Lucien stretched his arms and yawned.
It was a real yawn—the kind that came with a small, lazy sound, completely unbothered by the fact that he had just erased an entire army.
"Let's see what those princes are doing in there."
He snapped his fingers.
Teleported.
The scene hit him all at once. There was no time to process it in pieces.
Veltherion—standing. Barely. A hole had been punched through his chest, clean and wrong, dark energy still gnawing at the edges of the wound. He remained on his feet through sheer, stubborn refusal alone.
Atherion—one arm was gone, severed clean at the shoulder. The remaining hand still gripped his sword, his expression unchanged. It was as if losing a limb was merely an inconvenience he would deal with later.
Felix—eyes wide. But his feet hadn't moved. Stance unbroken. The Crimson Death was steady in his grip despite everything his eyes were telling him.
Cassian—directly behind Veltherion, covering his blind spot without being asked. Sword raised. Jaw tight.
And across from all of them—Keltherion.
Except it wasn't Keltherion anymore. Not entirely. The shape was wrong. Too tall. Too dark. Something ancient was layered over the man who had once walked in smiling and called them guests. Power bled off him in waves that made the air taste like copper and old graves.
Lucien stared.
"...What happened," he said slowly, "while I was gone?"
Nobody answered.
He looked at the hole in Veltherion's chest. At Atherion's empty shoulder. At the monstrous thing standing across from them.
"Where is Keltherion?" A pause. "And why... is there a Dracula standing in his place?"
{ Scene Shift — The Battle Before the Fall }
Veltherion and Atherion hadn't given him a single breath.
They were relentless. One after another, no pause between strikes, no space to recover.
Atherion was everywhere—jumping, slashing, blurring from one position to the next with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man of his build. The air cracked with every movement, afterimages trailing behind him like ghosts of attacks already landed.
Veltherion was different.
Where Atherion was brute force, Veltherion was surgical precision. His Dark Matter coiled around his blade—an inheritance ability fused with sword technique into something that had no clean name. His strikes didn't just cut; they collapsed the space around the target. Every swing Keltherion attempted was intercepted before it could fully form.
Together, they were seamless. Centuries of the same training, the same halls, and the same teachers had made them a single, lethal unit.
Keltherion held. Barely—but he held.
Then, he laughed.
It wasn't a desperate laugh. It wasn't pained. It was slow and deliberate, the kind of sound that started low in the gut and built until it filled the hall like something crawling out of a grave.
Goosebumps erupted on Felix's skin.
Cassian's grip tightened on his hilt.
"Is that all you've got?" Keltherion asked.
Atherion didn't stop moving.
"Why," he spat between strikes, his blade finding another angle, another gap—"did you betray us?"
The laughter faded. Something cold and heavy took its place.
"Betray?" Keltherion caught the next strike bare-handed. Blood ran down his fingers, but he didn't even look at it. "You call it betrayal?"
His eyes locked onto Atherion's.
"It was all of you," he said quietly, "who betrayed me."
Atherion pushed harder. "What does that mean?"
"What does that mean?" Keltherion's voice cracked—just slightly. "You're really going to stand there and play dumb?"
"Explain yourself!"
A pause. Then—
"Do you remember Elly?"
The attacks slowed. Just barely.
Veltherion's voice was cautious. "...The daughter of a maid?"
"Yes," Keltherion said. "That same Elly."
"That was centuries ago." Veltherion's eyes narrowed. "Why are you bringing this up now?"
"You're playing dumb," Keltherion hissed. The words sounded like they had been rotting behind a locked door for a long time. "Both of you. Still."
Atherion interrupted, his voice dropping an octave.
"Elly." He said the name like he was placing a fragile glass on a stone floor. "The daughter of Mother's personal maid. She was... unwell. Clumsy. Everyone knew her for two things."
He stopped.
Veltherion looked at his older brother. "What two things?"
Atherion's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted.
"Her condition," he said. "And the fact that she was—"
He cut himself off.
Veltherion's brow furrowed. "Big brother? What do you mean?"
Atherion didn't answer immediately. The battlefield had gone deathly quiet. Felix didn't move. Cassian didn't move. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Keltherion was watching Atherion with the eyes of a man who had waited centuries for this exact moment.
Atherion's gaze shifted to his twin.
"That time," he said, "when you were at Maria's house."
Veltherion went still.
"Her father had requested your presence for the engagement discussions. You weren't there for the end of it."
"The end of what?"
"Elly," Atherion continued, his voice measured, "was not just known for her condition. She was the most beautiful maid in the entire Noctyrr Empire."
The words landed like lead.
Veltherion stared at his brother, then at Keltherion. Something cold began to freeze in his chest.
"And she was assigned," Atherion finished, "as Keltherion's personal maid."
Silence.
Veltherion looked at Keltherion—really looked at him. For the first time since the fight began, he didn't see an enemy or a traitor.
He saw his twin.
"...What happened to her?" Veltherion asked quietly.
Keltherion said nothing.