Kyle blinked, his expression blank as a fresh sheet of parchment. "I don’t follow, Olivia. The morning air must be messing with your head. We’ve known this since we were children."

​Olivia let out a frustrated growl, shoving him slightly. "Focus, you idiot! Does waking up early make your brain stop working, or what? I’m not talking about our legal titles."

​She leaned in, her eyes sharp as needles. "I’m saying we share the same father. And the same mother. I mean we share the same blood, Kyle. Every single drop."

​Kyle froze, the playful light in his eyes dying instantly. "What are you talking about? You’re the daughter of that bastard, Roland Theron. No offense—your father was a piece of work—but everyone knows—"

​"I’m the fool for even trying to tell you," Olivia hissed under her breath, rubbing her temples as if a migraine were blooming there.

​She grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to look at her. "Listen to me, and listen carefully: I am not Theron’s daughter. I am telling you that we share the same parents. We are full siblings, Kyle. Not half, not by marriage—real, biological blood. Do you understand now, or do I need to engrave it on your forehead?"

​The silence that followed was deafening. Kyle’s breath hitched, his mind racing to reconstruct twenty years of lies. "If that’s true..." he whispered, his voice trembling, "then everything... our entire lives... have been a carefully crafted slaughterhouse."

​"Exactly," Olivia snapped, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "And now you know why I can’t let this revenge go. They didn’t just steal our future, Kyle. They stole our very identity."

​"Roland isn’t your father?" Kyle stammered, his mind reeling as he tried to piece together the shattered logic. "Wait—hold on. I don’t understand. How is that even possible? Our mother married him, and—"

​"I’m an illegitimate child, Kyle," she cut him off, her voice dropping to a flat, icy calm.

​His eyes widened until they looked like they might burst. "An... illegitimate child?"

​"Yes, darling," she replied with a sharp, bitter edge of sarcasm. "Surprise."

​Kyle’s breath hitched, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "So... that means..."

​"Yes. I am your sister. Your real sister," Olivia said, her composure wavering for the briefest of seconds. She looked away, her fingers tracing a pattern on the silk duvet. "I know it’s a miserable thing to find out, especially from someone like me. But I thought... I thought it was better you heard it from my mouth than from some stranger. Or... I don’t know. Maybe I just... I don’t know."

​For a moment, the sharp-tongued Olivia vanished, leaving behind a girl who looked smaller and more lost than she had ever allowed anyone to see.

Kyle’s arms didn’t just wrap around her; he pulled her in with a desperate, lung-crushing force. It wasn’t the tentative hug of a half-brother anymore. It was the frantic embrace of a man who had just found the other half of his own soul.

​Olivia stiffened, her face pressed against his shoulder. She was used to being a weapon, a strategist, a monster—not a sister who was actually wanted.

​"Kyle... let go, you’re suffocating me," she managed to choke out, though she didn’t push him away.

​"I don’t care," Kyle whispered, his voice cracking with a joy that bordered on hysteria.

"All these years, I thought we were just... pieces of a broken marriage. I thought I was alone in that house of shadows. But it’s you. It was always you, Olivia. Entirely. Completely."

​He pulled back, gripping her shoulders with trembling hands, his eyes searching hers with a feverish light.

"Don’t you see? We aren’t just ’related’ anymore. We are the same. The same blood, the same father... that bastard Theron has no claim on you. None!"

​Olivia looked at him, her icy composure finally splintering. She saw the pure, unadulterated happiness in his eyes—a happiness that she found terrifyingly foreign.

​"You’re a fool, Kyle," she muttered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "I just told you our entire life is a lie, and you’re looking at me like you’ve won the lottery."

​"I have," he laughed, a sharp, bright sound that echoed through the cold room. "I’ve spent my life looking for a reason to belong, and I find out my favorite headache is actually my full-blooded sister? I’ll take that bargain any day."

​"A headache?" Olivia snapped, her eyes narrowing. "Do you have a death wish, Kyle?"

​"Alright, alright... stop with the ice already," he chuckled, a tender, genuine smile softening his features. He leaned back, studying her face for a long second. "Look at you. You’re smiling too."

​"Leave me alone, you idiot," she muttered, turning her face away, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

​Then, as if a candle had been snuffed out, all the warmth vanished from the room. Kyle’s expression shifted, his gaze becoming sharp and calculating. "And now, dearest... how did you find out? And for how long have you known?"

