dominion. With a slight twitch of two fingers, the first image materialized: a worn-down house in the slums of Lucia's capital. A fragile building, unfit for life.

What astonished Faithless wasn't just the telekinetic gesture—but that the image was a real projection on paper, crisp and vivid.

Isaac smiled faintly, resting his index finger beneath his chin, leaning into a shadowed slant.

"In this humble house lived a little girl and her older brother, perhaps eighteen to twenty years of age. Refugees from a continent wiped off the map by a tyrant king."

He went on with the same somber cadence:

"The boy was her shield and her warmth—father and mother in one. Their parents had sacrificed everything just to smuggle them safely into the capital."

Faithless's focus deepened. The story echoed something… familiar.

"There's a strange link here… between this and the two girls I know. I think… I know who this is about." he murmured inwardly.

Isaac burned the first page, and a second appeared—illustrated with a sketch of the brother in tattered clothes and a worn hat. His younger sister stood behind, holding a stuffed toy, waving farewell.

"He left quietly that morning, heading to the capital's center, seeking work—to feed them both," Isaac said, crossing his legs, staring at the image wistfully.

He burned the second page. A third emerged, showing the boy walking through a Victorian-style city, his expression lost and anxious, scratching his head in confusion.

"He wandered for hours until his legs ached beyond feeling. Eventually, he found a job—at a tavern frequented by royal guards and merchants. He worked earnestly, treating customers with grace. By ten that night, the tavern owner handed him five bronze nisse."

"The boy was overjoyed by the humble sum. He rushed to the marketplace and bought everything they needed."

Then the third image liquified into blood. A single crimson droplet slid off the page—yet left no stain on the ground. Faithless blinked, startled.

The fourth image emerged: the boy entering his home, beaming with joy, arms full of food. His sister embraced him tightly, face glowing.

"In that moment, he was flying—alive with happiness. They dined together that night, a feast of love bought with honest sweat."

"He worked diligently over the years, rising through the ranks. His wage grew from five to thirty nisse, over five long years."

"But in this cruel world, beautiful things never last."

The fourth paper bled again—deeper, thicker than before. A fifth image surfaced: the brother furious, clutching a broken bottle, shouting at someone inside the tavern.

"There are moments that turn our lives into a living hell… and this is one of them. In this image, the elder brother was calmly washing glasses when a young royal guard walked into the tavern."

"The guard had drunk himself into a stupor, unable to distinguish between truth and delusion, and began speaking without any sense. In that drunken haze, he asked a question that made the elder brother's blood boil:"

'If you look this good—and those beautiful ears on your head—then I bet your sister's even more stunning, isn't she?'

"The brother was furious, but he held his tongue. He didn't want to involve himself in political entanglements that might cost him his job. But the guard continued saying vile things—words so revolting that the brother bit his lips in rage. And then came the sentence that shattered his restraint:"

'How about we strike a deal? I'll give you 100 nisse every night, and in return, you let me enjoy your sister.'

"That one line was enough. The elder brother smashed a bottle and stabbed the guard in the neck—again and again—until his blood soaked the tavern floor."

"After the incident, the tavern owner fired him. He lost his job and his only source of income. But… he preserved his sister's dignity and honored himself."

"He returned home broken and defeated—but his sister's smile was enough to help him forget the weight of the world."

The fifth page shattered like glass.

Then appeared the sixth image: the elder brother shielding his younger sister, his hands transforming into bloodied claws, facing off against a large group of royal guards.

"This image is pure tragedy. It shows the brother, standing bravely against a mob of cowards who had come to avenge their fallen comrade. He fought valiantly… but as they say, numbers overpower courage."

"The elder brother died from his wounds. And the last thing he did before his head was severed—was smile into his sister's eyes. Then… his head hit the floor."

"The younger sister felt everything collapse. Her reason for living vanished. Some of the guards tried to capture her—intending to drag her away. But she screamed, bloodied claws emerging from her hands, and tore them apart in rage and hatred."

"After slaughtering them all, she collapsed onto her brother's lifeless body. She cried until his clothes were soaked with tears. And then… someone appeared and offered her help."

The sixth paper ignited, cracked, and bled.

Isaac closed the story, then looked toward Faithless, his voice resonating with weight:

"This is Julianne's story. And do you know why I told it to you? Because she's grown attached to you—loves you as if you were her brother. When she looks at you, it's like seeing him again."

Faithless sat upright on the sofa, head bowed, hands resting on his thighs. A golden aura pulsed around him—entwined with darkness. His voice came out cold, harsh, and unwavering:

"I've thought about it… the royal guards, the nobles, and the ones above them. I've come to a conclusion—"

"Their very existence on this earth… is a sin."