Sword Brother

When Gaël opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his mother's face leaning over him. Her expression was frozen between relief and anguish, her eyes red with silent tears streaking her cheeks, hollowed by exhaustion. She was trembling, as if simply seeing him awake was a fragile blessing, a fleeting dream she feared would shatter at any moment.

His little brother was there too.

Aedan wasn't crying. He sat beside her, knees pulled against his chest, his gaze lost in an abyss only he could see, shadows that would likely never leave him. His usually bright eyes were dull, clouded by visions no child should have to endure.

Gaël blinked, trying to ground himself in reality, but his skull throbbed with a pain unlike any physical wound, a pain that felt as though something had been torn from him, severed cleanly by an invisible blade.

And within his mind…

Excalibur was still there. Not its light, but its severance.

An imperial presence, absolute, etched into his soul like an unshakable mark.

'It is still there...'

He felt the rough yet familiar texture of wood beneath his fingers. The weapon clutched in his grasp no longer cut him, no longer pulsed with the terrifying force that had nearly torn him apart. It had returned to what it seemed to be, a mere piece of wood.

A whisper escaped his lips, frail, almost childlike:

"Mother…"

The moment she heard his voice, his mother pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, sobbing anew. Gaël tried to lift his arm to wipe her tears, but his body refused to move. He was exhausted, drained to his very core. Even awakening itself felt like an ordeal.

Aedan, however, remained silent, his breathing slow and unsteady.

Then, in a broken voice, their mother murmured:

"It's over, Gaël… It's over…"

Yet her tone carried no relief.

Gaël frowned, his mind still clouded. He tried to sit up, forcing his aching muscles to obey.

It was then that he heard the wind whistling through the ruins, carrying with it the acrid scent of ash and scorched stone.

Slowly, he turned his head.

The city was no more.

What had once been Kernéval was now a skeletal remains of stone and collapsed timber. Columns of smoke rose into the gray sky, carrying the stench of destruction. Shattered houses, streets buried under rubble, bodies still half-buried beneath the debris… And amidst it all.

Silence.

A crushing, suffocating silence, as dense as the dust still drifting over the ruins.

Then, his mother's voice, broken, barely a whisper:

"We have nothing left, Gaël… No home, no roof… The city is in ruins…"

She helped Gaël sit up before pulling Aedan close, as if holding him was the only thing left keeping her together.

"What are we going to do?"

Gaël had no answer.

His fingers tightened around the wooden sword's hilt, and under his touch, it crumbled into dust. Yet in his mind, the mystic edge still gleamed.

"We need to reach the first ring," Gaël said, his voice hoarse, exhausted, but resolute. "There must still be healers there… and if the Lutech Gate is still functional, we can escape to the nearest city-state."

He clasped his mother's hand in his own, his other arm wrapped around Aedan's frail shoulders, supporting his brother, who was too weak to walk on his own.

His entire body screamed in protest, but he had no right to stop.

Step by painful step, they trudged through the smoldering ruins, their feet dragging over the remnants of a shattered world.

Around them, other survivors moved like broken shadows, limping toward the city center, where a faint glimmer of hope still flickered. Some staggered, their eyes empty, as if their souls had been reduced to ashes alongside their home. Others carried the wounded, leading crying children or those too numb to utter a sound.

A distant, haunting wail pierced the air, followed by an unsettling silence. Somewhere, another living soul had perished, claimed by the aftermath of calamity.

Suddenly, a group of a dozen people approached from the opposite direction, led by a man in a white robe stained with ash, a radiance keeper. His attire, once immaculate, bore the marks of disaster, its golden embroidery and embedded Lumen crystals faintly shimmering beneath the soot. His face was smudged as well, yet his eyes burned with a fervent glow, filled with unshakable conviction.

Gaël recognized familiar faces among them: neighbors, artisans in sturdy aprons, fathers and mothers clutching their children, workers with reinforced boots and dust-covered headbands.

The common folk wore coarse wool and raw linen garments, some wrapped in thick, heavy leather coats to withstand the damp cold. The dominant colors were earthy tones, grays, and faded blues, further dulled by the recent events.

"Do not lose hope!" the keeper declared, his voice meant to be reassuring. "I have received word from the town hall, the blessed circle is almost intact! Soon, the lutech gate will be repaired, and those who wish to leave will be free to do so. The monarch of the abyss was vanquished by the purity of the Lumen! The city can be rebuilt!"

'The purity of the Lumen? What is he talking about…? It's a lie.'

Gaël had seen it with his own eyes. It wasn't the Lumen that had saved Kernéval.

'It was the swordbrother!'

He was the one who had plunged into the abyss to face the monstrosity. His blade had severed the unspeakable. Not the Lumen.

And yet, here, among the ruins of a shattered city, the radiance keeper already preaching his Lumen-litany, and no one seemed willing to contradict him.

Some wept with relief. Others bowed their heads in silent gratitude, too exhausted, too broken to question his version of events.

Gaël wanted to speak, to tell the truth. But he was too tired, too drained, his mind still scarred by the Severance's brilliance.

'The truth will be known one day… but not today.'

He closed his eyes for a moment, then continued walking. His only goal:

Not to let go of his mother's hand.

Not to let go of Aedan.

They stepped over debris, weaving around stone carcasses and collapsed beams, until at last, they reached the wall of the first ring.

The ocean-facing side was destroyed, torn open like a gaping wound, but the land-facing side remained intact. The main gate stood wide open.

A steady stream of survivors passed through, seeking refuge, or simply a direction to follow.

Ordinarily, lutech-armored guards would be stationed here, monitoring who entered and left the city. But today…

There was no one.

Perhaps they were too busy tending to the wounded. Or perhaps they had lost faith in the need to keep these gates closed.

Either way, Gaël and his family crossed the threshold and found themselves in districts they had rarely set foot in before.