​Olivia noticed the shift in his voice—the brotherly warmth replaced by the strategist’s edge. "Only recently. It’s a long, exhausting story, and frankly, I don’t have the energy to recite it right now."

​"Fair enough," Kyle conceded. He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But... did Mother know? And more importantly, does Father?"

​"The Emperor?" Olivia replied coldly. "Mother... technically, she knew, but she only had it confirmed recently. As for the Emperor... well, no one has been suicidal enough to tell him yet."

​"I see. That changes quite a lot of things," Kyle muttered, his eyes distant as he processed the political gravity of her words.

​"What do you mean by that?"

​"Nothing," he said with a bitter half-smile. "I’m just thinking about what a catastrophic person our mother truly was."

​"Mmm. She certainly was that," Olivia hummed in agreement. She pulled the duvet tighter, signaling the end of the conversation. "Anyway, you said you were leaving. We’ll talk later. I just... I wanted you to know this before you went."

A strange, unreadable look crossed his face—something between a shadow and a spark. "Yes... I suppose I have a much stronger reason to return now."

​"What?" Olivia asked, her eyes narrowing as she tried to peel back the layers of his sudden gravity.

​"Nothing," Kyle replied, his voice regaining its composure. "And don’t worry. I won’t say a word to Father. Not until you’re ready to tell him yourself."

​He paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame, his silhouette sharp against the morning light. "After everything he’s done to me... I highly doubt telling him the truth would be a wise move anyway. We keep this between us, sister."

Mathias looked up, his eyes bloodshot as they found his brother still standing guard in the gloom. "Still here?"

​"And where else would I go, brother? I’m not about to leave you like this," Leon replied, his voice raspy from exhaustion.

​"Did you sleep at all? You look like you haven’t seen a bed in days."

​"I couldn’t," Leon admitted, his gaze never wavering. "I was afraid of what might happen if I closed my eyes, even for a second."

​A weary, bittersweet smile touched Mathias’s lips. "You’re truly entangled in all my messes, aren’t you, Leon?"

​Leon stepped closer, the weight of his fear finally breaking through as he leaned his head against Mathias’s shoulder. "Brother... I really don’t want to lose you. So please, fight this. Fight whatever is devouring you. Promise me."

​"Alright, alright... I’ll fight," Mathias murmured, his hand coming up to rest briefly on Leon’s head. "You’re acting more like my father than my elder brother."

​"Well, you were always better than him anyway," Leon muttered, his fingers working with frantic precision as he began to unlock the heavy iron shackles.

​Mathias rose as the chains fell away, the metal clattering against the stone floor like a death knell. He stretched his aching limbs, the freedom feeling heavy and unearned.

​"Go and rest, little brother," Mathias commanded, his voice regaining its protective edge. "When I return, we’re going to discuss this rift between you and your wife. I don’t like seeing the two of you like this."

​"Where are you going?"

​"To see her," Mathias replied, the words tasting like poison in his mouth. "I have no other choice left. I have to bow to her conditions if I’m to find a solution before the darkness swallows me whole—before my younger brother is forced to kill me himself. I don’t want your hands stained with my blood, Leon. But... if there truly is no other way, I would rather my end come from you than anyone else."

The heavy, doors groaned as Mathias pushed them open, invading the sanctuary of the woman he loathed more than death itself. The air inside was thick, smelling of stale incense and medicinal herbs.

​Talia lay propped up against a mountain of silk pillows, her lower body unmoving beneath the heavy velvet quilts. Though her legs were useless, the piercing intelligence in her eyes was sharp enough to draw blood. She didn’t look like a mother; she looked like a spider waiting at the center of a web.

​"I knew you would return," she said, her voice a silken purr that made the skin on Mathias’s neck crawl. "It is your destiny, after all. A wolf can only run so far before the hunger brings him back to the cage."

​"Spare me the metaphors, My Lady," Mathias spat, the title cold and devoid of any filial warmth. He stood at the foot of her bed, his shadow stretching long across the floorboards. "Have you decided on the price you’re asking?"

​Talia offered a faint, predatory smile. She adjusted the lace at her wrists with agonizing slowness. "In a way," she replied softly. She gestured for him to come closer, her gaze scanning the exhaustion etched into his features.

​"But tell me, Mathias... are you truly prepared to hear the cost of removing it? Are you ready to learn what must be sacrificed to silence the beast in your blood?"