A few days ago, when Theo almost killed Joseph in his Meer dream dimension.
Sinking in water. Heavily wounded. His hand was cut off. Blood floated around him in dark red clouds.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.
Joseph was apologising to his family, to the people who cared for him. He wanted to see them again. He didn't want to die here. He wanted to meet them one last time and spend his happiest times like his childhood.
His eyes opened, and his true form was in front of him.
"Joseph, why are you apologising for my sin? This is my redemption. Not yours. Live in the paradise that you belong to."
Suddenly, the surroundings turned into a tranquil blue void.
The air in the room was heavy with the scent of lilies and incense. It was a family gathering, but it looked more like a funeral than a celebration. A group of people stood before a large, ornate camera, their faces carved from stone. There was no grief visible—only a terrifying, hollow silence that suggested something far worse than sadness. This was the silence of broken things.
Little Theo, barely six years old, sat in his mother's lap. Even at that tender age, his eyes were wide and vacant, as if he were already accustomed to the darkness that followed his bloodline like a curse.
His mother—Matilda—sat perfectly still, her grip on him firm and possessively territorial. She wore a beautiful gown of deep purple silk, and she looked young—no older than thirty, though she had been alive for over a century and a half. Nobody could tell by looking at her that she was the mother of three sons. The Mana had preserved her youth while her soul had withered into something cold and calculating.
Beside her stood Gareth. He was nineteen at the time, tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes that held no warmth. He looked like a weapon given human form.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the room creaked open with an almost theatrical slowness. A boy of about fourteen years old stepped inside, and for a moment, the temperature of the room seemed to rise. This was Hendrik, the middle son.
Unlike the others, he looked alive. He moved with a gentle grace, a soft smile playing on his lips that seemed entirely out of place in such a morbid setting. His presence was like sunlight breaking through clouds—incongruous and, somehow, defiant.
Hendrik walked over and took his place behind Matilda and his brothers. He placed a hand on Gareth's shoulder, a gesture of warmth that Gareth didn't acknowledge, though he didn't pull away either. It was a small act of connection in a room full of disconnection.
"Stay still," the cameraman commanded, his voice muffled behind the black cloth of the vintage photographic apparatus.
Theo looked up at Hendrik, his small hand reaching out to tug on his brother's sleeve—a child's gesture seeking reassurance, seeking warmth.
Hendrik winked at him—a tiny, happy smile on his face.
FLASH!
The light exploded, the flash powder creating a brilliant moment. The image was captured forever: a family portrait that showed nothing of what they truly were.
As the smoke from the flash powder cleared, Hendrik leaned down toward Theo, whispering softly so their mother wouldn't hear.
"Why are you not smiling, little brother?" Hendrik asked gently, his voice filled with a tenderness that seemed impossible in this place. "This is your birthday, after all."
Theo said nothing. He looked away, his small shoulders slumped with a weight no six-year-old should ever carry. It wasn't just sadness. It was the paralysing fear born of the harsh discipline his mother had woven into the very fabric of his life—discipline that was less parenting and more psychological torture.
The memory rippled, the blue void twisting into a new dimension—a shattered city destroyed by an endless, spectral war. This was Matilda's dream dimension, a place where the sun never shone, and the ground was always cold.
From his earliest years, Gareth had been Theo's shadow and his tormentor. Under their mother's orders, Gareth trained the boy in brutal, unforgiving ways. Theo was forced to learn complex mana techniques and advanced swordplay, but his fragile body was never capable of handling either. Every session was not a lesson. It was an act of survival.
Hendrik was also forced into the same harsh training, but while Gareth relied on overwhelming physical and magical force, Hendrik used the power of his mind.
He was the only one to truly inherit the powers of the Maripian race—the ability to read the thoughts of others. In the training ring, Hendrik was a ghost. He didn't need Gareth's speed. He simply read his opponent's mind, predicting their moves heartbeats before they were made. He defended with minimal effort and attacked only when the timing was mathematically perfect.
Theo watched from the sidelines, mesmerised. He spent his few moments of rest trying to replicate Hendrik's calm, trying to see the thoughts that Hendrik saw. To Theo, Hendrik wasn't just a brother. He was the only proof that power didn't have to be cruel.
He studied hard to sharpen his mind. Matilda never allowed him to go out. He was like a prisoner in a big castle.
One afternoon, the air in the dream dimension felt particularly heavy. Gareth and Theo were in the centre of a scorched arena, Gareth towering over the trembling boy. Hendrik stood with several high-ranking Order members on a distant ridge, watching the "lesson."
Hendrik's eyes were fixed on Theo, his jaw tight with a suppressed urge to intervene.
"The sons of the great Riddle," one of the Order members beside Hendrik remarked, his voice full of a cold, clinical greed. "Their powers are always beneficial for our Order. Especially that little one... if he ever breaks."
