Chapter 1 Exile
“You do not deserve death by my sword.”
The voice was firm, cold. A tall blond man sheathed the blade at his waist. His clothes were torn, stained with dried blood and dust, as if he had been fighting for hours—perhaps days.
Around them, the scene was pure ruin. Cracked stone ground, fallen bodies, the metallic smell of blood mixed with smoke. A battlefield that had spared no one.
The man—Lucien—looked down. Before him, the prisoner knelt on the bloodstained ground. His knees spread and unmoving, his body exhausted, his gaze lost among what remained of his allies. Some were dead. Others merely unconscious.
Then the prisoner lifted his face. Fury and irony burned in his eyes.
“Don’t spit your pity on me.”
This was Damien—the defeated one, the fallen brother. He stared at Lucien with contempt. He knew that merciful look was false. He knew his brother better than anyone.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse and bitter. “Don’t you have the courage to kill me?”
Lucien took a deep breath and crouched down, meeting his brother’s bloodied face.
“Kill you? You are blood of my blood. I have no right to kill you, Damien.”
“…”
“You are my brother, despite everything. Killing you would be a disgrace to me—and I would never forgive myself, even if I wanted to.”
He grabbed his brother’s hair, forcing Damien to look at him. The pity in his eyes gave way to pure frustration.
“You know me better than anyone, I know that. But what about me? I know you too. You can stop the act.”
“…”
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Lucien said, almost whispering. “Seeing all your companions dead?”
“…”
“I know what that’s like. You killed many of mine as well. Do you think I’m happy about this? That I wanted this war?”
Lucien laughed, but the sound died quickly.
“I truly don’t care, Damien. I’ve always had my flaws—spoiled, foolish, blind. You were always right about that. But do you think I asked for this? That I wanted to be the favorite? That I wanted to be king?”
Damien stared at him in silence for a few seconds—then began to laugh. Loud, rough, unhinged.
“Don’t start with that talk now. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
“…”
“Do you really think you’re going to convince me to join you, and then we’ll live happily ever after? Just because you’re the great and benevolent Lucien?”
He spat on the ground.
“Stay where you are. Take your sword and cut my throat already.”
The smile vanished.
“You disgust me.”
Lucien released his brother’s hair and shoved him hard against the ground.
He stood slowly, his eyes sweeping over the devastated scene—smoke, blood, and the bitter scent of loss.
“Of course… how could I have been so naïve?” he said, laughing without humor. “You won’t change. Neither of us will.”
He looked around at the ruins and the bodies on both sides. “This place, these people… all of it was for nothing. This little war will only end when one of us is dead, won’t it?”
Damien tried to stand. His body trembled, exhausted, open wounds bleeding through his clothes.
The truth was, he wouldn’t survive much longer—yet he still smiled.
“Well then, my brother,” he said with irony. “You’re right. This won’t end until one of us is dead.”
He lifted his face and mocked him. “So why don’t you stop with the melodrama and the empty talk? Cut my throat already. Come on, I know you’re eager for it. I bet you’ve wanted to kill me since the moment we shared our mother’s cursed womb.”
Lucien looked at him, serious.
Damien went on, his smile opening like a wound.
“They were the worst nine months of my life,” he said. “Being chained to you, trapped in such a tiny space. I don’t really remember it, but I’m sure the trauma blocked the memory.”
Lucien took a deep breath, already tired of the provocation.
“All right,” he replied. “Then I’ll do it differently.”
Damien raised an eyebrow, suspicious.
“What are you talking about, you bastard?”
“Instead of killing you…” Lucien glanced at the field around them, the dead on both sides. “Why don’t I let you live? Alone.”
Damien’s eyes widened.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exile.” Lucien shrugged. “You’ve always been desperate for attention. Always chasing subordinates to fill that emptiness inside you. Maybe isolation will teach you something.”
Suddenly, his tone changed—colder, more tired. “I’ll exile you to the isolated lands. There, you’ll have to learn how to survive without anyone to flatter your wounds. Maybe you’ll finally learn how to live in society, understanding that the world doesn’t revolve around you.”
Damien let out a rough laugh that echoed among the ruins.
