Jennifer opened her eyes and looked at the clock on her nightstand.
11 AM.
She blinked, her eyes going wide with realisation. Today is the weekend. The kids have no school today. That means I have to make breakfast and lunch.
She loudly opened the door and rushed down the stairs toward the kitchen, her mind already spiralling into guilt.
I can't leave the responsibility of cooking to Johan alone. This morning, Johan had two appointments with patients. I don't know if he handled them or not, she thought as she descended, her footsteps hurried and anxious. She looked so tense, her shoulders rigid with the weight of responsibility.
"Sorry, Johan. Sorry, kids. I am so careless," she whispered, still running through her mental checklist of failures.
She suddenly stopped when she was close to the kitchen.
She heard a sound of sizzling coming from inside—a rhythmic, purposeful sound that spoke of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Jennifer entered the kitchen and froze.
Johan was cooking lunch with Joseph. Johan was frying tomatoes in five different pans simultaneously, the heat turning the fruit into a rich, caramelised paste. Joseph stood across from him, pounding dried chillies and other spices with focused intensity, his movements precise and deliberate.
For a moment, Jennifer simply stood in the doorway, watching them work together.
"Brother, I think the garlic and bread are ready," Joseph told him. His voice was different—lighter somehow, genuinely happy.
"Okay, so bring them out. Wait, I am coming to help you," Johan said to him. He looked back and saw Jennifer, who had just appeared in the doorway.
"Oh! Good morning," Johan wished her, his smile radiant.
"Did you... Did you already handle breakfast?" Jennifer asked him, still processing what she was seeing.
"Breakfast? Now we are making lunch: chickpea and spinach stew with grilled bread," Johan said, letting out a small, amused huff as if the answer should have been obvious.
Jennifer blinked, trying to reconcile the time in her mind. "What did you make for breakfast?"
"Sandwiches, cream cheese, and some strawberries," Johan said simply, turning back to his pans, his movements efficient and practised.
He paused for a moment, his expression softening as he looked at his younger brother. When he spoke again, his voice carried a weight of profound emotion.
"Jennifer, today is a miraculous day in my life. Joseph is actually spending time with me!"
Johan was beaming, his happiness so radiant it seemed to illuminate the entire kitchen. Jennifer looked at Joseph, her own expression shifting to one of soft surprise and understanding.
"Joseph, you rarely spend time with him," Jennifer said quietly, her voice tinged with affection. "Honestly, you rarely spend time with anyone at all."
Joseph didn't reply, but a small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He reached back into the oven to retrieve the final tray of roasted garlic, the golden cloves glistening with oil.
"No-no-no-no-no! That's far too hot for you. I've got it," Jennifer said, moving quickly to corner Joseph. She pulled out the trays of bread herself, her protective instincts overriding any other concerns.
"Have you finished your appointments with the patients this morning?" Jennifer asked him, still marvelling at the scene before her.
"Yeah! Amili helped me handle the reception," Johan replied, his focus returning to the simmering pans."She works better than you."
He moved back to the table, carrying the pans of bubbling tomatoes. He began cutting and mashing the fried tomatoes into a large tray, the steam carrying a rich, spicy aroma that filled the entire room. The kitchen smelled like home, like family, like normalcy.
Suddenly, Daisy trotted into the kitchen, carrying a wicker basket overflowing with fresh onions. She was only five years old, but moved with the determined purpose of someone on a mission.
"Doctor, I have some onions for you!" she announced proudly, her small face beaming.
Johan paused, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Thanks, Daisy. This morning, you brought me these tomatoes, and now onions? Where on earth did you get these from?"
"Oh! Uncle Vlad gave them to me," Daisy replied innocently, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
The kitchen fell into a stunned silence.
Johan froze, his eyes wide, as if checking his own hearing. Jennifer and Joseph exchanged a look of pure shock—their eyes met, their jaws dropped in unison.
Daisy, completely oblivious to the tension she had just created, placed the basket into Jennifer's hands.
"Did you go there alone?" Jennifer asked, her voice tight with sudden concern.
"No, I went with Evan," Daisy replied cheerfully.
Jennifer let out a small, dry laugh that sounded more like a nervous reaction. "Ha! Going alone would have been better than going with Evan. Did he cry in there?"
"Don't say that," Johan said, offering a wry smile as he defended the boy. His tone was teasing but also genuinely protective. "You all suppose him to be a coward, but Evan is truly the bravest of the brave."
At that exact moment, Evan—a nine-year-old boy with a perpetually nervous demeanour—entered the kitchen, his entire frame trembling with visible fear. Overhearing the praise, he gulped audibly. "Th-thanks, Doctor, for the compliment, I think."
Daisy didn't give him time to recover or process the kind words. "Okay, everything is done! I'm going back to my work!" She grabbed Evan's hand and immediately started dragging him toward the door leading to the garden.