Hendrik's hand tightened into a fist at his side. He didn't need his Maripian powers to know exactly what they were planning for his brother.
Joseph, still drifting in the blue void, watched as the younger Theo looked up at Gareth's raised hand. He realised then that Theo's life had been a series of cages.
Gareth defeated him as usual. "Weak," he said, his voice dripping with contempt as he summoned his mana sword.
"Blitz Slash!" The blade hummed with a terrifying, jagged thunder energy.
"Gareth, stop!" Hendrik screamed, rushing down from the ridge toward Theo in a state of pure fear. He reached out as if he could physically shield his little brother from the inevitable.
KRR!
It was a brutal, instantaneous strike. The mana sword carved through the air with a roar of thunder. In the horrifying logic of the dream dimension, the slash tore through Theo's body, seemingly cutting the boy in half. Hendrik froze, paralysed by the horrific sight, his mind screaming at the visceral violence.
Gareth turned his head toward Hendrik, his expression unchanging. "I want to see how much you can read me, idiot," he said coldly.
Gareth raised his hand, a small, pulsing mana sphere appearing in his palm. He squeezed it with a sudden, violent motion, and the illusory world of the ruined city began to dissolve into white noise.
"I didn't kill him," Gareth's voice echoed as the dimension collapsed. "Killing is freedom for him. I need pain in his blood. More pain." His words were like ice, devoid of even a trace of mercy.
As the illusion faded, the true Theo was lying on the ground in the exact spot where his illusory double had been struck. Though the physical bisection had been part of the dream, the trauma and the agony were real. The nervous system didn't know the difference.
"Theo!" Hendrik rushed to his side, falling to his knees.
Theo was totally paralysed in fear, his body locked in a state of neurogenic shock. His eyes were wide and vacant, staring up at nothing like the eyes of a dead person. His breath was still running. But every breath ran with fear.
"Theo! Theo!" Hendrik's voice cracked with desperation. He cradled the boy's limp head, his hands shaking.
Hendrik turned his gaze to Gareth, his eyes blazing with a rare, fiery anger. "What did you do to him?! Gareth, please leave him! He can't handle this!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the training grounds. "He is our brother!"
Gareth's eyes narrowed, his internal mana flaring in response to the defiance. His anger rose, not in a shout, but in a deepening of the shadows around him. He swept his arm out, unleashing another Blitz Slash. This time, the attack wasn't for an illusion. It was real.
The blinding light of the thunder mana filled Hendrik's vision, searing his retinas. But in the heartbeat before the blade connected, the space around the brothers warped. Their physical forms bled into the earth, turning into shifting shadows that teleported from the arena just as the lightning struck the ground.
The impact point turned into a pit of black ash.
Gareth stood alone in the smoking crater, his sword dissipating into sparks. From the edge of the arena, a group of high-ranking mages called out to him.
"Master Gareth! Mother has called for you. An important meeting is about to begin."
Gareth didn't look back at the spot where his brothers had vanished. He simply turned and walked away, the scent of ozone and burnt earth following in his wake.
Hendrik and Theo teleported to the basement. Hendrik opened his eyes and saw Diana huffing in front of him.
"Are you mad? You wanted to fight with Gareth?"
"I don't care who he is. Look what he did to Theo."
"I see, but I can't go against mother's commands."
After thinking for some time, he looked at his brother. Hendrik decided.
"I will talk with mother."
"No, no, don't do that." Diana stopped him.
But Hendrik went from there anyway.
In a large room, there was an enormous table. High-ranking members of the Diaftis Order sat around it, their faces carved with the confidence of those who believed themselves above judgment. Gareth and Matilda sat in ornate chairs at the head of the table like monarchs presiding over subjects.
"My lady, our oracles said that the Knowledge Lord is still alive," one Order member said, breaking the silence with news that seemed to energise the entire gathering.
Matilda was silent. She said nothing, just listened, her expression unreadable.
"From our informer..." The member walked to a map and marked a circle on Penraven. "He is now in Penraven."
"How are you sure of that?" another member asked him sceptically.
"We have proof. Who last caught our traitors?" the first member replied. The implication was clear—they had extracted information from Jevier after his capture.
"Now, what information remains? We send 40 units to Penraven and attack," another Order member said eagerly, sensing weakness in their enemy.
But an older, more cautious member raised his hand. "But mother, this country is in full control of the New World Order. The human governments are also cooperating with them. Even Order members are involved in government. An attack of that scale would be noticed."
"So what? We are living in Deuchasland. The birthplace of the New World Order," Matilda said, her voice cutting through all objections.
She stood up, her presence suddenly filling the room like an expanding shadow.