“You wouldn’t dare.” He stood, his eyes blazing. “I’m your villain, Lucien. I’m everything you need. If I disappear now, what will become of you?”
His voice dripped with venom and irony. “A peaceful little hero without his villain? What is a hero without his opposite? You’ll rot without someone to hate.”
Lucien stared at him in silence. When he spoke, his voice was calm—but broken.
“I don’t want you to live a ‘happily ever after,’ Damien.”
He took a step forward.
“I want you to learn to love yourself. Because you never loved anyone… not even yourself.”
Damien clenched his fists. The air between them seemed to vibrate.
“And you?” he whispered. “What do you know about love?”
Lucien looked away.
“I loved too much,” he replied. “Everyone. The throne, the people, the idea of being a hero… and myself. And look where that got us.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “All of this is my fault. I should have loved you, not just my own ego.”
“…”
“And you should have loved yourself, instead of living in pursuit of others’ love. You don’t need anyone’s love, Damien. Only your own.”
Silence.
The wind swept over the devastated field.
And for the first time, Damien had no reply.
Damien’s silence cut the air like a blade. Lucien watched him, steady, until he decided to break the weight of that moment.
“I’ll give you food, shelter, clothes, and everything you need,” he said, his voice tired. “You’ll remain isolated until I decide otherwise. You’ll have everything you need, even if you don’t want it. And you will live. I won’t let you die.”
He stepped forward, his gaze firm.
“I’ll make sure that, even from afar, someone watches over you. That they make sure you won’t die… nor try to kill yourself.” Lucien took a deep breath. “I know you have that habit, brother.”
Damien’s face flushed with rage and shame. He screamed, his voice breaking, tearing at his throat:
“You bastard! Do you think you’re superior to me? That I’m a doll for you to care for and abuse whenever you want, just so you can call me ungrateful later? You think you can isolate me, control me, decide whether I live or die? It’s because of you that I hate my life so much! All of this is your fault!”
He trembled. “You’re the monster here—not me!”
Lucien remained silent, his expression heavy.
Damien laughed—a weak, broken laugh.
“I was always a monster, actually. I’m the one who devours other people’s negative feelings… I feed on their negativity. But you… you—”
The words died on his lips. Pain, blood, exhaustion.
His vision blurred, and for the first time, Damien couldn’t finish a sentence.
He collapsed onto the ground—exhausted, on the brink of death.
Lucien watched him in silence. His dark skin, smeared with blood, now glistened under tears that fell without permission. For the first time, he truly saw how broken his brother was—and how much he himself had helped shatter him.
But he would not change his mind.
When Damien opened his eyes again, there was no war.
He lay inside a simple cabin, in the middle of nowhere. His wounds had been treated, but there wasn’t a living soul around. None of his men. No sound. No sign of Lucien.
The place was almost perfect: there was water, food, medicine—everything he needed to survive.
But there was nothing that could harm him.
No blade. No rope. No medicine strong enough.
He left the cabin, his body still aching, and looked around. The ground was muddy, the land barren, the trees half-dead.
He walked, desperate, trying to find a way out—but there was none.
A magical barrier surrounded everything. Made by none other than Lucien.
Damien screamed, cried, cursed his brother’s name until he lost his voice.
He swore vengeance, even though he knew he could never fulfill it.
He was alone.
Without his men. Without the voices that followed him. Without the sound of footsteps behind him.
They feared him, yet they followed him.
They were afraid to touch him, but they obeyed when he commanded—and somehow, that was enough.
It was the closest thing to affection he had ever known.
Respect born of fear.
Loyalty forced by desperation.
Now none of that remained.
Without his brother.
Without his companions.
Without hatred… and without love.
The truth struck him like an invisible blade: hatred had been the only thing that kept him alive until then.
It was the only bond that tied him to others, the only proof that he still existed.
Without it, there was no one left to hate him—and therefore, no one to remember that he was there.
All that remained was emptiness.
He kicked the mud in anger, and something rolled out of it.
A golden bracelet.
Damien approached it, hesitantly.
Was it a trap? Or a gift?
He knelt down and touched the object with fingers stained with earth.
