His mind drifted back to the night the masked man handed Shiro Rei’s diary. The bastard’s voice still echoing in his head like it had been waiting for the right moment to replay itself.

"Shiro, in this world we all have a role to play. I have already accepted my role in this game. My fate is sealed. You are the only missing piece that holds everything together."

And before Shiro could respond, the dramatic bastard fell backward out the window, because of course he did.

Shiro sighed, then jumped to his feet.

"I’m not doing this because you asked me to!" he shouted into the empty air, hoping that stalker masked bastard could hear him wherever he was hiding. "I’m doing this because I want to!"

No response. No dramatic reappearance.

’Figures.’

His eyes drifted along the street below. The lower district was moving, slowly, quietly, like people trying not to be noticed. Families. Children. Old men with nothing left to lose. All of them shuffling toward the harbor.

This was their only chance to slip away.

Once a year, on the solstice, the god of the island weakened, and for a brief window the barrier surrounding it thinned enough for people to squeeze through. But it also meant the protection was gone. No barrier meant no shield. They would be alone in the open sea, trying to survive on nothing but luck and desperation.

A risk they were willing to take.

’Can’t blame them.’

As the sun fell early, sinking faster than it had any right to, the moon—eager and impatient—rose to take its place, flooding everything in a cold silver glow that made the whole island look like it was carved out of bone.

"He’s not the only one who’s at the peak of his power today."

The light around him shifted. Pulled away from his body, drawn toward the sword in his grip, humming, alive, hungry.

"Isn’t that right, Nocturne?"

The blade pulsed once in response.

In the distance, the upper district lit up. Torches flickered to life one by one, crawling up the hillside like a line of burning ants. And then came the drums.

A single beat. Deep. Heavy. Echoing across the island like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to anything human.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

People were being pushed toward safety, herded like cattle by soldiers who looked almost as scared as the civilians they were protecting. And behind them all, standing perfectly still at the front, was Boris. Patient. Calm. All the captains huddled behind him like they already knew what was coming.

Like they could feel it in the ground beneath their feet.

And from Boris’s shadow, Enkidu rose.

The drumming stopped.

Every breath on the island held.

The knight stepped forward, its metal creaking with each slow, deliberate stride, the sound cutting through the silence like a blade dragging across stone. Once it reached the center, the ebony blade rose from the darkness beneath it, sliding into its gauntlet. And in one fluid motion, Enkidu drove the blade into the ground.

For a second, nothing.

Silence. The world holding itself perfectly, painfully still.

Then the ground cracked.

A wall erupted outward in a perfect radius, black and thin as obsidian glass, expanding from the point of impact at terrifying speed. The range was massive, swallowing streets and buildings whole.

The captains reacted. Their lieutenants reacted. Years of training and instinct kicking in as they threw themselves backward, clearing the perimeter by inches, by breaths, by the kind of margins that separated the living from the not.

The soldiers weren’t as lucky.

The ones caught inside the radius didn’t even have time to scream.

And with the twist of its blade, the entire wall shattered—crumbling like broken glass.

Everything within it—every building, every stone, every body—leveled to the ground in an instant. Flattened. Erased. Like a god had pressed its thumb down and wiped the surface clean.

The soldiers who’d been trapped inside were gone. Not dead. But gone. Nothing left but the wet, dark splatter of their blood painting the rubble where they used to stand.

The captains stared. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

The lieutenants stared.

Nobody moved. Just stared.

With that, the stage was set.

"Round two. Wish me luck, Rei."

He took a single step forward from the edge of the mountain, and the ground disappeared beneath him. Wind screamed past his ears like last time, the familiar feeling, the ground rushing up to meet him like it had a grudge.

And like before, his body hit the shadow.

He sank into it like water, slipping through the darkness in a single breath, and stepped out from Enkidu’s shadow on the other side. His feet touched the ruined stage without a sound. At the same time, his knight sank into his shadow behind him, disappearing for now.

He turned toward the captains. They hadn’t moved. Instead, they’d sent their remaining men away, every last soldier cleared from the area, while they stood in a loose line, arms at their sides, watching.

Their eyes were filled with something Shiro hadn’t expected.

Not fear. Not anger.

Anticipation. Like they wanted to see what came next.

His gaze drifted toward the cliff above.

Three figures appeared on the ridge, silhouetted against the rising moon.

His father. His brother. His mother.

Standing at the edge of the cliff.