"Daisy! Daisy, wait! Where are you taking me now?" Evan cried out, his voice cracking with panic.
"Don't worry, Evan, just to the garden!" Daisy chirped as they disappeared outside, her small voice still audible as she dragged the terrified boy along.
Johan watched them go, shaking his head with an expression that mingled amusement and resignation. He returned to his stew, stirring it with practised ease.
"You know, it just goes to show that Eloise's father is also a kind man," Jennifer said, trying to regain her composure as she began sorting through the onions. Her voice was carefully measured, as if she were choosing each word with deliberate precision. "Sometimes he simply shows his anger a bit more than others."
Johan paused mid-stir, a playful glint igniting in his eye as he looked over at her. He had caught something in her tone—a shift, a change, a softening.
"Wait," he said, his voice dripping with mischief. "From 'that man' to 'Uncle' to 'Eloise's father'? I think your tone is shifting quite significantly when it comes to Eloise's family, Jennifer."
Jennifer's face instantly flushed a deep shade of red—a crimson that spread from her neck upward, consuming her cheeks and forehead. Panicked, she grabbed a newspaper lying nearby and pulled it up to cover her face, hiding her blush completely.
"What do you mean by that? Why would my tone be changing? Haha... haha. That's ridiculous!" she asked, her voice muffled by the paper and punctuated by a nervous, high-pitched laugh that fooled no one.
Johan just chuckled, turning back to his pans, knowing exactly what he had seen and enjoying every moment of his sister's embarrassment.
Joseph also understood the situation; to save his sister from further torment, he diverted the topic with a carefully chosen question. "Brother, what exactly caused so much fighting between the two families in the first place?"
Johan's expression became serious, his playful demeanour evaporating instantly.
"You call it a fight?" Johan said, his voice dropping an octave lower. "Joseph, this is a full-fledged war between two families. A war that lasted generations and cost countless lives."
Joseph's eyes widened with interest. "Tell us."
"Do you truly know who our father is?" Johan began, his voice taking on the tone of someone recounting history. "He was the great Alexander Baros the second, the General of the Soul World. On the other side, Uncle Vlad was the General of the Life World. During the Second Great War, when the two worlds were locked in conflict, these two generals met on the battlefield."
The kitchen fell silent except for the soft bubbling of the stew.
"They fought for over a month," Johan continued.
"I imagine it was the most bloody battle in the entire war."
"No," Johan corrected him, a faint smile playing on his lips—a smile that suggested he knew something Joseph didn't. "In truth, it was the most bloodless. Before the war could truly begin, the two generals decided to settle the matter through a duel. They fought for months on end. Their auras were so incredibly powerful that their own armies couldn't even approach the battlefield for those entire days."
Joseph looked sceptical. "How is that even possible? It sounds like a Groken mythological story. It's as if you've replaced the Gods with Father and Uncle Vlad."
Johan looked him straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering, his expression absolutely serious. "No, Joseph. This is no myth. This is the truth of our bloodline. This is the history that shaped who we are."
"What happened after. How it was ended."
"The two generals were exhausted by their month-long battle and finally became unconscious on the battlefield."
Joseph Joseph points his finger at the neighbouring mansion. "What an irony, they are now the neighbour in the world."
"Yes, all because of our mother."
Jennifer had still hidden her face behind the newspaper. Her blush was beginning to fade, replaced by a more sad expression as she listened to Johan recount their family's violent past.
Eloise, when will our family become normal? She thought to herself, the question hanging heavy in her mind. When will this war finally end?
Suddenly, her eyes caught sight of an article in the newspaper she had been holding.
She began reading, her expression shifting from curiosity to something darker.
A Stain Upon Our City
A stain has been cast upon our Barniglos City today following the arrest of Mayor Jones. On Thursday morning, it was revealed that the Mayor had committed an unspeakable act of violence against his own stepdaughter, Anni. This man raped the little girl during her childhood. The girl, left utterly helpless and broken by the assault, attempted to take her own life in the aftermath.
Though she survived the attempt and was rushed to St. Jude's Hospital, the danger followed her. In a state of pure, murderous madness, Mr. Jones entered the hospital wards with the intent to end her life. He madly killed the receptionist of the hospital.
Jennifer felt a wave of relief wash over her. Anni had survived. The girl they had fought so hard to save had actually made it through. She smiled—a genuine smile of satisfaction and vindication.
Then she continued reading.
From the investigation, police know that he first entered the hospital with some gangsters, then he used the sleeping gas in the hospital, and then he tried to kill the girl.
But our brave Inspector Richard Jurin saved the girl at the time. The gangster ran away, but he caught Mr. Jones at the time.
Jennifer's hand clenched around the newspaper in sudden anger.