"If anybody has a problem, I will go and kill them myself," she said coldly. "It was 600 years since the war of Garnusius. When he killed Master Riddle. Now me, as Grand Master Riddle's widow, and his three sons, will complete his revenge."
Her words were not a plan. They were a decree, an absolute command that brooked no dissent.
"There can't be any objections in here. Unless anybody wants to die," Gareth said flatly, his hand already glowing with gathering mana.
"But what about your brothers?" one brave member asked.
"No weakness allowed. They will fight or die," Matilda replied coldly. "All of them will serve the cause. Or they will serve no one."
Hendrik entered the room at that moment. He had been listening from outside. He heard everything—the plan to send 40 units to kill Joseph, the revelation that they intended to complete their revenge, the casual mention that his brothers would be conscripted into this war or executed for refusing.
He was shocked. He said nothing. Everybody in the room turned to look at him, waiting for his response. But he said nothing—because any word from him would only confirm his defiance and seal his fate.
He silently left the room and went back to the basement.
Time passed. It was Theo's 10th birthday—five years later, but nothing had fundamentally changed except that Theo had grown more afraid.
The photo setup was arranged again, the same ornate camera positioned identically to that day four years ago. Gareth and Matilda left the room without a word, returning to their plotting and planning.
But Hendrik remained.
Hendrik was still smiling—still wearing the mask that he had perfected over years of pretending everything was normal when it was fundamentally broken.
Theo wanted to follow them out of the room, to return to his isolation, but Hendrik's gentle voice stopped him.
"Theo, stay here. We will take a photo together," Hendrik said softly.
Theo smiled—a real smile, not the forced expression required by their mother—and ran toward his brother.
"Diana, take a photo with us," Hendrik called out.
Diana was shy around most people but felt free with Hendrik. She came with them and prepared to take a photo, her fingers shaking slightly as she arranged herself beside the two brothers.
The light exploded, capturing the three of them together—Hendrik, Theo, and Diana. Three people bound by love instead of fear, by choice instead of compulsion.
FLASH!
As the cameraman left, Hendrik leaned down and whispered something in Diana's ear.
"Hey, Theo has a wish to see the ocean. Pleaseeee!" Hendrik said, his tone playful and conspiratorial.
Diana was shocked at the request—it was expressly forbidden by Matilda for Theo to leave the house—but then her face softened. She gave a bright smile and nodded.
"Okay. But only for a little while," she agreed.
After the cameraman left, she stood and channelled her mana. Space warped around them, and she teleported them to a seaside beach.
It was sudden for Theo. His eyes went wide with wonder at the sight before him. The ocean stretched out endlessly, waves crashing against the sand with a rhythm as old as the world itself. The salty air filled his lungs—air that smelled of freedom and infinity. For the first time in his life, he felt something like liberation. For the first time in his life, the cage was open.
Hendrik rushed to the water. "Happy birthday, Theo" His voice echoed in the whole play. Filled with happiness and excitement.
Theo and Hendrik played in the water, splashing each other and laughing. The sound of Theo's laughter was something Diana had never heard before—pure and unguarded, the laugh of a child who had forgotten, even for a moment, what fear felt like.
The waves crashed around them, and Theo's laughter rose above the sound of the ocean itself.
Diana watched them from the shore and smiled, her heart aching with a bittersweet warmth. She was witnessing something rare and precious: the brief, fragile joy of a child who had been denied it his entire life.
"Theo, I want to eat," Hendrik said, coming out of the water, his hair dripping, his smile genuine.
"I don't know," Theo replied, tilting his head. In his life of isolation, he had never experienced the simple pleasure of eating something simply because it tasted good.
Then Diana came with three cotton candies—fluffy clouds of pink and blue sugar. "Take them. They are sweet. My father and I like them."
Theo took the pink, fluffy treat carefully, as if it were something precious and fragile. He took a small bite, and his eyes lit up with pure, untainted delight. The sweetness filled his mouth, and for a moment, he forgot about pain, about fear, about the darkness of his home.
It was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.
Hendrik ruffled his hair affectionately. "Good, right?"
Theo nodded, unable to stop smiling, the cotton candy melting on his tongue.
Suddenly, the memories faded out in front of Joseph. Joseph was still in the void.
"This is the one thing that is common in the two. Your happiest moments. That is the reason why he attacked you."
The lord disappeared from him.
In the present time, Theo read Joseph's mind and realised that Joseph had witnessed all of his memories—every moment of pain, every cage, every small act of kindness. They were walking toward school, the morning sun on their faces.
He looked at Joseph, who was eating cotton candy, and he saw something in Joseph's movements, in his kindness—a glimmer of Hendrik.
Theo's hands trembled as he held his own cotton candy, the memories of that beach day crashing over him like waves.
A drop of tear fell onto his candy, mixing sweet with salt.
Thank you. This time, I will save you, brother.