And in their presence, every captain dropped to one knee. Heads bowed. Fists pressed to the ground. A vow of loyalty so practiced, so automatic, that it looked like breathing.

Shiro watched them kneel.

They stood there and eyed Shiro from above. No one spoke. The silence stretched out like a wire pulled too tight, humming with everything no one was willing to say first.

Then his father’s voice rolled down from the cliff like thunder that had learned how to talk.

"Why is it that only you refuse to die?"

Shiro stepped forward. Smiled. The wrong kind of smile.

"Oh, come on. At least show some expression. Smile a little. Give your least favorite fake son a big hug, and I’ll try my best not to stab you in the throat."

His father didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

He just stood there. Huge and unshakable, like a mountain someone had carved into human shape and forgot to give a personality. His long black hair whipped around wildly in the wind, and his eyes were dead calm. The kind of calm that wasn’t peaceful. The kind of calm that came right before something terrible happened.

His brother appeared next to his father. And his mother beside them.

Shiro looked at his brother and felt something inside him break a little again.

Because his brother looked good. Like, unfairly good. Like the universe had sat down with a checklist of ideal genetics and gone through every single box. He looked almost like their father—an actual father and son standing side by side like a painting that made sense.

Taller than Shiro by at least a good two feet. Wide shoulders. Built like someone who’d never missed a meal or a training session in his life. And to top it all off, a symmetrical, clean, disgustingly handsome face.

But he wore a blindfold.

Shiro looked at his brother.

Then at himself.

Then at his brother again.

Then at himself.

Then he started stomping his feet like a child throwing a tantrum in the middle of a battlefield.

’We’re supposed to be twins! This isn’t fair! Not fair at all!’

He murmured something under his breath that wasn’t quite words, stomping the ground with each syllable. "Dhhanxhwjnnaajwnks—"

’What did they FEED him?!’

And then there was his mother.

Her eyes had found him the moment she appeared, and they hadn’t left him since. Piercing. Unblinking. The kind of stare that peeled back every layer of armor, every joke, every smirk, and looked at whatever was underneath.

She stood there. Tall. Graceful. Dangerous. Exactly as he remembered.

"Enough wasting my time!" Shiro shouted up at them. "Come down so we can do this!"

His father ignored him completely. Leaned toward his mother instead and whispered something in her ear.

And in an instant, she was gone.

Just like that. No warning. No goodbye. No dramatic exit speech.

Now only his father and brother remained. Watching him from above like gods deciding whether an ant was worth stepping on.

"Did my fake mother not want to be part of the family reunion?" Shiro called out, pressing a hand to his chest. "I’m heartbroken. Truly. Shattered. Devastated, even."

Silence.

His father and brother dropped from the cliff.

The ground cracked under their landing. Up close, they were both massive. Shiro felt like a kid standing between two wardrobes that had learned how to fight.

’This is fine. Totally fine. I love being the shortest person in my own revenge story.’

His father studied him for a long moment, head tilted slightly, like Shiro was a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet.

"I was always curious about one thing," his father said, his tone oddly genuine. "How did you survive all those years? No food. No water. Nothing."

"It’s a seeeecret," Shiro hummed, dragging the word out like a child with a candy he wasn’t sharing. "But I can tell you... if you let me kill you first."

The man laughed. Deep. Rumbling. The kind of laugh that shook the air around it.

"You’re something, you know that?" He loomed over Shiro, blocking out the moonlight like a living eclipse. "Do you know why I didn’t kill you before?"

"Because you still love me," Shiro said, his tone dripping with enough sarcasm to drown a ship.

His father laughed again and brought his hand down on Shiro’s back. A pat. Casual. Not fatherly at all.

Shiro didn’t flinch.

His feet sank into the ground. Cracks spiderwebbed out from where he stood, his knees absorbing the impact that would’ve flattened a normal person into a stain.

But he didn’t move.

Shiro laughed. Louder than his father. Louder than he had any right to.

"That’s the first time you’ve ever patted me on the back," he said, grinning up at the giant. "I’m touched. Really."

His father smiled.

And in that exact moment, Shiro swung.

His fist connected with his father’s face with everything he had. The impact was thunderous, a shockwave ripping outward as the man launched off his feet, flew backward, and slammed into the cliff face hard enough to crack it open.

Shiro shook out his hand. Still grinning.

"That was a fist bump. You’re supposed to use your fist, not your face." He tilted his head. "You silly old man."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​