"This buster took all the credit," she spat, her voice dripping with frustration. They had risked their lives. They had nearly died. They had seen horrors that would haunt them forever.
And the official record credited Richard Jurin, a man who had shown up at the end to oversee the cleanup.
Johan looked over at her, seeing the tension in her shoulders. He didn't say anything—he just returned to his cooking. Some battles, he knew, couldn't be won with words.
Deep within the capital city of Penraven, Finatorius.
In the prison of the New World Order's most secure facility, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and iron. The Finatorius prison was a place where hope came to die—a maze of stone corridors lit only by dim, flickering torches.
Two officers walked down one of these corridors, their boots clicking rhythmically against the cold stone floor. They stopped before a heavy iron cell, their expressions grim and professional.
"Did she tell you anything?" one of the officers asked, peering through the iron rods at a female interrogator standing inside the cell.
The interrogator looked up, his face devoid of any emotion—the face of someone who had committed acts she could never take back. "Nothing. I have used whips, torn off her toenails, and even rubbed salt into the open wounds. I have exhausted every legal method of torture allowed by our Order. Yet, she has not told a single word of confession regarding her Order."
The second officer standing outside the cell shifted uncomfortably, a flicker of pity crossing his face as he looked at the blood-stained floor. The stone was so dark it looked black in the dim light.
"Don't you think you've done a little too much?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly—the voice of someone who still had a conscience.
The officer standing beside him narrowed his eyes, his voice turning cold and absolute. "You feel pity? Every single day, that woman abused her own child. She is the Grand Master of the Diaftis Order."
The first officer's expression hardened instantly. The pity vanished from his eyes, replaced by a grim resolve. Cruelty became duty. Torture became justice.
"Oh! In that case... continue. She deserves no mercy," he said flatly, stepping back from the cell.
The female officer wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and gestured toward the prisoner. "She is a strange one. I think she is 200 years old, yet she appears no older than 20. It is because of her constant use of Mana. She is incredibly strong—physically and mentally. There is no doubt in my mind that she is either the Grand Master herself or, at the very least, a high-level mage within her order."
Inside the cell, the woman sat rigidly in a heavy wooden chair. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back, encased in glowing mana-shackles—shimmering fields of energy designed specifically to prevent her from snapping her fingers or channelling her magic. The shackles hummed with power, suppressing everything she was.
Despite her youthful appearance—skin unblemished, face ageless—she was a grisly sight. Heavy drops of blood fell rhythmically from her battered body, and the stone floor beneath her feet turned a dark, slick red. She stared at the floor with hollow eyes, her hair covering her face. She endured the agony in a silence that felt heavier than the prison itself.
This was Theo's mother.
"This is an act of war! This is an act of war...!" she said, her voice rising suddenly into a deafening roar that shook the very cell, that made the stone walls tremble.
Outside the prison walls, her words were answered.
A series of thunderous blasts erupted, shaking the ground. The sound of thousands of simultaneous explosions tore through the air like the scream of a dying god. Before the officers could react, the wall behind them disintegrated in a shower of stone and fire.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The corridor became chaotic. Dust and smoke filled the air, visibility dropping to nothing. Another officer rushed toward the scene, his face pale with terror and confusion.
"Sir, we are under—" he began.
Bang!
A high-velocity bullet tore through the smoke, striking him squarely in the forehead with surgical precision. He collapsed instantly, dead before he hit the floor.
The remaining officers frantically attempted to defend themselves. They raised their hands to snap their fingers and channel their mana, but as they did, a massive surge of electricity ripped through their hands with devastating force. Their bodies seized from the shock, muscles convulsing uncontrollably, until they fell unconscious to the stone floor.
A lone figure emerged from the smoke—a silhouette slowly becoming clear as the dust began to settle.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and he held a long sword gripped in his hand. As he walked toward the cell, the blade began to glow, its colour shifting into a brilliant, searing yellow—the colour of purifying flame, of divine judgment.
He reached the iron bars and swung in one fluid, powerful motion.
The metal offered no resistance. The sword passed through the bars as if they were butter, as if they were nothing but air. The rods melted away under the extreme heat, glowing red-hot as they fell to the floor in twisted, useless shapes.
The man entered the cell and immediately dropped to his knees in front of Theo's mother.
She stared down, her hair covering her face.
His face was not revealed in the dim light, but his voice was soft, filled with a desperate tenderness that contrasted sharply with the violence of his rescue.
"Mother, am I late?" he asked softly, his voice a stark contrast to the destruction he had just wrought.
Theo's mother looked at him, her youthful face contorted by a shadow of pure malice. The tenderness in his voice seemed to feed her rage rather than ease it.
"Theo betrayed us," she said, her tone dark and dripping with venom. "Your brother turned against his own blood, against his own family. Kill him"
She spat the words like poison.